Page 24 of Landing Liam

While I wait, I pull my phone back out and check my messages. One from Odie catches my eye, and I groan the moment I open it. Don’t fall in love with the subject of your news story, followed by at least a dozen laughing emojis.

I roll my eyes, typing a quick, You’re ridiculous in reply. Falling in love is the last thing on my mind. I haven’t even sorted through the emotional mess my ex left me in, and honestly? I’m not sure I ever want to. The thought of unpacking all that hurt, all those unanswered questions—it’s just too much.

Ryan cheated. He got someone else pregnant. But the truth? Maybe I knew deep down he wasn’t the right person for me. Maybe I just didn’t want to admit it.

I’m lost in my thoughts when a voice cuts through the morning chatter. “A skinny vanilla latte with almond milk.”

My eyes lift automatically, and I freeze. Lyla Goldberg. Liam’s ex. She’s standing at the counter, paying for her skinny latte.

I watch her, the reporter in me kicking into high gear. She’s undeniably gorgeous—long black hair cascading in perfect waves down her back, a petite button nose, sharp cheekbones that could cut glass. Her eyes sparkle under the café’s warm, golden lights, but there’s an unmistakable air of smugness about her. It practically radiates off her.

Before I can second-guess myself, the words tumble out of my mouth. “I love your boots.”

Lyla turns, flashing a smile that could win awards, and lifts one foot slightly, showing off the sleek, designer leather. “Aren’t they fabulous?” she says, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

I smile back, every part of me hyper-aware that this is a moment I need to capitalize on. If Lyla’s the key to uncovering more about Liam, I have to keep her talking.

“They really are,” I say, warm and genuine. “You have excellent taste.”

Lyla flips her glossy black hair over one shoulder as she saunters closer, her heels clicking softly on the tiled floor. “I’d like to think so.”

“I’m Maggie,” I introduce myself, holding out a hand.

Lyla’s long, manicured nails glide through my grasp like a warning—sharp, deliberate. “Lyla.” Her lips curve into a polite smile before she cocks her head. “So, are you new to the mountain, or just passing through?”

Her question hangs in the air, giving me two clear choices. I can lie, or I can give her a version of the truth, one designed to get her talking. If she’s the person who’s been leaking stories about Liam to the press, the latter might work to my advantage.

“Just passing through,” I say casually. “I’m a reporter for a newspaper. My boss is on family leave, so I’m covering sports for him. Snowboarding’s not really my thing, but I love my job. I don’t want to lose it.”

“You’re covering the competition?” she asks, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if weighing her next words.

“I am,” I chuckle softly, feigning a bit of self-deprecation. “But honestly? I don’t know the first thing about snowboarding. Do you?”

Lyla’s red lips curl into a grin, and she tilts her head just enough to radiate confidence. “Well, I dated Liam Thompson for a while, so let’s just say I know a thing or two.”

“Oh my gosh,” I say, my voice bubbling with fake enthusiasm. “I’ve heard he’s an incredible snowboarder.”

She lets out a dramatic sigh, her grin widening. “Girl, he’s incredible in other ways, too. If you know what I mean.”

Jealousy flashes through me unexpectedly, but I push it aside, keeping my expression neutral as I pretend to lean in, intrigued. “Really?”

“Oh, the stories I could tell you,” she says with a wink. “You’d lose your mind.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and instead muster my most earnest smile. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?” I ask, motioning to a table near the window. “I’d love to pick your brain about what it’s really like dating a professional snowboarder.”

Lyla’s dark eyes widen slightly, and she checks the glittering, very expensive watch on her wrist. “I have five minutes,” she says, already moving toward the table like she’s doing me a favor.

Perfect. Five minutes is all I need.

“Where should we start?” Lyla asks, taking charge of the conversation as if this were her interview to lead. She crosses her legs elegantly, leaning forward with an air of practiced confidence.

“Well,” I clear my throat, feigning cluelessness. “Why don’t you tell me a little about how you and Liam met?”

Her lips curve into a knowing smile, and she tilts her head slightly. “My job brought me up to the mountain. We just kept bumping into each other, you know? Eventually, he asked me out for drinks, and we really hit it off.”

“Drinks?” I squeak, trying to keep my composure. My mind immediately jumps to the drink Liam coerced me into.

“Well,” she bites her lip and shrugs, “it was more like we were at this little rundown bar—The Glorious Pig, I think?—and I sat down next to him. He ordered me a drink. But same difference, right?”