Chapter 2 2

Leighton stood in the lobby of Harrington Tower, thirty-one floors of glass, steel, and legacy. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she glanced at the time on her phone. Twenty minutes early. As usual.

The elevator dinged, its mirrored doors opening with a polished hush. She stepped inside, rode to the twenty-sixth floor, and straightened the cuffs of her blazer in the reflection. This was it- the pitch that could redefine her entire career.

The design concept she'd crafted over the last eight months was bold: a community-first revitalization project in the heart of Seattle's neglected waterfront. It was sustainable, inclusive, and innovative. Her ideas were solid. Her numbers sharper. She knew the plan better than she knew herself.

Still, as she stepped into the sleek, open-concept meeting room, the nerves whispered across her skin.

A long mahogany table stretched beneath a row of hanging lights. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city's mist-veiled skyline. Around the table sat key members of Harrington & Cross Development-the people with the power to greenlight the entire proposal.

Leighton's boss, Meredith Caine, was already seated, her expression unreadable.

"We're just waiting on one more party before we begin," Meredith said, barely glancing up from her tablet.

Leighton nodded and opened her laptop, breathing slowly, methodically. She mentally rehearsed the opening slide, the city impact statistics, the demographic outreach points. She was ready.

Then the door opened.

And the air shifted.

Leighton's head snapped up.

Ezra.

He walked in like he belonged there, all dark confidence and easy charisma. His navy button-down sleeves were rolled to his elbows, exposing the same forearm tattoo she'd memorized somewhere over Nebraska. He was holding a leather portfolio, a pen tucked behind his ear.

He froze the moment he saw her.

There was a beat-a pause in the rhythm of the room-as recognition flashed in both their eyes.

No. No, no, no.

"This," Meredith said, standing with a smile, "is Ezra Carter. He'll be representing Cross Development on the community engagement side of the project. He recently came back from an extended sabbatical. Leighton, you'll be working with him closely over the next three months."

Three. Months.

Leighton's mind short-circuited.

Ezra recovered first. He nodded politely toward the room, then to her. "Ms. Moore," he said, as if her name were just a name and not something he had whispered across a midnight diner booth.

Leighton stood slowly. "Mr. Carter," she replied, matching his tone.

Meredith's eyes flicked between them, sensing... something. But she said nothing and gestured for everyone to take their seats.

The meeting began. Leighton launched into her presentation with practiced calm, even as her pulse jackhammered in her neck. She spoke of gentrification and the need for local integrity. She outlined her plan for housing units, art spaces, green areas. Ezra listened without interrupting, but she could feel his energy-sharp, curious, and entirely too familiar.

When she finished, Ezra leaned forward, folding his hands.

"It's an impressive pitch," he said. "But I'd like to know-how do you plan to avoid the pitfall of designing for the community instead of with them? You mentioned outreach, but where's the accountability?"

Leighton blinked, stunned.

It wasn't an attack. It was a fair question. A smart one. But coming from him, it felt like betrayal.

She steadied herself. "We've identified key stakeholders in the neighborhood and plan to establish an advisory board. My team will be holding listening sessions every two weeks, ensuring transparency and adaptability throughout the design phase."

Ezra nodded, his gaze unreadable. "Then we'll need to collaborate on that process. If I'm being brought in to handle community engagement, it has to be authentic. No performative panels."

"Agreed," Leighton said tightly.

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur of logistics and financial projections. When it ended, people filed out, chatting casually. Meredith gave Leighton a nod of approval before disappearing down the corridor.

Leighton packed her laptop slowly, half hoping Ezra would leave. Half hoping he wouldn't.

He didn't.

"So," he said finally, once the room had emptied, "you're the woman I'm working with for the next three months."

She looked at him, her voice low. "You knew who I was the second you walked in. Didn't you?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "But I wasn't expecting this."

Leighton crossed her arms. "You could've said something."

"What, in front of everyone? And say what exactly? 'Oh, by the way, I spent the night talking to your lead designer about heartbreak and existential dread in an airport diner'?"

She gave him a look. "You could've at least prepared me."

Ezra leaned back against the edge of the table, watching her. "I didn't even know I was assigned to this team until yesterday. I almost backed out."

She tilted her head. "Why didn't you?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then: "Because part of me wanted to see you again."

The honesty landed with a thud in her chest.

Leighton looked away. "We had a moment. That's all it was."

"Maybe," Ezra said. "Or maybe it was the start of something inconvenient."

"Inconvenient is right," she muttered.

They stood there in silence, the tension between them thick and complicated.

Finally, Ezra pushed off the table. "We can keep it professional. If that's what you want."

She hesitated.

Her voice was softer when she said, "It has to be. This project... it means everything to me."

