Page 10 of Cross Check Daddies
He steps forward. “Brooke.”
I wave him off, anger and panic colliding in my chest. “It’s fine. It’s clearly not a good idea.”
He exhales hard, then takes another step, voice firm now. “This is a huge opportunity for your company. It pays well. It gets you in front of a national audience. Don’t throw that away because of me.”
I look up, eyes locking with his. “You think we can keep those two things separate?”
His throat works. “I have to.”
I watch as he moves closer, then stops just in front of my desk. He holds out his hand. “Welcome to the team. Congratulations, Ms. Taylor.”
I don’t take his hand.
He waits a beat, then lets it drop and walks out without another word, the door clicking shut behind him like a punctuation mark I didn’t want.
Silence wraps around me, loud and aching. My fingers dig into the edge of my desk. I stare at the door as if it’ll open again.
It doesn’t.
The room suddenly feels too bright, too clean, too put-together. My company—the one I fought tooth and nail to build—is about to land a dream collaboration, and all I can think about is the expression on his face when he saw that photo. The way he looked at me like I’d punched him.
I sink into my chair, elbows on the armrests, palms pressed together near my mouth.
When the call came in last week, I’d been thrilled. A project with the Miami Icemen? Are you kidding? It's a massive reach, with a fanbase as loyal as they are unhinged. The marketing potential was practically built in. I’d been sketching concepts before the ink dried on the NDA.
And now? Now I’m wondering if saying yes is a mistake. If working with them—with the man who once left my bed and never came back—is a professional death trap.
Except that’s not the whole story, is it?
He didn’t really ghost me.
I left. We were young and stupid and hurt in different ways. I never reached out. I closed that door and bricked it over.
And then last night happened.
A drink. A second drink. A memory that pulled too tight. My back against a bathroom wall, his mouth on mine, the kind of heat that doesn’t fade with time. It unraveled me. Made me forget the life I built.
Now I have to walk into a launch meeting next week and pretend I don’t remember the taste of his skin or the way his voice broke when he said he didn’t know anything about me.
I close my eyes and lean back, mind racing.
I’m not scared of hard work. Not afraid of public speaking, media circuits, press junkets, or app launches.
But this? This is the one thing I never thought I’d have to face again. And now I have to work with him, for the next six months at least.
My stomach knots again.
Congratulations, Cam had said. Like this was a celebration. All I can think is that this might be the beginning of something that undoes me all over again.
I grab my phone and call Ivy again. It rings twice before going to voicemail, which is no surprise. She’s probably swamped with the massive wrongful termination case she’s working on.
It’s been the only thing she’s focused on for the past few weeks. The clock’s ticking for her to secure a partnership with a big firm, and she’s pulling all-nighters to make sure everything is airtight.
Sighing, I end the call and quickly dial my assistant instead.
“Cancel the rest of my meetings today,” I order.
She doesn’t hesitate. “Got it, Brooke. Everything okay?”
