Chapter 5
FIVE
L andyn
The office really is beautiful.
Glass and wood beams. High ceilings. Natural light spilling through the windows and reflecting off the reclaimed wood floors.
It’s simple, but it feels expensive. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was walking into a luxury retreat instead of Cove headquarters.
But then again, that’s the point. Luxury mixed with nature. Boardroom meets backcountry.
I swallow the lump rising in my throat and step through the front doors like I belong here. Like I didn’t spend the night tossing and turning in the cottage, wondering if coming back here was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.
People look up as I pass. A few polite smiles. Some curious stares. One woman gives me the kind of once-over that feels more like a warning shot than a welcome. It feels like everyone knows who I am.
That’s Landyn Sinclair.
The one who broke Ford Winters’s heart.
The one who left and never looked back .
But it’s obviously all in my head. After all, how could they know? I left Ford years before he built this empire.
My heels click against the polished floors as I make my way to the main reception desk. Behind the mahogany is a young assistant with bright eyes, and a high ponytail who greets me with a tight smile.
“You’re Landyn, right? Mr. Winters said you’d be starting today.”
I nod. “That’s right.”
She checks something off on her tablet. “You’ll be reporting to Jesse. His office is down the hall, second left, last door. He’ll be expecting you.”
Of course I’ll be working under Jesse. Ford made that crystal clear.
I thank her and head down the hall, pulse pounding harder with every step. I haven’t seen Jesse since college. Back then, he was all swagger and wicked smiles—Ford’s opposite in every way. I have no idea what to expect now.
When I knock on the door, it swings open before I can lower my hand.
And there he is.
Same tousled brown hair, same cocky grin, only now it’s paired with a dangerously expensive watch and a Cove long-sleeve rolled to the elbows.
“Landyn Sinclair,” he says, like my name tastes good in his mouth. “Well, shit. You grew up even better than I remember.”
I arch a brow. “Still a flirt, eh?”
“Only with people who make it worth my time.” He steps back and waves me in. “Come on, PR princess. Let’s get you settled. We’ve got work to do and a reputation to repair.”
I follow Jesse as he moves through the building like he’s giving a TED talk, pointing out the coffee station, the lounge corner with a leather couch that probably costs more than my car, and a massive corkboard plastered with magazine covers, campaign shots, and photos of the brothers standing in front of towering pines or snow-covered peaks.
“This is our wall of ego,” he says with a grin. “Or, as Ford likes to call it, our legacy.”
I smile despite myself. “It’s impressive.”
“Yeah, well, Ford built most of it with blood, sweat, and sheer determination. I’m convinced the guy doesn’t actually sleep. Like, ever.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And you?”
“Oh, I’ve been sleeping like a baby. But I’m also the reason this brand is in the press at least once a week.” He flashes a roguish grin. “For better or worse.”
He walks over to a framed photo from a GQ spread. Ford in a dark coat, jaw set like stone, standing on a cliff edge. The headline reads: “The Rugged Rise of Cove: From Small Town to Global Obsession.”
“We started out selling boots,” Jesse says, eyes still on the photo. “One pair. One design. Built for hikers and anyone else who gave a damn about quality.”
“And now?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“Now we’ve got three flagship stores, a waitlist for our limited seasonal lines, and partnerships with Olympic athletes.”
“Your brother Noah is behind that last one?”
He shoots me a look. “You did your research.”
“I always do.” There was a time a few years ago when you couldn’t turn on a sports channel without seeing Noah Winters’s face on your screen. He went to the Olympics for downhill skiing and came home with a gold medal .
Jesse’s smile fades slightly. “Which brings us to the reason you’re here.”
I follow Jesse to his desk, where he takes a seat. I sit across from him as he opens the cover on his tablet and taps the device a few times before spinning it toward me.
The headline is brutal: “Tarnished Lifestyle Brand: Is Beloved Cove’s Clean-Cut Image Just Marketing?”
Underneath is the sub text: New allegations suggest DeepCove’s beloved lifestyle brand has abandoned its commitment to eco-conscious factories. I scan the article, heart sinking.
“Ford has spent years building trust,” Jesse says, voice tight now. “And I’ve spent years making sure the world knows it. But a single accusation like this? It’s enough to crack the whole damn thing.”
“Is it true?”
Jesse shakes his head. “Not the way the media is making it sound. It’s a supplier issue that slipped through the cracks. We caught it and cut ties fast, but we didn’t get in front of it in time.”
“And you think I can fix it.”
“I know you can.”
I look up at him, surprised by the certainty in his voice.
“I know you’re good, Landyn,” he says. “I read about how you singlehandedly turned that flailing fashion brand into one of the fastest-growing companies in the country. I remember the campaign.” He leans in slightly.
“I’ve looked at your work. I’m the reason you’re sitting in that chair. I told Ford we need you.”
“Ford doesn’t want me here,” I say quietly.
Jesse shrugs. “He needs you and he knows it.”
I sit back, fingers curling around the arm of the chair. I would be lying to myself if I said I’m just here to fix a PR problem. I’m here to face the past. To look Ford in the eye. To act like we’re nothing more than colleagues when every inch of me remembers exactly how he kissed.
“Okay,” I say finally. “Let’s fix it.”
Jesse grins. “Atta girl.
“You do realize the Cove brand has been marketed very seriously,” I say, squinting at one of the old campaign slogans Jesse’s pulled up. “Earn the wild.” I snort. “Did someone write that in a tent after six days without coffee?”