He nodded. "Then professional it is."

He started to walk away, then paused.

"But for what it's worth..." He looked back at her, eyes lingering. "I'm glad the universe gave us a second meeting."

Then he left.

Leighton stood alone in the echo of his absence, heart pounding with a truth she wasn't ready to name. This wasn't over. Not even close.

Leighton didn't move for a full minute. Her hands gripped the back of the leather chair, knuckles pale, heart still thumping with the stubborn beat of disbelief.

Ezra Carter. Of all the people in the world- of all the cities, of all the projects- he was the one sitting across from her in a meeting that could determine the trajectory of her career. And now, she'd have to work with him. Closely. Every week. Probably every day.

She ran a hand through her hair, trying to steady her breathing. Emotions- confusion, frustration, something dangerously close to curiosity- churned beneath the surface.

No distractions, she reminded herself. This project was everything she had been building toward. The sleepless nights, the sacrifices, the missed birthdays and holidays- it was all for this.

She could not afford to let one charming stranger- no matter how he made her feel- jeopardize that.

Still, her thoughts strayed to the way he'd looked at her. Not like a stranger. Like someone who remembered her. Like someone who saw her.

That made it harder.

Leighton was still trying to gather her thoughts when her phone buzzed. A message from Meredith.

Meredith Caine: Great start today. Ezra's a strong asset. Meet with him before Friday to align engagement strategies. Calendar it. And remember- eyes on the goal.

Leighton resisted the urge to groan.

Another message arrived seconds later. This time, from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey. It's Ezra. Meredith passed your info to me for scheduling purposes. But I'll pretend I didn't already have your name saved in my head.

Want to meet tomorrow to go over plans? I know a spot. Neutral territory. I'll behave.

Leighton stared at the message.

Neutral territory. Right.

She sighed, then typed back.

Leighton: Tomorrow, 11AM. Send the address. We'll keep it focused.

A second later:

Ezra: Wouldn't expect anything less from you, Leighton Moore.

She turned off the screen and exhaled slowly. This was fine. She could handle this.

Professional. Grounded. Detached.

Definitely not interested.

The next morning, Leighton stepped into a coffeehouse in Capitol Hill called The Library, aptly named for its towering shelves of old novels and exposed brick. It smelled like espresso and wood polish and nostalgia.

She spotted Ezra in a booth near the back, a tablet in front of him and two steaming mugs on the table.

He looked up and smiled. "Hope you're still a latte person."

Leighton hesitated, then slid into the seat opposite him. "You remembered."

"I remember a lot about that night," he said simply.

She ignored the heat crawling up her neck and pulled out her tablet. "Let's get started."

Ezra leaned back, sipping his coffee. "You always this good at pretending things don't bother you?"

She didn't answer that. "Here's the preliminary engagement timeline. I've already contacted three neighborhood boards and two city liaisons. I want to hold listening sessions biweekly and follow-up feedback panels every six weeks."

Ezra took the tablet, brows furrowing as he scanned. "You did all this already?"

"Efficiency is part of my job."

He nodded slowly, then smiled. "You're impressive."

Leighton glanced up, unsure if the compliment was loaded. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all. Just means I'll have to keep up."

For the next hour, they worked side by side, mapping out outreach events, drafting preliminary communication strategies, and reviewing the language in the initial proposals. To her surprise, Ezra was thoughtful, insightful, and meticulous. He challenged some of her assumptions, yes-but with logic and respect. It didn't feel like conflict. It felt like... chemistry. The kind that sparked between two people building something together.

By the time they reached the bottom of their mugs, Leighton almost forgot why she was supposed to be annoyed with him.

Until he said, "You ever think about that night?"

She paused. "Why are you asking?"

"Because I do. More than I thought I would."

Her breath caught. "Ezra-"

"I'm not trying to complicate anything," he said quickly. "I just... I think the universe is messy. Maybe it's trying to tell us something."

Leighton looked down at her tablet. "Or maybe it's just cruel irony."

Ezra laughed under his breath. "You always this cynical?"

"Only when I can't afford to be anything else."

He watched her for a long moment. "Okay. Then let's keep it simple. No pressure. No expectations."

She looked up. "Just work?"

"Just work," he echoed. "But if the universe throws us another sign, I reserve the right to notice."

Leighton gave him a look, but couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips.

"Fine," she said. "But no flirting in front of Meredith. She'll smell it like blood in the water."

Ezra grinned. "Noted."

They gathered their things, the morning sun stretching long beams of gold across the floor between them. And as they stepped back into the city's buzz, side by side, Leighton couldn't shake the feeling that maybe- just maybe- this collision wasn't the end of her plans. Maybe it was the beginning of something entirely unexpected.