Unbreakable: A Salvation Society Novel

by Georgia Coffman

  The sun is high, reflecting off the windows of the buildings surrounding me. I maneuver around a few businessmen with briefcases like I’m switching lanes. When I find an opening, I race across to the sidewalk and stand in line for coffee from a small truck.

  I take a deep breath, leaning my head back.

  Back home in Virginia, I didn’t have this bustle. I never walked to work, the grocery store, or the local coffee shop. Besides, the only coffee option was Randy’s old café across town, which was mainly a donut shop with three coffee choices. He had three creamers in stock from the local Wal-Mart, and his version of a vanilla latte was stirring Coffee-Mate French Vanilla creamer in a warm cup of medium roast.

  I smile at the thought as I grab my coffee, welcoming the warmth of it in my hand. Randy’s the reason I began drinking it black at such a young age. As he got older, he tended to forget the creamer altogether, and no one’s had the heart to tell him—small-town family and all. Thankfully, from what Mia’s told me, his daughter moved back to help him.

  I take the elevator to the eighth floor of our building and get out. Our offices—more like cubicles—line the walls and have sliding glass doors, giving each of us a view of the elevators but little privacy. We aren’t too concerned about it at this point, though. There are only ten total Jock Stock employees so far, and we’re spread out. As we grow, we might discuss renovating the space to include more privacy.

  A work in progress.

  The second my ass hits the seat, Jared appears next to my desk. “Has an apartment become available in your building yet?”

  “No, and before you ask, yes, Tina still lives in hers.”

  He groans. “I’m dying here. It’s like waiting for the next Star Wars movie—torture.”

  “That’s not what fans of The Mandalorian say.” I pull my laptop out of my bag and set it on my desk, then hook it up to my monitor.

  As Jared keeps on beside me, I pull up the reports from our quality assurance department. It’s not really a department yet since there’s only one person, but Westin says we should think big, so we call them all departments, no matter how few people are in each.

  “Do you know what time I get up every morning?” Jared’s eyes widen.

  “I do know, because you tell me every morning.”

  “Four.” He huffs. “Four o’clock a.m. Like I’m some kind of fitness fiend filled with self-loathing.”

  “Just think, now that you’ve created a habit of waking up early, you can start jogging in the mornings when you do find your new apartment.” I point to his legs—his scrawny frame is that of a tall high schooler. “You should probably join Westin and me at the gym for leg day, though.”

  He rolls his eyes as Westin strolls in, briefcase in hand. He nods in our direction and makes his way to his office, which is next to mine. “You ready for our meeting this morning?” he calls over to me.

  I drum my fingers on my desk. “All set.”

  He pops his head around the corner. “Jared, please tell me you’re not complaining about your commute again.”

  Jared scoffs.

  “You missed his riveting tale of how early he gets up.” I laugh, swiveling in my chair to face them.

  “It wouldn’t be so bad if we didn’t stay until ten or later, most nights. I might as well bring an air mattress and camp out in my office.”

  “There’s an idea.” Westin snaps his fingers.

  “Never.” Jared shakes his head as he turns toward his own office.

  We like to give him shit, but it’s all in good fun. At the end of the day, we always have each other’s backs. Which is why I’ve been trying so hard to keep an eye—and ear—out for any openings in my apartment building.

  Once I’m alone in my office, I leave the lights off and pull up the reports. There’s too much to squeeze into thirty minutes before our meeting, but I like to know what will be waiting for me afterward.

  Once I print off the reports and prep for our development meeting, Westin buzzes me that it’s time to meet with the PR firm.

  I stop in my tracks by my office door as a slender woman with her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail walks in, a laptop bag and small purse slung over her shoulder. I instantly recognize her as Taylor from our previous meeting with CJJ Promotions when we hired her.

  But the other woman stands directly behind Taylor, blocked from my view.

