Chapter 6
SIX
Madeline
I’ve been sitting in the Cove lobby for exactly nine minutes and forty-two seconds.
Long enough to memorize the pattern of the tiles beneath my heels, long enough for my palms to start sticking to the leather bag in my lap, and definitely long enough for my body to start begging me for another cup of coffee.
It’s my first day at my new job. It’ll be the first time officially meeting my new boss—unless you count the time I shot him down when he tried to flirt with me at the brewery last weekend. Oh, and the morning after that, when I spied on him looking like the most devoted dad on the planet.
I take a deep breath and will myself to loosen the death grip I have on my purse. I need to focus on today.
Normally, this kind of thing wouldn’t shake me.
I’m confident in my work, good at what I do, and perfectly capable of keeping my head on straight no matter who’s sitting across from me.
But the fact that I called my new boss out for being a womanizer and then walked out on him has my nerves doing somersaults.
But it’s fine. It has to be. I can handle him, charm and all. I can be professional.
“Hi, Madeline, you can come with me.” I stand, to find a woman waiting in front of me with a tablet clutched to her chest. “I’m Alyssa, I’m part of the HR team,” she says as I nod and smile.
“You’ll start your day in my office for a Cove orientation, then I’ll take you on a tour of the office before a brief meeting with our directors. Sound good?”
“Sounds wonderful,” I say, slinging my purse over my shoulder and following her through the entrance.
As we walk, I take everything in. There’s something effortless about it all. Everyone moves with a kind of calm focus, the hum of conversation a backdrop to the bustle of the office.
The main floor of Cove is bright and airy, sunlight spilling through wide windows that overlook the city center. A massive worktable sits off reception, cluttered with design sketches, fabric swatches, and half-empty mugs of coffee.
I notice that the employees gathered around the table are all wearing something from Cove’s line—performance joggers, soft crewnecks, zip-ups in muted neutrals.
I glance beside me and realize that Alyssa is also in Cove gear, a black fleece turtleneck tucked into a pair of forest green straight leg pants, both subtly bearing the company logo.
I self-consciously smooth a hand down my cream blazer, hearing the click of my high heels against the polished concrete floors.
I follow Alyssa up the stairs and down a hallway that overlooks the main floor.
We pass a sleek glass door marked “Ford Winters, CEO,” then another a few steps away marked “Jesse Winters, VP of Marketing.” The sight of his name in clean, silver lettering makes my stomach twist, but I don’t have time to dwell on that as we keep going.
When we get to the end of the hallway, Alyssa stops at her office and waves me inside.
“Have a seat.” She motions to the chair across from her desk.
“So, you’ll be working under Jesse Winters who leads the marketing division.
He’s brilliant and very driven,” she continues.
“He moves fast and expects a lot from his team, but he’s fair.
He’s built some of our biggest campaigns from the ground up.
Cove pretty much runs on his creativity. ”
I nod again, keeping my expression polite even as the twist in my stomach tightens.
“You have a great team,” Alyssa smiles. “They are collaborative and close-knit. They’re gearing up for a spring campaign, so you’re coming in at an exciting time.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say. “I like being thrown right in.”
“Good,” she says, clearly pleased. “They work closely together—lots of long days when a launch is coming, but it’s a team that thrives under pressure. Jesse sets a fast pace, but he’s hands-on. You’ll see what I mean soon enough.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” I reply. And I mean it. Marketing campaigns are where I come alive. The challenge, the ideas, the energy.
Still, the thought of “long days working closely together” sticks in the back of my mind, sparking a flicker of something I don’t care to name. I push it down before it can take shape.
I spend the next hour completing onboarding tasks before Alyssa provides an introduction to Cove’s culture and key company policies.
After I’ve signed off on the paperwork, she hands me my ID badge.
“Welcome to Cove, Madeline,” she says with a grin.
“Let’s do a quick tour of the office and then I’ll introduce you to Ford, Jesse, and Noah. ”
“Great,” I say, rising to stand. I square my shoulders, the familiar flicker of adrenaline sparking to life in my belly. It’s game time.
Alyssa leads me around the office, taking occasional quick breaks to respond to a text or email.
She points out the lunchroom, where I’m happy to spot an espresso machine on the counter, and the space where the creative team does their brainstorming sessions.
Every room seems to be alive with energy and ideas and the kind of confidence that makes you want to prove yourself.
It excites me, but I also can’t help but notice the way I’m scanning the faces of Cove’s employees as we pass.
Every time a tall, broad-shouldered man turns a corner, my pulse kicks a little harder. It’s ridiculous, I know.
“Ready to meet the boss?” Alyssa asks as we reach Ford Winters’ office.
She knocks once before pushing open the door. Ford looks up from behind his desk, his expression welcoming but exuding a quiet authority. He stands and rounds the desk, extending his hand.
