As if on cue, Harriet emerged from TrainTech, her bubblegum-pink umbrella a bright spot in the dreary gray day, and Gale’s stomach flip-flopped. She was in a sweater and a skirt that highlighted the curves of her petite legs. He took a deep breath and exited the truck. Rain soaked his windbreaker as he jogged toward her, slides splashing through puddles.
“Hold up! Harriet!” he called out, conjuring his most charming smile. The one that showed off the gap between his teeth and was his go-to get-out-of-jail-free card with women.
She spun to face him, and damn—those hazel eyes hit hard, even from behind her glasses. But he couldn’t miss the dark circles under them, standing out like fresh bruises. Was she pulling all-nighters or just running on fumes? He knew that look—the same one he and his teammates would get after a brutal stretch of away games.
“Hi.” His heart kicked into fifth gear as he tried desperately to sound nonchalant.
“What are you doing?” Her tone was neutral. Unreadable. Cool.
“I’ve got some good news,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh, I’ve been thinking about the E.M.M.A. thing. And I guess I’ve changed my mind. I want back in on the beta testing.”
He waited, his weight shifting slightly, expecting her face to soften or maybe her eyes to light up. Anything except this detached, unreadable expression, her gaze steady and evaluating. The rhythm of rainfall filled the charged silence between them.
When she finally spoke, her voice was crisp and decisive. “No.”
Chapter Five
Valentine’s Day has never been my holiday, but this year it’s hitting new lows at TrainTech. Tony’s disappointment over losing Gale as our beta tester is so massive it could probably be spotted from the International Space Station. The accusing glares he kept shooting my way made it clear who he blames for this disaster, as if I somehow masterminded the debacle.
It’s driving me crazy—I never asked for my personal life to crash headfirst into my professional one. The last thing I needed was Gale Knight becoming our make-or-break pro athlete beta tester. Now my whole day has felt like walking through a minefield. And all because I lusted over him holding his nephew in gray sweatpants.
At this point, my love life has all the spark of a wet match in a dark cave. I’m running on break room coffee and protein bars, while my to-do list grows like a beanstalk on steroids. Last night’s emergency damage control meeting meant no groceries and no laundry—so now my fridge is as empty as my dating prospects, and somewhere in my apartment, yesterday’s wash is developing its own ecosystem. At least my mildewing laundry is getting some action.
Which is more than I can say for myself.
On my way out for the night, I’d passed Susan’s reception desk, where a chorus line of plush teddy bears clutching heart-shapedchocolates performed a silent vigil. I’d snagged one of the foil-wrapped candies from the red bowl—hey, she put them out for a reason—and popped it in my mouth. Gross. White chocolate. My luck kept getting worse.
And now here’s Gale Knight, with his two dimples, blocking my escape, and blissfully unaware of the chaos he’s created.
“No?” he echoes, eyes widening as if the word wasn’t in his vocabulary. “Why not?”
I could say: Because when you’re a woman in tech trying to build something from scratch—whether it’s groundbreaking software or just your career—you don’t get the luxury of second chances. One misstep, one moment of weakness, and the sharks start circling. They’re always there, waiting, watching for any hint that you can’t handle it, ready to tear away everything you’ve built. And it’s not just about being careful anymore. It’s about survival. So sometimes I have to say no to things that look perfect on paper but set off all my alarms. And you, Gale Knight? You’re like a lit match in a fireworks factory.
Instead I say, “Stop.” I smooth a hand down my frazzled ponytail, startled by the bite in my own voice but too wound up to soften it. It’s either that or pop him right in his surprised Pikachu face. “I—you—I mean, come on...”
“I don’t want to upset you,” he says softly. “I just want to know how come.”
“Why do I owe you an explanation?” The words burst out before I can stop them, my finger jabbing toward his chest without quite touching him. Maybe it’s because I’ve known him so long that I don’t bother sugarcoating it, unleash the truth come hot and fast, fueled by bruised pride and that deep-down need to protect myself. “When I say no, that’s it. No. It’s not some Oracle of Delphi puzzle for you to solve. It’s not up for debate, and it’s definitely not an invitation for you to sweet-talk your way to a yes.”
His smile doesn’t budge, but something in his eyes shift. A flicker of... what? Guilt? Or is that just my imagination playing tricks? Either way, it’s too little, too late. I’ve got enough variables in this project without adding in one that’s already proved unstable.
“I’m serious.” I breathe for calm, trying to ignore that familiar pang of sympathy. He’s always bailed the moment anyone gets close to the topic of his father, and yesterday was no different. “Unless you’ve got a time machine to undo your disappearing act from yesterday, we’re done here. I know we go way back, but I’ve got work to do and I’m still doing damage control with my team.”
What I don’t say is that I’m done with all of it—from my know-it-all boss whose interest in my opinions could fit into a thimble to the office bros gunning for my job who think weekend mudding in oversized trucks makes them badass (newsflash: it doesn’t). As for my ex? He just makes me feel stupid for wasting so much time on him.
But then here’s Gale, with his whole earnest puppy-dog face and even worse, this “I’m here for you” vibe. It’s disarming, and I hate how it makes me wobble between wanting to tell him to go to hell and wanting something horrifyingly vulnerable, like a hug.
“Hey.” His voice drops softer now, and something inside me melts a little. “At least let me take you to dinner. We can talk about E.M.M.A., or not talk about it at all. Your choice.”
“Look...” I exhale, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I appreciate the offer, but—”
“But nothing,” he interrupts. “When’s the last time you had a decent meal that wasn’t microwaved? And tell the truth.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it again. He’s got me there—my culinary highlights come straight from the Trader Joe’s frozen aisle.
“Don’t forget, I know you.”
I scoff and cross my arms, grateful for the distraction from how my body’s humming like a live wire at his proximity.