  Nikki, our office manager and receptionist, greets them and offers them a beverage. After they politely decline, Nikki holds her hand out. “Right this way.”

  The mystery woman follows closely behind them, slowly coming into view the longer she walks. Unlike Taylor’s heels, she’s in flats, a pencil skirt, and a tucked-in blouse. Her shoulder-length hair flows in soft waves around her pink cheeks.

  In a word, she looks natural, as if business attire is her second skin.

  She walks like she belongs in an office. She’s confident, but there’s a comfortable air about her too. Stunning, and… familiar.

  Those doe eyes.

  High cheekbones and warm smile.

  I stiffen, and my heart thunders in my ears like Mike Tyson’s practicing his punches against the walls of my skull.

  Her smile widens as Westin approaches them, and when her gaze drifts in my direction, her face pales.

  What the fuck…

  My heart is caught in my throat as I walk toward them.

  What is she doing here?

  Her sweet aroma consumes me, bringing back so many memories that I’ve long buried in the “Do Not Open” part of my brain.

  She tucks her hair behind both ears as I’m taken back to college nights of video games and pizza. The grease glistening on her lips and how she would slowly, innocently, lick it off.

  Afternoons in the park playing Frisbee and soccer. Sitting in her car while I introduced her to indie rock music.

  And worse—I’m taken back to our night together when everything had been nothing short of blissful, but quickly turned into a nightmare.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and run a hand over my hair, hoping she won’t be here when I open my eyes again.

  But sure enough, it’s her.

  Here.

  It’s been eight years since I last saw Sage Matthews. Since I heard her laugh. Since I admired the way her hair shined in the sun.

  Eight years since I held her in my arms, before she rushed to another man.

  She stands in front of me, looking beautiful—breathtaking.

  Instantly, I panic as my gaze jumps from Taylor to Westin and back to Sage.

  We’re obviously supposed to work together.

  For years, this company has been my whole life. How am I supposed to focus on bringing it home with Sage here?

  Fuck me.

  Chapter Two

  SAGE

  I never thought I’d see him again.

  I stare into his heated gaze now. His jaw is set. His hair is longer than it used to be. His short beard is also new.

  But it’s him.

  Aiden Baxter.

  His hazel eyes and slightly crooked tilt of his nose. He stands tall, grown up—a man.

  “This is my new assistant, Sage.” Taylor’s introduction pulls me from my stupor.

  “Hi,” I manage, my voice raspy. The rest of my words are stolen from my throat, cast aside as memories play in my head like a movie reel.

  All of Aiden.

  From the sweet and carefree to the devastating and painful.

  I blink at him, then turn to the other guy. He’s taller but similarly built, as if he and Aiden are on the same fitness regimen. I shake myself out of this torturous twist of fate and try to focus.

  This is my job.

  My new job. I can’t act ditzy on my first project.

  “I’m Westin.” The guy to our side offers his hand for me to shake. I stare at it for a beat, catching Taylor in my periphery, eyeing me curiously.

  “Hi,” I repeat and shake Westin’s hand like I’m a robot. Stiff. Up. Down.
Release.

  He smiles kindly, his demeanor poised yet friendly. “This is my partner, Aiden Baxter. We started Jock Stock together a few years ago. He’s our full-stack engineer and manages software development, while I handle more of the business and marketing side of things.”

  My eyes bulge, trying to comprehend what he’s saying. He helped build this company? The one that created an app much like the stock market, but for sports—I find it hard to believe we’re talking about the same Aiden.

  What happened to becoming a lawyer? He’s in sports now? Computer science?

  I have so many questions.

  Aiden shakes my hand in silence, seemingly as shocked to see me as I am him. Neither of us seems to have the capacity to mention that we know each other. That we have a history.

  Instead, we remain silent as Westin shows us around their suite. “It’s new, and we’re still sprucing it up, but with a view like this, do we really need much décor inside?” He chuckles, and I know what he means.

