Chapter 10
TEN
Madeline
So far, everything at Cove is going better than I expected.
The three weeks have been a blur of meetings, campaign edits, and trying to prove that I belong here.
Every morning, I come in early to get a head start on my work and every morning Jesse Winters shows up not long after, sliding into the seat across from me like it’s his personal mission to keep my blood pressure volatile.
At first, it was unnerving, the way he’d just…watch me. Like he was trying to figure me out. I could sense his eyes on me, or the shift in the air whenever he was near. It would make me struggle to keep my focus. Now, though, I’m used to it. Or maybe I just like it more than I’m willing to admit.
The man is a distraction. He’s infuriatingly calm, always composed, relentlessly charming, and smells better than any man has a right to. When I made the mistake of mentioning that to Lottie, she’d practically squealed. “Some men smell so sexy,” she’d said. “So, what exactly does he smell like.”
“It’s hard to describe,” I told her. “But…expensive. And it makes it almost impossible to concentrate.”
She groaned. “Jesus, Madeline, you’re doomed. Just marry him already. Can I be your maid of honor?”
I reminded Lottie that the man also makes me want to pull my hair out with his smart remarks and relentless confidence, and the way he somehow manages to get under my skin every single day.
“God, stop talking dirty, Mads,” she’d said, fanning herself with her hand as I rolled my eyes at her.
It’s all true. Jesse drives me crazy. He can be so infuriating, the way he looks at me with that entertained smirk on his face like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
And then there’s the totally out-of-the-blue way he offered to accompany me to my dad’s event; I’m still trying to figure out what that was about.
I figured he would forget about it as soon as the conversation ended, but he’s brought it up a few times in the days since then.
“You’ll change your mind,” he said with a wink just yesterday.
So far, my strategy has been to ignore him, but that doesn’t seem to faze Jesse.
Still, I can’t deny that part of me—some tiny, traitorous part—enjoys the banter.
And the attention. It’s the same part that can’t stop thinking about the morning I saw him on Front Street with that little girl.
The way he looked at her, so protective and sweet—it stuck with me.
But in all these weeks, he’s never mentioned having a daughter, so I don’t know what to make of it.
Which brings me to now.
I glance up from my screen to where he’s sitting across the table as usual, a pen tapping rhythmically against his notepad as he studies me with that infuriating mix of curiosity and amusement.
“What?” I finally ask, keeping my tone casual and my eyes on the document that’s open on my laptop. “Am I breathing too hard?”
“No,” he says after a beat. His pen stills. “You just look like you’re trying to solve the world’s problems over there.”
“I’m just doing my job,” I say, clicking through the campaign brief. “Some of us take that seriously.”
“Mm.” He leans back in his chair, still watching me. “And does glaring at your laptop like you wish it would spontaneously combust count as ‘doing your job?’ Is that something we’ve added to the Cove orientation?”
I glance up, narrowing my eyes. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“Not when I’m right,” he says, the corners of his mouth curving in that lazy, confident way that makes my pulse misbehave.
God help me, he’s so smug. And so unfairly good-looking, sitting there with his sleeves rolled up and that easy grin, like he owns the air between us.
“You’re impossible,” I mutter, shaking my head.
He taps his pen against the table again. “And yet you keep sitting across from me every day.”
Before I can argue that it is one hundred percent him that chooses to sit across from me, footsteps in the hall catch my attention.
Ford and Landyn pass by the glass wall just outside our workspace.
Even in the bustle of Cove, they stand out—him, tall and steady, with that quiet authority that seems to set the tone for everything and everyone around him; her, elegant and composed, stealing the spotlight in every room she walks into.
I watch as they move down the hall, his head lowered slightly as she talks, her hand brushing lightly over his arm.
“They’re together,” Jesse says, following my gaze. “In case that wasn’t obvious.”
I glance at him. “I wasn’t sure,” I say, eyes flicking back toward the hall. “They look like the perfect couple.”
He nods, his expression softening. “Yeah, they are. Took them a long time to get here, though.” Jesse follows my gaze, and for once, that teasing edge in his voice disappears. “They’re good together, but they had to fight for it harder than most people would.”
I glance at him, noticing the emotion in his voice. “You sound…protective,” I say softly.
