Page 88 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

“I’m sure this is all a bit boring for you both,” she muses, glancing around the crowded room at the other partygoers—at the Hallazgo employees and their plus-ones—some exchanging pleasantries in small groups, while others sit at their assigned tables, partaking of unfathomably overpriced champagne.

With a sigh, she turns to face us again. “This scene is hardly popping, is it?”

Damian chokes on a startled breath. “ Popping ? Mother, please don’t try to be cool.”

She ignores him, reaching out and touching a hand to his shoulder. “I know, why don’t you take Lexi on a tour of the grounds? Show her what we have to offer here.”

I peek over at Damian, who looks torn between asking Lenore if she’s suffering some kind of mental break and happily accepting the chance to escape this dull, so-called party unscathed.

“Uh, okay,” he says after a beat of hesitation. Unlatching his arm from my waist, he holds it out for me to take. “Shall we?”

I nod, threading my arm through his, and we’re just about to leave when Lenore’s voice stalls him in his tracks.

“Damian, I’m—” She falters, swallowing hard, then gives a slight jerk of her head. “ We’re …glad you came.”

Damian responds with a kind smile, though the other half of the “we” she’s referring to is nowhere in sight, likely off entertaining his guests (or the board) instead of acknowledging the effort his son is making, not just by being here, but over the last few months in general.

Even without saying a word, I can see that Damian feels his father’s absence, even if he struggles to physically be around him.

One glance at his expressionless face is enough to tell me how empty it makes his mother’s sentiment…

and how much he worries about what that absence might ultimately mean for his future—not just in his family, but at Hallazgo.

But Damian doesn’t voice those worries, even though I know they’re there, buried just under the surface.

Not to me. Not to his mother. There’s a fleeting moment where I think he might say something—acknowledge the weight of her words, the absence of his father, the complicated mess of it all.

But he just stands there, expression unreadable, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the space she left behind when she finally walks away.

The evening air nips at the exposed skin of my legs, and I huddle deeper into my coat as Damian guides me along the pedestrian path away from the conference hall, where the Christmas party is still in full swing, the snow crunching under our heels.

I can smell the threat of another impending flurry in the frigid breeze that assaults my nose, but since snow never lasts long in Newport due to our proximity to the ocean and the high salt content in the air, I try to appreciate these moments for the short time they last, letting the cold sting my cheeks, breathing in the crisp night, and reveling in the silence and fresh clarity the winter chill brings to my mind.

“So, anything in particular you want to see?” Damian asks, gesturing to the buildings flanking each side of the path.

I’m not sure what I expected when Damian invited me to his family’s company Christmas party—someplace domineering and impersonal, I suppose.

Certainly not this beautiful campus with its sleek, glass-fronted buildings, well-groomed greenery, and pathways that are lined with embedded lights in the stone to safely guide those who walk them at night.

I anticipated something colder, more sterile, but there’s an unexpected warmth to it all, like it was designed not only to be worked at but lived in.

Like whoever planned this place wanted it to feel like a home to its employees.

“Just…point things out to me as we go,” I suggest, nestling closer into the warm embrace of his arm, which he wraps around my shoulders, pulling me in tight against his thick woolen peacoat.

His mouth twitches into a lopsided smile as he points to a building on our left up ahead. “All right. So, over there is the main lab building. That’s where the magic happens.”

“Ah, yes. The birthplace of overpriced prescription pills,” I muse. “Truly inspiring.”

Damian chuckles under his breath before shifting my attention to a single-story complex on our right. “That one over there is my favorite building on campus. The cafeteria. Swear on my life, they have the best pizza I’ve ever tasted.”

I let out a playful tut. “Typical man. Always led by his stomach.”

His eyes veer to mine as his lips pull into a mischievous grin. “Well, that and my?—”

“Solar panels?” I interrupt, pointing to a large facility ahead, the roof tiled with flat, reflective tiles that shine in the brief glimpses of moonlight that peek between the clouds.

Damian nods, a wistful look crossing his face.

“Hallazgo is actually pretty big on renewable energy,” he explains.

“It was one of my abuelo’s last initiatives before he passed.

