by Vi Keeland
“Well, don’t you look like shit.”
Not even Mr. Thorne ’s insults could make me smile this morning.
When I’d left Sophia’s room, I’d felt conflicted. I didn’t want her to think I was a good man, only to feel like she’d had the rug pulled out from under her when she got to know me better and realized I wasn’t. That was exactly what her asshole of an ex had done. But by the time I’d showered and gotten dressed, I’d started to get over myself. The fantastic night we’d shared together pushed my concerns to the side, at least for the time being. I even ordered her damn flowers. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sent a woman flowers. But then I’d gone downstairs and happened to be at the front desk when a delivery arrived for her—and not from the florist I’d visited.
My morning was shot to hell after that.
I dragged a hand through my hair. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
The look on Mr. Thorne ’s face told me what he was thinking. I shook my head. “I wasn’t out partying. I did go to a club, but I didn’t fall off the wagon.”
He wagged a crooked finger at me. “You know better than that. Going to a place where everyone around you is indulging is asking for trouble.”
I couldn’t argue, because he was right—though I spent every day in one hotel or another that had a few bars. Some of our properties even had clubs in them. Unless I was changing my line of work, I wouldn’t be avoiding places that served alcohol. Besides, I hadn’t had the urge to drink last night. My mind had been too busy obsessing over Sophia.
“Yeah, I know. But it wasn’t like that.” I shrugged. “I wasn’t even tempted.”
Mr. Thorne shook his head anyway. “Did you at least bring my ticket?”
I grabbed the scratch-off from my back pocket and handed him the book from his nightstand he always leaned on. “One ten-dollar ticket, like you asked for.”
He put on his reading glasses, grabbed a quarter, and went to work. “So…you stayed at this club all night? And that’s why you look like a raccoon?”
I shook my head. “I spent the night with the woman I’ve been seeing, if you must know.”
“Sophia?”
“Yeah, Sophia.”
He finished scratching off the gray latex and brushed the scraps from the lotto ticket. “You two going steady now?”
“Considering it’s not 1953 anymore, no, we’re not going steady.”
“You just hooking up then?”
His use of the term made me chuckle. But most of his vocabulary came from Jerry Springer, so I wasn’t surprised he knew what it meant. “Yeah, I guess that’s what we’re doing.”
“Don’t you ever want to settle down? Meet a nice woman? Come home to her after a long day of work and share a nice meal she cooked for you? Maybe pop out a couple of rugrats?”
I could not picture Sophia wearing an apron and making me dinner, but I got what he was trying to say. I’d never given much thought to coming home to a woman or starting a family. But the truth was, I could envision that with Sophia. Albeit, my version of things wasn’t exactly Mr. Thorne’s. Instead of her cooking me a nice dinner, we’d have reservations for seven o’clock since we both worked a lot. I’d lose track of time and show up at the restaurant a half hour late, and she’d be pissed. I’d slide into the booth next to her, instead of across from her, and apologize. She’d tell me to stick my apology up my ass. We’d argue, and I’d notice how sexy she looked with fire in her eyes and slip my hand under the table. When the waiter came to take our order, I’d be knuckles deep inside her beautiful pussy, and she’d be angry when he walked away that I hadn’t withdrawn. But then she’d come so hard she’d lose some of her fight. I’d whisper another apology when she softened, and she’d tell me not to let it happen again.
Though, that fantasy would never become a reality. Because sooner or later, Sophia was going to hate me.
I shrugged. “We don’t really stand a chance.”
Mr. Thorne’s brows pulled together. “Why not?”
“It’s complicated. Let’s just say there are a lot of obstacles in our way.”
Mr. Thorne steepled his fingers. “You know what obstacles are?”
“What?”
“They’re tests to see if you deserve to win. How do you show someone they’re worth fighting for unless you’ve knocked down whatever’s in your way? If you’re just gonna sit on your ass and not even try…” He shook his head. “Well, I guess you don’t deserve the prize anyway. I thought you had more balls than that, kid.”
I gritted my teeth and bit my tongue. “You want me to take you for a walk or what?”
