Chapter 2
Two
AUGUST CURRENT DAY (MONDAY)
“S hit,” I murmur as the Tupperware container full of blondies almost gets knocked out of my hand when I suddenly stop in front of Lola’s Flower Shop. The two blue tulips I keep in the little white vase in my office started to wilt on Friday. I really should pick up new ones, but I’m already running late and have my hands full with these baked goods.
After Friday’s fiasco, I didn’t wake up until midday on Saturday. And even then, I didn’t get out of bed until late afternoon. It was one of those weekends that doesn’t happen as often as it used to when he first left, but still happens more than it should. My mind wouldn’t shut up, dredging up every memory, starting with when we first met. Normally, I keep those memories locked away—buried deep. But the waves of emotions Friday night eroded their hiding place and exposed them again.
Late Saturday night, when I couldn’t sleep, I resorted to making my comfort dessert—his favorite. I love blondies too, but they’ll always be his .
It’s been a while since I felt compelled to make them, and it feels like a step back, but everyone at the office loves them so I just pretend I baked for them.
I make a mental note to stop by the flower shop tomorrow morning as I rush to make the next crosswalk. The executives from Vitality will be arriving just after lunch and Clara texted me, letting me know there’s a lot to go over before they do. Luckily, I can make quality coffee in the office because there’s no time to stop at Kallia for a latte either. I splurged on an espresso maker last Christmas and still end up buying coffee most days, but it’s nice to have it for days like this one.
The modern-looking, glass building glows in the morning sun, like a beacon, as I round the corner. I almost drop the blondies again trying to open the door, and nod at the security guard at the front desk as I head toward the elevator. Clara wanted to rent out a higher floor originally, but my fear of heights vetoed that idea so we ended up on the third floor.
The workspace embraces an open atmosphere. High-walled cubicles like all of my old jobs sported, have been traded out for long tables with multiple workstations. The offices are grouped in the middle of the floor—a blessing to me, because even the third floor makes my stomach queasy if I have to stare out a window all day. But as I weave across the floor, I feel many eyes following the blondies, and I make another mental note to lock my office door anytime I leave. I learned quickly that if I don’t, they’ll all be gone before lunch. The process also tends to go smoother when I’m there to moderate.
My baking quickly became a hit here, and word spreads fast whenever I bring a new treat in. Things have been hectic lately, so it’s been a few weeks since I last baked. The war-ready look in the eyes of the people I pass makes me think it’s only made the cravings worse.
I drop my bag in the cubby next to my desk, setting the blondies on the coffee cart next to my espresso machine, in front of the vase of flowers that needs replacing. I start the espresso machine and move around the room, gathering what I need for this meeting in the meantime.
People immediately file into the room and grab at the blondies. I cut everyone off at one slice and use the excuse that we need to save some for the guests coming later so they don’t disappear in the first fifteen minutes. There are some grumblings at that rule—most people like to grab an extra to have with lunch—but everyone adheres to my guidelines.
As soon as the espresso is done, I add oat milk and a few pumps of mocha syrup, then gather my belongings, usher people out of the room, lock the office door, and head off to the meeting—hoping to get a few more answers than I currently have.
* * *
“All right, everyone understands the schedule?” Clara eyes the three of us after explaining the plan for the next two weeks. She looks stressed and exhausted, and the day has barely begun. I nod, along with Jason, our director of Partner Relations.
Serge, our Director of Implementation, asks, “So, what exactly is our role in this?”
Clara sighs, and I don’t blame her. She’s covered this in emails and multiple meetings over the past week, but Serge is the kind of person who’s brilliant at his job but cares little for anything else. “I’ve paired each of you with one of their executives that best matches the line of work you do. I’m paired with the CEO, Peter. Analise is with the CFO, Mitch. Jason is with the CMO, Mackenzie. And you, Serge, are with the COO, Ben. What that means is you are that person’s main point of contact during their stay here. You will show them around the office, answer their questions, and give them suggestions for what to do in town if they need them, etc. You are the main representative for our company to your partner, so represent us well.”
I study the schedule again and notice there’s supposed to be a group dinner tonight. “Do we have anything planned for dinner tonight yet?” Clara’s eyes go wide at my question, so I’m assuming she completely forgot about the dinner. “I know of a great Italian place in Buena Park with a beautiful view of the city. We’ll need people to drive there, but it’d be a great introduction to the city.”
And it’s been a while since I’ve been there. Just because it used to be our place, doesn’t mean I can’t still go. I won’t let him ruin all my favorite things in this city.
But even as I think it, my chest gets tight.
“That sounds great. Please, book it. Thanks, Analise.”
I nod, and after a reminder that we’ll be meeting back in the main conference room at noon, Clara dismisses us. Jason tries to catch my attention, but I leave the room and move as fast as I can, ignoring the way his eyes drop to my ass as I stand, hoping he won’t follow. I don’t want to deal with him right now. I don’t want to deal with him ever really, but there’s only so much I can do about that.
When I get back to my office, I call Il Piacere . The woman who answers has a kind, light voice—a bright voice—and my smile falters. All I can see is a montage of the dates we shared there, of the brightness in his eyes as we talked and laughed a million different times. Eventually, my thoughts drift to the picture frame sitting on my shelf at home. The one I’ve never been able to get rid of no matter how much it hurts me to look at it now. Is it a good idea to go here tonight when memories of him haven’t subsided yet?
“Hello?” the woman says when I don’t answer her first greeting.
I shake my head. No more thoughts of him. It’s time to stop letting him in.
“Hi,” I finally say. “I’d like to make a reservation for eight people tonight, at six, if possible.”
“You said eight people?”