” His expression turns sardonic then, his tone biting.

“Our medication might not be affordable for the masses, but we’re at least doing our part to save the planet while gouging their wallets. ”

Clearing his throat, he points to another building on our right.

“That’s the R&D building. It’s where all the smartest people employed by Hallazgo argue over who forgot to refill the coffee machine.

Oh, and you know, do some science. And in that general direction”—his hand swings to the left—“there’s a parking garage.

Very exciting, I know, but honestly, it’s where the real drama happens.

Someone took my dad’s spot once and didn’t live to tell the tale. ”

I snort out a laugh. “Let me guess, they were ‘reassigned’ to the basement lab with the mutant rats?”

“Mutant, man-eating rats, no less,” Damian corrects me.

He matches my smile, and for a moment, we’re both silent as I take it all in.

“When I think of pharmaceuticals and healthcare, I think…sterile. Cold.” Like the endless, empty hallways of hospitals, the hum of machines. The waiting rooms where the air always feels too thin. “But this is all so…nice.”

Damian gives me a considering look, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking…because he’s felt the same cold chill of dread. Endured the same suffocating quiet.

Retracting his arm from my shoulders, he holds out his hand. “Well, if you think the buildings are nice, you’ll love this. Come on.”

Our fingers interlace as Damian leads me along the winding footpath around a small hill crested with a large oak tree, bringing us face to face with a breathtaking sight on the other side of the knoll.

Unlike the pruned shrubs, flower beds, and potted plants that decorate the rest of the grounds, this area feels almost wild by comparison—not neglected but as if it’s been allowed to grow freely.

To thrive in a way the meticulously maintained landscapes surrounding it haven’t.

A wooden pergola covered in climbing vines and bright flowers dominates the center of the garden, adding vibrant bursts of warmth to contrast the cold colorlessness of the snow.

But what catches my eye the most are the marigolds, which shouldn’t still be in bloom given the low temperatures in New England at this time of year, their golden petals glowing against the backdrop of night like small orbs of sunlight in an uncharacteristic refusal to bow to the cold.

The garden seems to defy the season. Even the plants that are dormant hold onto their strength, standing tall and proud, unfazed by the frost on their leaves.

And the air feels different here, too—frigid still but more alive, as if this one space has found a way to survive in spite of the winter chill.

The contrast between the harshness of the climate and the quiet persistence of life in this small corner of the campus is almost magical.

“This…” I turn in a slow circle, staring in awe at the rainbow of plant life around me. “Is it weird this reminds me of your abuela’s house?”

Her home had felt magical, too, with the same luscious colors and beauty.

The marigolds especially remind me of that brief trip to Mexico—of the warmth, the brightness, the feeling of something vibrant and alive, even in the face of change.

They’re a flower tied to remembrance, to honoring the past, but here, they feel like something more.

A sign that, even in the cold, even when everything else is still, life finds a way to push forward.

And maybe I can, too.

“She and my abuelo planted this garden together,” Damian says, a fond, faraway look in his eye as the memory pulls him in.

“Just the two of them with their own bare hands. It was one of the first things they did when they purchased this land because my abuelo wanted someplace special just for my abuela—a sanctuary of sorts, dedicated to her for all the sacrifices she made as well, and to thank her for taking the journey here with him. Someplace that would feel like home—like Guadalajara—to remind them of their roots and all they’d gone through together to get here.

The rest of Hallazgo was built around it when they expanded. ”

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, my voice filled with wonder, but I’m not only talking about the garden.

What Damian describes—the devotion and love his grandparents shared—is awe-inspiring.

It’s the sort of love you see in movies and read about in novels, the kind of love I never would have envisioned myself ever coming close to finding. Until now.

Until him .

“It’s my favorite place at Hallazgo,” he whispers, his breath heavy with longing and fear. Longing for the grandfather he lost. Fear that this dream he’s finally embraced could be snatched away before it has a chance to become something real.

I squeeze his hand. “They must have really been in love. You can almost feel it.” And I mean that. It’s as if Damian’s abuela left a piece of herself here, always persisting in those stubborn marigolds.