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“I’d like to buy her coffee as well,” I said quietly, tilting my head towards the woman behind me.
The worker smiled and swiped my card with a flick of her fingers.
I moved to pick up my coffees and then slipped out of the shop. Belting out some Celine Dion, I prepared myself mentally for this day.
“I am woman. I am fierce. I am capable. I am ki–—” I slammed on my horn. “Pick a lane, asshole!” Grumbling at the state of California, the city, the department of transportation, and everything in between, I made my way across town to Grove Communication’s brick and mortar location. I needed to start there, kicking off the week with my small but mighty group of employees.
It had been a wild few years for Grove Communications, but every day that I drove up, parking in my favorite spot in the back lot, I felt grateful that life had taken me this way. A job I loved. People who were happy at work. Even clients who knew they could count on us.
Most of the time, it was blissful. When I wasn’t pacing the carpet threads bare in my apartment or chewing my nails to the stubs. Those were the less fun days.
Clients like Leden gave me hope that someday I wouldn’t have to act like that. Brady and Liam were invaluable connections for us, a bridge to limitless potential in the city.
Brady Martinez. Later today would be the first time I’d seen Brady since he’d walked me to my car the morning after my night at his place. I glanced at my phone. I felt like that was days ago, but I was wrong. It had only been a measly twenty-four hours.
And yet, my skin still tingled, and a low buzzing ache between my legs reminded me of our activities the night after Liam and Ashlyn’s engagement party. With a pang, I realized just how far I’d flown past professional into personal realms. I barely resisted the urge to flip the A/C on high before I got out of the car.
While it was exactly what I’d been craving, I was now facing down the very real possibility that Brady Martinez would be expecting something else entirely at our meeting later this morning. I took a long swallow of coffee.
I couldn’t let this go any further. No matter how fun it’d been. No matter how amazing we’d been together. Brady Martinez was practically a client. And the only relationship I needed to focus on was the business my father had entrusted Ashlyn and me with.
I’d tried to do both before, and it had blown up in my face in the worst way. Burned bridges, debt, and an ex-boyfriend who still called every weekend asking where we had gone so wrong.
I had treated poor Kevin like just another project. Even the breakup had been scheduled, orchestrated, and impersonal. Hell, I hadn’t even cried until the night he came by to pick up some of his things.
“Focus, Cici,” I said into the car, my words drowned out by the beat of the radio as another crooning country song began to play. “Brady Martinez is not endgame.”
***
Chapter 5
Cici
Soon I was waltzing past the empty reception desk of our neat little lobby and bustling down the hallway looking for my team. We were a small setup, just a couple of offices, one shared conference room, the kitchenette and, of course, Luna’s reception area that she ruled with an iron grip. It was close quarters some days, but Grove Communications had been here since I was a first-grader.
Looking every inch the hometown hero, with his d1`Rqxwswetq5 hair and warm brown gaze, I found my graphic designer and project manager Peter Thatcher first. He was still perched at the spare desk, settled in a nook in the wall alongside our office kitchenette. After Ashlyn moved back, Peter had given her his office, saying that he would rather be here anyway.
I wanted to call bullshit, but the man was never as adamant about anything else in his entire career as he was about this. Why? I still had no idea.
But it did make it easy to deliver his coffee. “For you,” I said, dropping the container on the edge of his desk. Flicking my eyes over his screens, I note that he’d already begun working on the Leden campaign, the navy and gold logos easily visible.
“Thanks, boss.” Peter held the cup under his nose, testing the coffee before lifting it to his lips.
I grinned. “Did I get it right?” Not that he would ever tell me if I was wrong. But I knew him well enough to note when I had chosen better or worse.
“Always,” Peter said, fixing me with his unwavering stare.
“Great,” I said. “Are you planning on coming to Leden this morning?”
Peter’s dark brows dropped. “I wasn’t. Is there something graphics-based for this next deliverable?”
No. But come be a buffer please.I bit my tongue before the words slipped out. Shaking my head, I said, “No, just curious if you had any questions.”
Another look from Peter. “No, not yet.” This guy was on to me for sure.
“Perfect.” I swayed in place, feeling awkward. “I’ll see you later, then.” Seeing the door to my office, I strode through it. The instant warmth that encompassed me wasn’t just because this room had the only window in the office. It was from the homemade quilts piled in one corner. Or the way that if I pressed my face against the sofa in the corner, I could still smell a bit of my father’s cologne.
This office had been his command post. His second home. And therefore, now it was mine. I set the remaining coffee down on the edge of my inherited desk and begin to unpack my work bag. Laptop, a handful of notes, and my enormous planner all came tumbling out as I stepped out of my heels with a deep sigh.