“I am,” he admits after a beat. “Ford spent years building everything but his own happiness, and Landyn came back around and changed that. She reminded him what it’s like to actually live.”
His words settle deep because I know exactly what it feels like to build a life that looks perfect from the outside while slowly suffocating on the inside.
I’d give anything to know what it feels like to live without permission, without rules, without my parents’ expectations wrapped around my neck like a leash.
“Must be nice,” I murmur. “Getting a second chance like that.”
He looks at me then, really looks, and it feels like he’s weighing his next words. Then, just as quickly, his grin returns. “Don’t tell him I said any of that,” he says, voice light again. “He’ll call a family meeting to make sure I haven’t been body-snatched.”
I smile despite myself. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
That trademark smirk slides back into place. “I trust you, Mads.”
I roll my eyes, trying not to show how much my pulse has picked up. But it’s useless. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
It gets worse.
Somehow, Jesse Winters—walking smirk, workplace menace, and the human equivalent of a complication— managed to get me to say yes.
I don’t even know how it happened. One second, I was telling him absolutely not, that there was no world in which I’d show up at my parents’ pretentious gala with him on my arm, and the next he was smiling at me like I’d already caved. Which, apparently, I did.
I blame my momentary weakness on a poorly timed text from my mother, a guilt-laden reminder that I would be practically ruining the family name if I didn’t show up.
“This is an important event for your father, Madeline. He’s worked very hard for this, and he will be so disappointed if his own children refuse to support him.
I understand you are focused on yourself at the moment, but I really don’t think a weekend is too much to ask. ”
Now I’m standing in my bedroom, a half-packed suitcase on the bed, wondering if this is what defeat feels like.
Shoes? Check. Dress that says, I’m thriving, Mother? Double check. Sanity? Debatable.
Lottie wanders in without knocking, as always, wearing one of my oversized sweatshirts and carrying a bowl of popcorn like we’re about to binge something on Netflix instead of spiral about my life choices.
She flops onto the bed, narrowly missing the garment bag I just spent ten minutes carefully arranging.
“So,” she says, popping a kernel into her mouth. “Tell me again how Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Probably-Trouble talked you into this?”
I groan, tugging the zipper closed on my toiletry bag. “He didn’t exactly talk me into it. He just wore me down.”
Lottie grins. “Which is code for he flirted, and you blacked out.”
“Incorrect.” I shoot her a look. “Mostly. I blame his relentless persistence and that stupid grin that seems to make my brain short-circuit.”
She sits up. “Oh my God, you really do like him.”
“I do not like him.” I point at her with a hairbrush for emphasis. “He’s my boss.”
“Your boss who calls you Mads,” she points out.
I glare. That’s another thing. Not even my sister calls me Mads. Until now.
“He’s just trying to annoy me. He takes pleasure in torturing me.”
“Right,” Lottie says, lying back again. “And when he first called you Mads you didn’t tell him to stick to Madeline because…why was it, again?”
She bats her eyes innocently at me and I glare at her in response, hating that she has a point.
“Lottie, the man drives me insane. He flirts like it’s a full-time job.
With everyone. I’m not special. And now I’m going to have to spend an entire weekend pretending that we don’t argue about everything under the sun.
And the cherry on top? My parents will be there too. ”
She grins around another mouthful of popcorn. “Sounds like fun.”
“Sounds like a nightmare,” I mutter, though my pulse betrays me, picking up at the thought of his grin, the way his voice dips low when he’s teasing me.
I grab the dress from its hanger — glacier blue silk— and hold it up to the light. “This is professional,” I tell Lottie, mostly to convince myself. She nods enthusiastically. “Anyways, I just need to think about this strategically. Showing up with Jesse means less pressure from my parents.”
Lottie snorts. “Sure, Mads. And it’s totally irrelevant that your fake date is super hot. That’s why you’ve spent the past hour freaking out over what to pack, because this weekend is so strategic and professional.”
I toss a pillow in her direction, but she catches it before it can hit its intended target. “You drive me insane.”
“And you love me.”
“Barely.”
She laughs, rolling off the bed. “You’ll thank me when he sees you in that dress.”
I pause, pulse fluttering. “He won’t care.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Mads.”
I groan. “Fine. Maybe he’ll care a little.”