  The view of the city through the corner windows is magnificent. The river in the distance. The people milling below. It feels like we’re kings of the world up here.

  We end up in the conference room, where we take a seat at the long, wooden table. It’s rustic but sleek, professional yet inviting, and the ceramic vase in the middle, filled with red gerberas, brightens the room.

  It’s welcoming, but I’m not comfortable. Far from it.

  I feel Aiden’s eyes on me throughout the meeting as we discuss their app’s official launch. My mind races, but I try to focus instead on what Taylor needs. I watch her to learn about the firm and how she does things. What questions to ask. Her level of eye contact with clients.

  I’m not new to business etiquette and customer relations, but this is New York. I’m currently in a tall office building between Times Square and the Empire State Building. In other words, it’s all a whole new level for me, compared to my small hometown in North Carolina.

  “We’re looking at five months for the launch, so the end of July, correct?” Taylor asks. “At the start of football preseason?”

  “Correct.” Westin sits tall.

  “Perfect.” Taylor jots a few things down. “The contract we signed is for six months. We’ll work with you to promote and execute the launch, then stay on for another month afterward to ensure you guys are set up for the future.” Taylor grins at him like we’re planning world domination—and in a way, it’s accurate. After she makes another note, we move to the next item on our agenda. “In our pitch, we mentioned brand.”

  “Don’t change a thing.” Westin waves his hand. “What you said about our company being innovative, progressive, and advantageous for every sports enthusiast—it’s spot-on. You nailed all that we’re about, which is why we knew we had to hire you.”

  “Thank you.” She nods. “With that said, let’s talk social media strategies.”

  “Thus far, I’ve been handling all of our accounts,” Westin says. “But I’d like to pawn the burden off to more capable hands.”

  Taylor smiles, then points to me. “Sage has a background in content creation as well, so she and I will tag team your social media platforms to maintain a consistently branded presence on your company’s behalf.”

  “What a relief.” Westin clutches his chest in exaggeration. “Now, I can spend more time babying the team.” He rolls his eyes toward Aiden, his tone good-natured and fun. They seem more like brothers than business partners.

  And given how far they’ve come, whatever they’re doing is definitely working.

  My gaze flickers to Aiden, who stares back at me, his eyebrows furrowed. He’s curiously watching me like I grew three heads.

  What is he thinking?

  Years ago, I might’ve known, but he’s a mystery now.

  I shift in my seat.

  The air between us is so thick. For me, our silence is worse than if we were yelling, and I hope Taylor can’t sense my discomfort. If she does, maybe she’ll chalk it up to be because this is my first outing with her to visit clients.

  For the next hour, we go over possible media coverage, as well as podcasts and YouTube channels to schedule interviews with. Taylor pulls out a list of influencers to contact, as does Westin. He already has good relationships with several people in the industry, and they exchange those lists.

  We talk press releases.

  Email campaigns.

  Ads.

  At one point, I take a deep breath, overwhelmed. There’s so much I need to learn. When I ran my small marketing firm in North Carolina, our target audience was narrow compared to what we’re dealing with now. Helping Mrs. Meyers increase her quaint café’s business was a fraction of Taylor’s plan to catapult Jock Stock to the national stage.

  But this is why I came to New York to begin with. For more than what my hometown could offer. And I’m confident I can do it.

  First, though, I need to stop worrying about what it means to be working with Aiden.

  Of all people, in all cities, Aiden Baxter is my first meeting—how?

  I continue asking myself that very question for the rest of the hour, switching between denial, shock, and genuine confusion.

  Once the meeting ends, Taylor and Westin make small talk, while I gather our things. As I do, a line of sweat travels down my spine, tickling me like the times an ant would run up my arm during my picnics with Aiden in college.

  “I look forward to working together.” Westin smiles, his teeth perfectly aligned and bright. I imagine it’ll be on the covers of magazines someday.