“Yes, and out on the back patio if we could.” The view overlooking the city is so beautiful. I think back to the first time I ate there. I don’t know what made me more speechless that night—the view, or the fact that I was on a first date with him . I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I broke my own rule not ten seconds after I made it.
“We can make that work. What’s the name for the reservation?”
“Analise Summers.”
“Great, we look forward to serving you tonight.”
Just as I’m hanging up, Jason comes stomping into my office without knocking and I internally groan as his eyes drop to my chest before he looks up at my face. His smile is big—it’s always just a bit too big.
“Can I grab one of these?” he asks, beelining over to the half-empty container of blondies.
Be nice or he might go bother one of the other girls, I remind myself when I want to tell him where he can shove it. It’s become a game of perfectly treading the line of keeping his attention on me without showing interest in him. He hasn’t crossed any lines yet, but the way he so carefully places himself around me and the other girls makes me believe he’d have no problems crossing that line if given the opportunity.
I nod and smile, sickly sweet and forced as hell. “As long as there’s enough left in case the Vitality execs want any.”
He pauses before taking a bite, as if considering if it’s safe to eat, and a muscle in my cheek twitches. I wish I poisoned the piece he chose. It’d make my life so much better if I didn’t have to deal with him five days a week. He sniffs it and I fight an eye roll, then he shrugs and shoves half of the piece into his mouth. My face starts to twist into disgust as he chews with his mouth open, but I try to stop it from falling into totally horrified territory, although I am—totally horrified.
“Delicious as always,” he says, while still chewing and I cringe as he flashes a thumbs-up.
“Thanks.” I try to sound cheery, but I dread it every time Jason comes to my office . . . because he doesn’t ever leave. I honestly don’t know how he gets anything done because he will waste hours in my office if I don’t find a way to kick him out. A large part of me truly believes this is his passive aggressive way of trying to force me to go out with him. Like if he just doesn’t go away, I’ll cave and say “sure.” What he doesn’t realize is that the longer he sticks around the less I want to be near him.
“Did you go to The Dizzy Acorn this weekend?” he asks, and I regret the day I let it slip that I often hang out there. As if five days around him isn’t enough, he constantly shows up and tries to ruin my weekends too. “I was there on Saturday but didn’t see you.”
“I have some work to get done before the execs come,” I hint, ignoring his comment, but there’s enough of an edge in my voice that he looks over at me and his face drops.
“Right, I guess that’s my cue.” He grabs another blondie, and I don’t say anything because it might stop him from leaving. “See you later.”
I let out a sigh of relief when he’s gone and get to work. The Vitality execs sent over a strategic plan for our business post-acquisition, and a few points stuck out to me that I want to look into before they get here, particularly their salary projections—it’s much too low for the amount of people we have now. And they’re not showing any consulting fee projections in revenue, which is the core of what we do here.
Are they planning on absorbing us into their business and getting rid of the foundation of our company?
“Analise.”
I look up to see Clara at the door, looking expectantly at me.
“Come on. They’ll be here any minute.”
My eyes widen when I check the clock in the bottom right corner of the computer screen. How has that much time passed? I save the files I was working on, close my computer, and lock my office again as I leave.
On the walk to the main conference room I ask, “Did you take a look at the financial projections they sent over? It looks off to me.”
“I can’t stress about anything else right now,” she says under her breath, walking so fast I have to speed walk to keep up. “If you find something substantial that needs to be addressed, please let me know, but otherwise, can you handle this?”
“Yes, of course.” That was the plan anyways. “I just wanted to let you know. We should be paying close attention to anything they say regarding strategy.”
She opens the glass door for us, and we take our seats on one side of the table. Jason and Serge take the seats around us—Jason chooses my side and scoots his chair closer to mine. I fight an eye-roll and shift closer to Clara. I’m not sure what it is—just general worry, the concerns about the financial documents, or something else entirely—but there’s a seed of dread that has taken root in my stomach and is beginning to flourish. By the time Stacy, our administrative assistant, rounds the corner with the group in tow, I’m convinced that something is seriously wrong with me. I’ve never felt this way before.
Clara stands to greet them, and the rest of us follow her lead.
As the group gets closer to the conference room, I catch a glimpse of familiar, honey-colored hair and I don’t have to see his face to know.
The source of my dread isn’t something, it’s someone. It’s him .
He radiates light—his sunny disposition appears to glow. When he looks up and our eyes lock through the glass door, my legs stop working. I drop back into my seat, and I can’t move. My arms are frozen, white knuckles gripping the edge of the table. I’m struggling to catch a breath through the onslaught of emotions and memories that feel like a thousand punches to my gut. And when his eyes skim past me as if he doesn’t recognize me, my stomach twists. I think I’m going to be sick.
Clara gives me a strange look and whispers, “You okay?”
“Yeah, all good.” I force deep breaths into my lungs and slowly rise back up, keeping my hands on the table to steady me. Jason puts his hand on my arm and I pull away. My mind is pure chaos, and I’m not sure I keep it from my eyes, but I force my rose-colored lips into a smile to greet our guests.
His eyes run across everyone as he enters the room, and when they get to me they freeze for an extra second before looking away. No emotions play across his face. The corners of my mouth drop into something that can only barely pass as a smile.
What is he doing here? And does he really not recognize me?
We go through the introductions by pairing. First is Clara and Peter, their CEO. Jason and Serge are paired with Mackenzie, the CMO, who goes by “Mac,” and Ben, their COO. When there’s only me and him left, I realize what happened.
Clara was wrong.
The CFO’s name isn’t Mitch, it’s Warren Mitchell.
And as he shakes my hand with no flicker of recognition running across his face, I think these next two weeks might just kill me.