Jesse grins like he finds me amusing. “Don’t knock it. That campaign sold 30,000 units in a weekend.”
“Broody, rugged marketing. Got it.”
He taps the screen. “Axes and flannel, baby. It’s a lifestyle.”
I laugh as I adjust the font on the mock-up. Jesse leans a little closer, peering at my screen. “Okay, now that is hot. Subtle, but bold. Just like me.”
I raise a brow. “I don’t know about subtle, but you’re definitely bold.”
“Close enough.”
We’ve spent the last few hours hunched over an oversized table in a shared workspace on the main floor. Our laptops are open, mock-ups pulled up on a screen in front of us. It feels good, the buzz of collaboration. Familiar.
I’ve always had a passion for my work. My career had barely begun when I found out I was pregnant.
After Poppy was born, I took time off to be with her, to learn how to be someone’s everything.
I wouldn’t trade that year for anything, but there were moments I forgot what it felt like to be good at something other than being her mom.
Eventually, I got a job at a tiny marketing firm—nothing major, barely even a blip on a map, but they were flexible allowing me to work shorter days and juggle freelance work at night.
Over time, the clients got a little bigger, the campaign I oversaw got some recognition.
It wasn’t easy. A lot of the time, I felt stretched way too thin struggling to build my resume and also raise my daughter.
Fortunately, I wasn’t totally on my own. When I left Deep Cove, I moved to Alberta where my aunt, my mom’s sister, opened her door to me. What was only supposed to be a year or two of Poppy and I living in her spare bedroom, somehow turned to almost seven. It wasn’t glamorous, but it worked.
Taking this fulltime job with Cove isn’t just about the paycheck.
I want the challenge. I want to take the next step.
I want to prove to myself that I can excel in my career and be a good mom.
But being away from Poppy so much? That part is the hard part.
Dropping her off at a new school in a new town, her big, gray eyes glossy, her little voice whispering, You’ll come back, right?
It makes my chest ache in a way I’ve never known.
Jesse leans closer, pointing at a sample caption. His shoulder brushes mine, and I don’t move away.
“Change ‘wilderness’ here to ‘wild within,’” he says. “It’s got more edge.”
I nod, making the change. “Got it.”
And then I feel it.
That shift in the room that makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise before your brain has a change to catch up.
Jesse notices it too. His smirk pulls a little wider. “Well, well,” he drawls quietly so that only I can hear him. “If it isn’t our brooding leader.”
I glance up and there he is.
Ford.
He’s standing in the doorway, his eyes locked on us.
More specifically, he’s glaring at Jesse, who is sitting only inches from me despite there being plenty of space at the table.
The workspace in front of us is cluttered with things Ford hasn’t been included in.
His expression is unreadable, but the tension in his jaw gives him away. Barely.
“Not like you to work through lunch, Jesse,” he says, voice clipped.
Jesse leans back in his chair, unbothered. “Nice of you to notice,” he replies with a grin. “Just trying to save the brand from total combustion.”
Ford doesn’t look at him. His eyes are on me now. Cool and unreadable. “We agreed she reports to you. That doesn’t mean you do the work with her.”
I lift my chin, keeping my voice calm. “Jesse’s been very helpful. We’re getting a lot done.”
Ford crosses his arms. “Funny. Looks like flirting.”
Jesse snorts. “That’s just my face.”
Ford’s gaze sharpens, but Jesse keeps going like it’s all a game.
“Relax, brother. We’re just trying to fix the mess we’ve found ourselves in. You want in, or are you just here to glower?”
For a long second, Ford doesn’t answer. He just watches me, like he’s trying to decide what exactly I am now—an asset or a mistake. Maybe both.
“I’ll pass,” he says finally. “I’m needed elsewhere.”
But before he turns, I catch it—that flicker in his eyes. A crack in the facade. He doesn’t like seeing me here. Doesn’t like seeing me with Jesse. But why does he care after all this time?
The question lingers like smoke, curling through my chest. I thought walking away would be enough. Leaving town and not looking back, giving him the space he needed to make his dreams come true. But now that I am back, I can feel it again. That current. That impossible pull.
And the worst part?
I’m not sure I hate it.
I turn back to my laptop, hands on the keys, mind nowhere near the work in front of me. This job was supposed to be a fresh start, but the past has a way of finding you. Especially when it has the same gray eyes that have haunted me for years.
“Well,” Jesse says, stretching his arms behind his head with a dramatic sigh, “On a scale from one to nuclear, I’d say that was about a six-point-five. Maybe a soft seven.”
I give him a look. “What are you talking about?”
“That whole ‘I’m Ford Winters and I hate feelings’ routine he just did? Yeah, I’ve seen that look before. Usually right before he goes full blast on someone.”
I sigh and close my laptop. “He doesn’t want me here.”
“He doesn’t want anyone here. That man would run this company on his own from a cave in the Yukon if we let him.”
Jesse stands and leans a hip against the edge of the table next to me, voice a little gentler now. “Look, he’s going to come around. He has to. You’re too damn good at this. Even he won’t be able to ignore it for long.”
I nod, even if I don’t believe it.
“I just…” I hesitate, then meet Jesse’s eyes. “I didn’t expect it to hit this hard.”
“Still some feelings in there?” he asks, his tone kind .
I smile tightly. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yeah,” he says, pushing off the table. “It never is.”