Let’s Call a Truce by Amy Buchanan (Excerpt)

Chapter 1

I was going to die in a goddamn public bathroom.


My purse fumbled around in my hands as they shook, sending the bag’s contents to the floor. I followed, scrambling for the lavender oil my therapist suggested I carry with me. The delicate floral scent flooded the stall as I popped off the top, and I inhaled deeply to regulate my shallow breathing.

Four seconds in. Hold for seven. Eight seconds out.

You’ve lived through this before. It’s not too much for you.

I played the mantra in my head on repeat, reminding myself that the pain in my chest wasn’t a heart attack. The dizziness would pass if I could get a breath in.

I was in control of my life, no matter how I felt in the moment.

As the tunnel vision faded, I registered where I actually was: not just sprawled out in any bathroom stall, but the one at my new job, the first I’d had in seven years.

Fuck my life.

It’d been nine months since my life blew up. Nine months of panic attacks and sleepless nights. Nine months of trying to adjust to my new life and hiding my pain to help my kids through theirs. I swore I would get it under control before I returned to work.

I gripped a cool surface to steady myself, before realizing it was the toilet seat.

“Ew, ew, ew.” My disgusted squeal echoed off the tile as I wiped my hand on my blazer.

I inched down to look under the stall, praying I didn’t see anyone else. I let myself hope I’d escape undetected, until I spotted another pair of feet in the last stall.

“Is everything alright?” The timid voice was a mixture of concern and caution.

I swallowed a curse.

It was my first day. If I could get out without being seen, no one would know I lost it on the floor of the office bathroom. But my voice could still give me away, so I disguised it. “Yep. I’m fine.”

Whatever signals my brain sent to my vocal cords translated to a bizarre combination of faux-masculine and weirdly squeaky—not to mention obviously fake.

I couldn’t keep hiding. My new boss—well, old boss turned new again—was sitting in my office. God only knew what she was thinking after I got up and left the room, but who wouldn’t freak out about having to introduce themselves at the all-staff meeting? Did I even get a coherent “I have to go to the bathroom” out, or did I just turn and sprint?

Christina hired me right out of college when I had a degree in human resources but no actual experience. She taught me how to do the job and do it well, and I owed her every professional success I had. The hardest part of deciding to stay home when my first daughter came along was seeing the disappointment on her face. I wondered if she was as equally disappointed in how pathetic I’d become since we last worked together.

But that was a problem for another time. Right now my priority was getting out of this bathroom without being seen. Do I make a break for it or wait out the concerned bystander in stall number four?

I ran for it, breathing a sigh of relief when the other stall’s door creaked open only after I’d made my escape. I thanked the universe for this one small act of kindness as I dug out the hand sanitizer from my purse.

Christina turned the corner as I slipped the bottle into my bag, and I let her lead me back to my office. Keep your head in the game, Juliana. You can’t afford to lose it again. Literally.

When Christina heard I was looking for work, she snatched me up for KMG—officially Keller, Muñoz, and Griffin, though it was never called that since the K and G got bought out by the M. It pushed me back to an entry-level position, but something was better than nothing. I’d taken the last nine months to grieve the loss of my husband and get things in order for my girls, not an easy feat with a seven- and a five-year-old who don’t understand why Daddy isn’t coming home. But Clara and Sophie had to figure it out alongside me. I couldn’t put off work any longer or we wouldn’t have a roof over our heads. Plus, KMG’s architectural and interior-design departments had created some of my favorite spaces in Orlando. I was excited to help build their teams.

Christina settled into a chair across from me. I fought the urge to fidget, while she watched me with a tilted head. “How are you doing?”

I’m a hot mess. I don’t know if I can do the work after so long away. My kids are making me feel guilty, and I slept three hours last night because I was so nervous. I miss Jason, I want everything back the way it was, and if I get through the day without crying, I’ll be pleasantly surprised.

“Great!” I threw her a megawatt smile.

Christina was clearly unconvinced. Her eyes roamed my face, like an X-ray scanning for every broken piece inside me. It was assessing but not unkind. A doctor looking for the issues so she could make a diagnosis. By the time she was done, I was sure she saw every fear and insecurity floating in my head.

