Page 9 of Book Club Confidential

She was right.

Tessa’s thoughts erupted like popcorn kernels, some faster than she could grab on to. She pulled her laptop closer and began typing everything she could capture before it disappeared.

“You’re typing,” Nina sang. “This means you like it.”

“I love it.” When the mental rush finally slowed, Tessa came back to herself, and the world returned to focus.

She found a teal sticky note stuck to the desk where Nina had sat before Tessa lost herself in her creative reverie.

See you at 9

Tessa blinked, looking around to reorient herself. She’d typed for twenty minutes. The ice in her coffee had melted. The office outside her little room bustled. The time was eight thirty.

Her phone buzzed and vibrated on the table near her laptop. Her dad’s number appeared on-screen, and she smiled, but a knock on the opening glass door stopped her from answering.

Peyton Barnes smirked from the doorway. His dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, no tie. Gray dress pants. Black shoes and belt. Full ego. Empty head. “Hey.”

Tessa stared.

“You busy?” he asked. “Are those rolls?”

She looked pointedly around the space. Open laptop. Phone. Notebook. Coffee. Surely there were signs. “Yes,” she answered. “And also yes.” She made no offer, and he rocked his head side to side.

“All right.” He laughed softly, puffing air through his nose. “Well, there’s a guy asking for you in the big conference room. I tried talking to him, but he wants you. Fine by me,” he said. “I’ve got to prep for the big night tonight, you know? Gotta bring the heat.”

Tessa rose and collected her things. “Good luck,” she said.

“Have fun with another one of those micro accounts you collect,” he muttered, clearly a case of sour grapes at the mystery man’s rejection. “His budget’s probably the size of a kiddie meal prize.”

“You would know more about kiddie meals than I do,” Tessa said, passing him. “Only one of us can still eat off the twelve-and-under menu.”

“Yet you’re the one collecting all the tiny toys.”

Tessa imagined giving him a wedgie, then made her way to the conference room reserved for client meetings.

A tall dark-haired man examined the wall of pop art dedicated to the most powerful and innovative ad campaigns of the 1980s. Atari. Pepsi. Levi’s 501 Button Fly Jeans.

“Good morning. I’m Tessa Michels,” she said, refusing to let Peyton get to her. “You asked to see—” Her thoughts collapsed as the man turned to greet her.

He wore a simple black polo shirt and jeans. His soulful blue eyes stole her breath. “Hey, there,” he said brightly, already moving in her direction. He stretched out one long arm in greeting. A small genuine smile graced his lips. “Nice to see you again.”

Tessa’s mouth opened, then closed. She scraped her mind for evidence they’d met before. Surely she’d remember this man. She shook his hand, still baffled by his memory of her.

He chuckled. “So the impression was as one-sided as I feared. That’s fair,” he said, motioning to the table. “Can we sit? I’ll catch you up.”

Tessa’s cheeks flamed hot as she accepted his offer. She was supposed to suggest they sit and lead the small talk. Be a professional. Close a deal.

But the only thing she could do was wonder why her toes wanted to curl inside her high heels, and why her heartbeat had gone erratically haywire.

“I’m Grant Gaines. We met here several years ago. This place was a lot smaller then. You’ve expanded. Nice.”

Tessa nodded. “We were able to purchase other units on the floor as they came available.”

He smiled. “Good business.”

“We’ve been really lucky.” The words hit wrong, and she backtracked. She should’ve agreed with him. Hello, Marketing was a great business.

“I’m a firm believer in luck,” he said, nodding. “And I find the harder I work, the more luck I have.”