“How about you take me over to that new fancy hotel of yours? I’d like to see it. You know, that’s where I proposed to my Eliza.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“They do that place up nice for the holidays. I took her over and proposed in front of the big tree on Christmas Eve.”
“I guess you got engaged before 1962?”
Mr. Thorne’s forehead wrinkled. “It was 1961. How’d you know that?”
“Because they stopped putting up a Christmas tree in 1962.”
“No shit?”
I nodded. “Apparently, the tree was another victim of the Sterling-Lockwood feud. Grace Copeland, the woman who kept the hotel and died recently, leaving it to my and Sophia’s grandfathers, never put up a tree after her split with them—for sentimental reasons.”
“I guess that makes my proposal in front of the tree even more special then. That place was magical at the holidays.”
I had never stepped foot into The Countess until my family had become part owner. But I could imagine the lobby looked pretty nice all lit up with a big tree. The weather was pleasant outside today. I could probably wheel Mr. Thorne there in a half hour or so—get him some air and let him reminisce a little. So I grabbed his wheelchair, locked the wheels in place, and got ready to lift him out of bed.
“Alright, old man. I’ll bring you to see the hotel. But no telling dirty jokes to the staff, like you did when I took you to the live taping of that dumb talk show last month. You’ll get my ass sued.”
***
After I walked Mr. Thorne over to The Countess, I spent an hour showing him the hotel. I was glad we hadn’t run into Sophia. My ass was dragging, so I took him to get some caffeine at the lobby coffee shop, and we sat in the same corner I often sat in early in the morning while I waited for Sophia to come down and get her coffee.
Mr. Thorne sipped an iced tea while looking around the grand lobby with a smile on his face. “This place is something special.”
I nodded. “Yeah, it’s nice.”
He shook his head. “It’s more than just nice, kid. It’s magical. Can’t you feel it?” He pointed to the two grand staircases that led up to the second floor from different directions. “That’s where the tree goes. I got down on one knee right over there. Happiest day of my life.”
I knew the last few years hadn’t been easy for him. But it was pretty crazy that he could say proposing to a woman who was now his ex-wife was the happiest day of his life. “I don’t get it. You’re divorced. You’ve said yourself that things didn’t end well. How could the start of something that ended badly be the happiest day of your life?”
“One good day with my Eliza was worth a hundred bad ones on my own. We only get one life, son. Chances are, I’m going to die alone sitting in this chair one day. But you know what? When I sit here, I do a lot of thinking back to the good times. So while I might be alone now, I still have memories to keep me company. Bittersweet memories are better than regrets.”
Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sophia walk through the revolving lobby door with Scarlett. She had a shopping bag in her hand, but her friend had at least half a dozen. They were laughing, and it made me smile that she’d enjoyed her day.
The ladies were almost halfway across the lobby when Sophia looked around. It seemed like she sensed someone watching. Her eyes g
lided over to where I was sitting with Mr. Thorne, then flashed back in a doubletake. She leaned over to Scarlett to say something, and then they headed in our direction.
Clueless, Mr. Thorne elbowed me. “Don’t look now, but two beautiful birds are coming our way. I call dibs on the one on the left.”
I shook my head. “Don’t think so, old man. That one’s taken.”
Sophia’s smile was a mix of curious and amused as she approached.
“Hi.”
I lifted my chin to Scarlett’s bags. “Looks like you might need another suitcase for your trip home.”
“The store is delivering the rest. I couldn’t carry it all.”
I smiled and shook my head.
“She’s totally not kidding,” Sophia said. “They really are delivering. I didn’t even know they would do that type of thing.”
Mr. Thorne cleared his throat next to me.
“Sorry. Sophia, Scarlett, this is Walter Thorne.”
The women took turns extending their hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Thorne,” Scarlett said.
“Please, call me Walter,” he replied.
“What the hell?” I said. “I have to call you Mr. Thorne and these two you just met can call you Walter?”
“If you were as pretty as they are, I’d let you call me whatever you wanted.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re unbelievable. Maybe they should pick up your scratch-offs from now on, then.”