I was back to metrics and deadlines after seven years as a stay-at-home mom, where there was no supervisor to judge or guide you. That life has its own sort of stress. Most nights I went to bed wondering if I had done what my kids needed. It always seemed like I had achieved nothing and yet never stopped moving all day. My wardrobe had consisted of stretched out T-shirts covered in some sort of bodily fluid, and my hair was rarely, if ever, done. I loved it, but in the dead of night, when my insomnia kept me up well past when I’d gotten my daughters back to sleep, I’d wished for a bit of my old life.

Now I had it, and I was terrified. How was I supposed to do this, to be enough for Christina and my girls, all without a partner to help?

Christina sighed and nodded, like she’d finished her assessment and knew the best course of treatment. “As moms, we’re expected to keep too many balls in the air, while everyone else applauds our skill without offering to catch a few for us. I want this job to work for your family. I trust you to not take advantage of the flexibility I’m giving you, and in exchange, I’ll help make sure none of your important balls hit the ground.”

My eyes filled with tears, and I swiped them away before they messed up the makeup I spent too long on that morning. “Is crying a fireable offense?”

Christina laughed, pulling me in for a light hug. “You get settled, and I’ll be back in an hour to grab you for the staff meeting. After that, I’ve scheduled some one-on-one meetings with the hiring managers for you.”

I forced another smile, and when she disappeared around the corner, I let my head drop onto the desk with a little bang.

I tried to look through the materials Christina left me, but the exhaustion from a night spent staring at the ceiling, reeling with anxiety, left my brain as mush. A glance at my watch told me I had just enough time to grab a cup of life-giving nectar before Christina would be back.

In the break room, the ancient Keurig wheezed out my coffee, and I gulped it down, caring more about getting it in my system than about the burn of the too-hot liquid running down my throat.

The ding from my phone warned me time was running out. As I flew out the door, my face slammed into something hard. I groaned and clutched my nose as I fell back.

A pair of hands came around my upper arms and settled me in place. My gaze shot up to deep brown eyes, and suddenly the world was in sharp focus.

It was the most handsome face I had ever seen. A strong nose led to full lips that tipped at the corners like he was perpetually smiling, even when the rest of his face pinched in concern. His dark brown hair, just this side of black, was combed back in a professional style, though a bit too long to be considered clean-cut, and his beard was cropped close and immaculately maintained. Thick, black lashes around his eyes made the brown pop. Why did men get the best lashes?

“Careful there.” The low timbre of his voice made goose bumps pop up along my arms. “Are you—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I cut him off with a small smile.

A cold sweat broke across my skin as a surge of guilt at my reaction to him flooded my body. But even the most happily married woman—and I still felt married, no matter what my legal status said—would swoon if they ran into Henry Cavill. No one could blame her for that.

And that pesky gymnastics routine happening in my stomach? Nerves and embarrassment. That was all it was.

I glanced at his chest, the hard surface I’d smashed into, trying not to notice how his button-down hugged the muscles in his chest and arms. That’s when I spotted the near-perfect outline of my lips on his otherwise-pristine white shirt. My eyes grew wide in horror as I looked back up at him, his brow furrowing with confusion before he looked down. He barked out a laugh.

“I am so sorry.” My attempt to wipe away the mark only smeared it, leaving a giant pink smudge on his right pec. I realized I was essentially feeling him up in the break room, and my cheeks turned even redder. “I’ll pay to have it dry-cleaned.”

“That isn’t necessa—”

“Yes, it is. I’m so sorry. Which I guess I already said once. This is not the impression I wanted to make on my first day.”

He snorted. “I think your lips leave a pretty great impression.”

My wide eyes shot up, and I saw my shock reflected back at me, like he couldn’t believe those words had come out of his mouth. My stomach swooped like that first dip on a roller coaster, but I couldn’t tell if it was excitement from his words or dread that a man who wasn’t Jason was flirting with me.

Or maybe both.

“Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his feet shuffling as silence stretched between us. He cleared his throat. “It’s not the first stain I’ve gotten on a shirt, and it won’t be the last.”

I’m sure lipstick stains were common with a face like that.

I nodded, steadying myself with a deep breath. “Thank you, and I’m sorry. Again.” An alarm blared from my phone, a final warning that I needed to be back in my office. “This is so rude, but I need to go. Sorry for … all of it.”

I’d made a complete fool of myself. At least I made it back to my office before Christina came to take me to the meeting.

The auditorium was huge, comfortably fitting the couple hundred people who worked for KMG. There was a wall of windows on the far side, giving a view of the city and Lake Eola in the distance.

