Page 35 of Tough Luck

We hit a quiet, sun-drenched bistro just off the main avenue in Golden. The place sat right on the river, which was already full of kayakers and paddle board enthusiasts, no doubt all trying to beat the heat that was supposed to hit later that day. We sat in a corner booth far away from anyone who might recognize us from work.

For the hour, the looming shadow of the office didn’t exist. We celebrated over gourmet paninis, laughing about how Leonard was going to handle it when Marcus informed him that he’d lost the account. And we let the remaining energy from the cabin hum quietly between us.

But reality always demands its due. The moment we walked through the glass doors of Gold Standard an hour later, the peaceful bubble of the time spent in the mountains popped completely. The bullpen was a hornets’ nest of ringing phones and clicking keyboards. As usual.

“Rick! Thank god,” a booming voice called out.

My brother Jax intercepted me before I could even get through the elevator doors. He looked like he’d been pulled through a hedge backwards. His tie was loosened, his sleeves were rolled up haphazardly, and he was clutching a stack of manila folders like a shield. God, is that how I’d looked last week?

“Tell me you got the account,” Jax demanded, looking between Sofia and myself.

Chapter 14

Sofia

“I think we got it. Marcus will be calling us soon with the final vote,” Rick confirmed hopefully as we stepped into the chaos of the bullpen.

The moment the words left his mouth, Jax let out a dramatic, guttural sigh of relief. Without warning, he dumped a massive stack of folders directly into Rick’s arms, nearly knocking the breath out of him.

“Great. Fantastic. You’re a genius,” Jax muttered toward me, offering a quick, exhausted nod of appreciation. Then he turned back to his brother. He grabbed Rick by the shoulders, steering him ruthlessly toward his corner office. “Now take your reins back. I have been playing fire warden for days, and if I have to look at another quarterly media-buy spreadsheet, I am going to set my desk on fire. You have twenty-seven urgent emails from your San Diego office, by the way. Legal needs a signature on the Tot-a-Toys contract, and someone in creative accidentally deleted the master server drive files for the new shoe campaign for Betty’s Boots.”

As Rick was being pulled toward his office, he caught my eye from across the space. A beautiful, muffled laugh escaped my lips as I watched his brother drag him toward his doom.

“Welcome back to the real world, boss,” I called out playfully, giving him a little wave before heading toward my own office.

Through the glass, I could see him groan, sinking into his executive chair as Jax continued to assault him with demands.

An hour later, as I sat in my own office trying to make a dent in my inbox, my gaze kept drifting to the hallway. The mountain retreat was officially over, but my mind refused to cooperate. Every spare moment I had to think was filled with memories of Rick. How he’d felt. How he’d tasted. The way his laugh instantly invoked a smile of my own. No one else had ever done that to me.

When I fell into bed that night, my tiny apartment felt entirely too loud and way too small. There was no quiet of the mountains, no soft crackling fireplaces or amazing mountain views. It was weird. Unable to drift off, I decided to check in on him. Pulling up my phone, I typed out a quick text.

“Tell me you’re not still at work trying to recover the server files.”

A moment later, the three dots appeared before the message came in. “Nope, I’m at home. IT is working on it. My brain is officially fried. How are you holding up?”

“Surviving. But my apartment feels entirely too loud and way too small. I miss the crackling fireplaces and amazing mountain views. It’s weird. I guess this is how being spoiled feels.”

“I know the feeling. Everything here is too loud.”

I stared at his reply, my heart doing a soft thrum against my ribs. I hesitated, typing and retyping before finally sending what I really wanted to say.

“It was a really good idea to take us there. Thanks for not letting me back down from Whistler,” I responded.

“You didn’t need much pushing. You’re a force of nature. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight.”

I locked my phone and held it against my chest, a smile lingering in the dark room.

The next morning, however, was a relentless gauntlet for both of us. From my desk, I could see that Rick’s office door remained firmly shut. I was pretty sure that he was buried alive under email backlog, contractual red tape, and a steady stream of incoming fire. Much like I was.

I barely had time to breathe myself, but around noon I saw Elizabeth walk into his office carrying a heavy brown paper bag from the deli down the street and a large iced coffee. Later, she stopped by my desk with a smirk, mentioning she’d practically forced him to eat a pastrami sandwich. She also dropped the piece of news that was keeping us both on edge: Marcus’s assistant had called. He had a board meeting scheduled for around three and would call Rick’s cell directly before the end of the day with their decision.

By the time the office began to quiet down and the clock had crawled past five, the anticipation was thick enough to choke on. My neck was stiff from staring at spreadsheets, and my eyes were burning.

Needing to leave before I lost my mind, I finally packed up my bag, grabbed my coat, and walked out into the hallway. The creative teams had cleared out already for the evening. I made my way to the elevator bay and pressed the down button.

My mind was on what I was going to eat for dinner. I doubted what little I had in the fridge had survived the week.