  I chance another peek at Aiden, who still watches me like he doesn’t know what to do with me.

  He hasn’t said a word this entire time.

  Westin nudges him, then leans back on his heels like he meant to get Aiden’s attention more subtly. Aiden glances between us, first shaking Taylor’s hand, then mine. “Yes. Thank you for coming by, and we look forward to working with you. What Westin said.” Frowning, he turns around and heads to his office.

  “We’ll be in touch to go over progress soon,” Taylor offers.

  She and I wave one last time as we make our way to the elevator. Once the doors close, my shoulders sag.

  “That was… interesting.”

  I squint at her through one opened eye. It’s only my second week working for her, and I can’t yet read her. If she’s mad, she has every right to be. “I’m so sorry. I was flustered, and that was completely unprofessional. It wasn’t like me, I promise. I’m better than that.”

  She studies me, and I wonder what she sees—the girl I was in college when Aiden and I were friends, the regretful divorcee, or the new and improved woman I’m trying to be?

  The elevator doors open into the lobby, and we cross the marble floors, nodding to the security guard, and through the revolving doors.

  “How do you know each other?” she asks as we step outside onto the sidewalk.

  I tilt my head toward her.

  “You and Aiden. He never took his eyes off you.”

  I blush. “It’s a long story. I don’t even know where—”

  “Jersey!”

  My heart lurches, and tears immediately sting the corners of my eyes. Before I can finish my sentence, I turn to find Aiden racing toward us.

  I gulp, frozen in my spot on the sidewalk. Not even an angry pedestrian could move me.

  “Are you okay?” Taylor gently touches my arm.

  “Yeah,” I rasp. “We’re old friends.”

  “I’ll give you a chance to catch up and meet you at the office.”

  “Are you sure?” I panic, worried that I appear too unreliable. I don’t want my personal life to interfere with work. Not again.

  “Of course. I’ll start on research, but I’ll save the real fun stuff for us to do together.” She winks, then walks to the curb to hail a cab.

  When I turn around, Aiden stands there, his hands in his pockets, shaking his head at me. There’s a slight twinkle in his eyes too. One tha
t reminds me of the times I played video games with him, and he’d let me win to make me feel better about being so bad at FIFA. He seems to have gotten over his shock from upstairs since he’s here, which makes me relax a fraction.

  “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  I laugh, glancing around as people skirt by.

  He ushers me to the side, next to a food and coffee truck. Once we’re out of the way, he doesn’t let go. Instead, he wraps his arms around my neck, hugging me.

  Letting out a weary exhale, I snake my arms around his waist and bury my face in his chest.

  It’s warm and familiar.

  Like home.

  My frail heart squeezes.

  I never let myself think about him, given what happened with us, but hugging him now, I realize how much I truly missed him, especially the easy comfort and safety he once provided.

  “I did not expect to see you this morning.” Pulling back, I wipe a stray tear from my cheek, shaking my head. “What happened to law school? To taking down dirtbags and moving to Washington DC for a life in politics?”

  He scratches his chin. “After I graduated, I spent the summer abroad, traveling Europe.”

  I instinctively tense.

  “But when I got back, I couldn’t bring myself to go to law school. It was like Europe opened my eyes to more possibilities. More appealing possibilities, anyway.” He chuckles. “I took a few years off, and then, at my temporary job selling IT equipment, I met Westin. We were both pretty lost at the time.” He shrugs. “Before I knew it, Jock Stock was born over beer at Hemingway House, and we never looked back.”

  Traveling Europe.

  Appealing possibilities.

  I almost don’t catch the rest of what he says beyond that.

  “That’s amazing,” I say, swallowing my emotions, trying to smile through them.

  He nods. “The long days and even longer nights aren’t always amazing, but with the launch coming, it’s starting to feel like it’s all worth it.”

  “From what Taylor’s told me, you guys are impressive. She paused her own wedding plans to work on her pitch for your account—she had to have it.”