My eyes swept the space, settling on the man from the break room. He radiated an air of casual confidence as he leaned against the front podium, the sleeves of his button-down now rolled to his elbows. Good lord. Those forearms.

He was in the same shirt, pink smudge on full display, and my cheeks heated to the same color. Now that my face wasn’t smashed into his chest, I could get a better look. With ample inches in all directions, no one had—or likely ever would—describe me as small, but the size of this man made me feel tiny. He had to be several inches over six feet, with broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist.

I realized he was staring at me, too. From across the room, his eyes looked darker, almost the exact color of his hair. I stood for several seconds, frozen by his gaze. The corners of his already curved mouth tipped up another millimeter, and he lifted a hand in greeting with a teasing glint in his eye.

I smiled back awkwardly before dipping my head and scurrying off to find a seat.

I had noticed attractive men since Jason died. Hell, I noticed attractive men before Jason died. But it wasn’t real, just me recognizing the aesthetically pleasing combination of someone’s features.

That’s all this was, too. He was a beautiful work of art, hung safely behind a velvet rope. You may admire it in the museum but have no intention of taking it home for your own wall. Any other musings on flexing forearms and bottomless dark eyes were a reaction to the cortisol levels thrumming through my body as I prepared to speak in front of the entire company.

My thumbnail found its way between my teeth, and I yanked it back out before I could let the nervous tic take root. I’d splurged—with money I didn’t have—on a manicure before starting, and I wouldn’t let an old habit make that even more of a waste.

A booming voice came from the front of the room, pulling my attention to a friendly looking man in his late sixties. “I love seeing all of this interdivisional interaction, but we need to get this meeting started.”

Though we had only met in passing during my interview processes, I recognized our CEO, Eduardo Muñoz. Christina settled into the seat next to me. My brown-eyed gentleman—the brown-eyed gentleman, not mine—sat down a few rows in front of me, and I berated myself for noticing.

You are here to work, Juliana. Not ogle.

“Before we start, I’m going to ask our newest teammate to introduce herself. Juliana is joining Christina’s team in human resources as a talent acquisition specialist. Come on up, Juliana.”

Christina had prepped me for this, but my heart still thundered in my chest. My elevator pitch, which had been second nature at twenty-five, came less confidently at thirty-three, after so long without saying it.

“Good afternoon, everyone.” I hoped the strength of my voice distracted people from my trembling hands. “As Eduardo said, my name is Juliana Ryan, and I’m excited to join the KMG family. I’m an Orlando native, though I left for a time to get my degree at the University of Florida in Human Resources Management.” A few people shouted “Go Gators” from the audience, to chuckles and cheers from several others. The camaraderie made me bolder, and I threw a quick Gator chomp to my fellow alumni.

“I worked at one of the large staffing agencies before taking time away to care for my two daughters. Don’t worry, I can still handle this. I’m sure any other parents out there will agree after managing kids for seven years, everything else will seem easy.”

This gained laughs from most of those in the room, and a wave of confidence crashed through me. I was good at this before I had kids. No, I was fantastic. Christina literally cried when I gave my two weeks’ notice. Seven years at home didn’t change what I was capable of.

The realization made me feel lighter as I finished the last of my introduction. “I’ll recruit the best candidates for all your departments, and I’m looking forward to getting to know everyone. My door is always open.”

“Thank you, Juliana.” Eduardo shook my hand as he joined me back on the stage. “All hiring managers, please stand so Juliana can see who all she’ll be working with.”

A dozen people sprinkled throughout the auditorium stood. We may have worked at the same company, but they were my clients, the people to impress. They had final say on the applicants I recruited, and if they didn’t trust my judgment, I wouldn’t last long here.

I smiled and nodded to each manager, my gaze landing last on Mr. Brown Eyes himself. The teasing grin was gone, replaced by pinched brows and a skeptical look that had me running through my elevator pitch to figure out what caused such a drastic change. The only explanation I could come up with was my previous work experience—or lack thereof.

I knew some people would judge me, would make assumptions and dismiss me for the time spent at home, but it stung more that it was him, someone I hoped would be a friendly face in the office. It was an absurd reaction to have. I didn’t know him. One half-friendly, half-humiliating interaction in the break room did not a friendship make.


Copyright © 2025 by Amy Barber