“Madeline Ashcroft,” he says, his voice low and even. “Good to finally meet you in person. I’m Ford Winters. Welcome to Cove.”
“Thank you,” I manage, shaking his hand. His grip is firm, confident but not overbearing—the kind of handshake that makes you feel like you’ve already done something right.
You can tell he and Jesse are related. Same tall frame, same broad shoulders, the same thick dark hair and those eyes that are even darker up close.
Ford is ridiculously handsome, but where Jesse wears his confidence with a smirk, Ford’s is heavier and quieter…
the kind that sits in his bones and dares you to challenge him.
Alyssa steps aside as he gestures toward the pair of chairs in front of his desk. “Please, sit.”
His office is sleek and modern like the rest of Cove. Wide windows frame the trees outside, and the walls are lined with photographs of the Pacific coast, each one shot in moody, silver light.
I smooth my tailored pants and lower myself into the chair, trying to appear calm while my pulse runs a marathon.
Ford leans against the edge of his desk. “We’re really happy to have you here. Jesse’s team has been running at full speed since the last launch, and I know he’s looking forward to having another set of hands and a fresh perspective on board.”
My stomach dips at the mention of Jesse’s name, betraying me once again. As if summoned by my dread, the door opens behind us.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” a familiar voice says, deep and smooth and threaded with that same infuriating confidence I remember from the brewery.
My fingers tighten around the notebook in my lap as I slowly turn around to face him.
Jesse Winters steps into the room, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a Cove polo that looks like it was sculpted to his frame.
His dark hair is styled in that I-woke-up-like-this way that looks effortless but still incredible.
The sleeves of his T-shirt are pushed to his forearms, revealing tan skin and strong arms and a very expensive looking watch.
He carries himself like he owns every room he walks into—relaxed, certain, and completely at ease in his own skin.
He nods at Ford, then at me. “Hey, Jesse Winters,” he says easily, offering his hand like he’s meeting me for the first time. “You’ll be working with me.”
For a second, I just stare at him, my mind stuttering like it’s buffering.
Seriously? He’s looking right at me, polite, professional, not a flicker of recognition in his expression.
Does he really not remember flirting with me or is this some kind of test?
Do I go along with it and pretend we’ve never met?
My pulse stumbles as I force my features into something that hopefully resembles a neutral expression.
I slide my hand into his, my fingers tingling at the heat of his skin. “Madeline,” I say, shaking his hand. His grip is firm and confident, his expression still completely devoid of recognition. He releases my hand with a nod that feels maddeningly unbothered.
“Great,” Ford says, oblivious, as I force my gaze toward him and listen as he outlines my role.
Beside me, Jesse leans back in his chair with one ankle hooked over his knee.
I try to keep my attention on Ford, but I find myself glancing at Jesse for a twitch or tell that he recognizes me. There isn’t one.
“Madeline, you’ll be assisting Jesse’s team on the spring campaign and helping streamline some of our PR communication. From the looks of your CV, you’re going to make a great addition to the marketing team.”
“Thank you,” I say smoothly, ready for the challenge. “I’m happy to be here.”
Ford leans back against the edge of his desk. “You’ll get your bearings quickly,” he says, his voice low and even in a way that carries weight without needing volume. “You’ll be shadowing Jesse for the first couple of weeks. Learn the process, get comfortable with our campaigns.”
“I’ll get your login and workspace set up by this afternoon, Madeline,” Alyssa, still standing near the door, chimes in cheerfully. “You’ll have access to the drives, design templates, and all the brand materials by end of day.”
I nod, smiling, willing myself to stay present. Willing myself not to look at Jesse—the man who flirted with me and then apparently immediately forgot that I existed.
Ford’s voice pulls me back. “Alright,” he says finally, pushing off the desk. “That’s all for now. Madeline, we’re happy you’re here. Jesse will show you to your desk and help get you settled.”
Jesse stands, easy and unhurried, and I follow suit, clutching my notebook to my chest. “Of course,” he says, tone professional. “Follow me.”
The door closes softly behind us as we step into the hall.
Jesse’s stride is long and confident, forcing me to pick up my pace to keep up.
He glances sideways at me, something flickering in his eyes like he’s trying to read my expression.
For a second, I think this is it—he’s finally going to say something, admit that he remembers me.
Maybe acknowledge our awkward exchange at Replay last week.
Instead, he just says, “Everything okay?”
I straighten slightly, caught between confusion and disbelief. “Yes. Everything’s fine.”
One dark brow lifts. “Good.” A faint grin tugs at his mouth, but I can’t decipher what it means. “Then let’s get started, Madeline. We’ve got work to do.”
He starts down the hall again, and I follow with every nerve humming. But then I catch it. The barest flicker of amusement in his eyes, like he has a private joke I’m not in on. It’s gone before I can be sure I didn’t just imagine it, but something in my gut twists.
He knows who I am.
He remembers.