Mr. Thorne waved me off. “An old man should be addressed formally, at least until using his first name is earned.”
I hadn’t really been annoyed until he said that. “And I haven’t earned it yet?”
He tilted his head. “Not quite.”
Sophia laughed. “I take it you two have known each other for a while?”
“Too long,” I grumbled.
He leaned toward the women and lowered his voice. “Do you know what skinny jeans and a cheap hotel have in common?”
“What?” Sophia said.
“No ballroom.”
The ladies both laughed, which only egged Mr. Thorne on.
“A man brought a lady back to his hotel room after their first date,” he said. “Things were going well, and clothes started to come off. The man took his shoes and socks off, and the woman noticed his toes were all gnarly and twisted. She said, ‘What’s wrong with your toes?’ to which the man replied, ‘I had tolio.’ She said, ‘Tolio? Do you mean polio?’ He shook his head. ‘Nope, I had tolio.’
“A few minutes later, the man took off his pants, and the woman noticed his knees were all beat up. She said, ‘What’s wrong with your knees?’ The man replied, ‘I had the kneasles.’ The woman replied, ‘Kneasles? Don’t you mean the measles?’ Again, he shook his head. ‘Nope. Had the kneasles.’
“Things were getting hot and heavy, so the man finally took off his boxers. The woman looked down and said, ‘What a shame. You had small pox, too!’”
The ladies cracked up again, and I rubbed my hand over my face. “Alright. I think that’s my cue that it’s time to get out of here. Things will only get worse after that start.”
We said goodbye, and Mr. Thorne opened his arms to Sophia. She smiled and leaned down for the hug he offered. I heard him give her more than that, though he tried his best to lower his voice.
“Don’t give up on him too fast, okay, sweetheart?” he whispered. “Every once in a while he pulls his head out of his ass, and it makes all those rough edges smooth out nicely.”
Chapter 19
* * *
Sophia
The next morning, Louis, the hotel manager, stopped by my suite to deliver a bunch of reports our legal team needed. He set them down on the desk and noticed the empty box of flowers there, as well as two dozen roses, blooms down, sticking out of the wastepaper basket next to it.
“Did I miss your birthday?” he asked.
“No. My birthday is in October.”
When I offered no additional explanation, he took the hint and nodded.
“Why don’t I take those with me? I’m on my way down to the loading dock next. The dumpster is out there. It’ll get them out of your way and save housekeeping from carrying them down.”
“Ummm…sure, that would be great. Thank you.”
He picked up the box and stuffed the roses from the trash can back inside. “Did you throw out the others? I can grab those, too, if you want.”
“Others?”
Louis nodded. “The ones from Park Florist, the place around the corner. They came about a half hour after these did.”
“Are you sure they were for me?”
“I’m pretty sure. I could’ve sworn Matt, the usual delivery guy, said, ‘Flowers for Sophia Sterling.’” Louis shook his head. “But maybe I misheard. I can double-check with Mr. Lockwood.”
“Weston? Why would he know?”
“He walked over and said he’d take care of the delivery.”
Hmm… Something in my gut told me Louis hadn’t heard wrong. But who else would have sent me flowers, and why would Weston make sure these were delivered and not the others?
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll check with Weston. Thank you for letting me know.”
After Louis left, I needed to get the reports down to my legal team, so I put off asking Weston. Then the morning got so busy that I forgot about it until I was on my way to grab a chopped salad for a late lunch and noticed the sign above the building a few doors down. Park Florist.
On a whim, I decided to go in.
“Hi. I had some flowers delivered yesterday. I think they were from this florist, but the card was missing, so I’m not sure who they’re from.”
The woman behind the counter frowned. “Oh no. I’m so sorry about that. Let me see what we have on file.”
I smiled. “That would be great.”
“Could I just see some ID, please?”
“Sure.” I dug my license out of my purse and handed it to the woman.
She smiled. “Sophia Sterling. I remember the gentleman who came in and ordered these. He was quite the looker, if you don’t mind me saying so, and was very particular in what he picked out. I should have the card in our system. We make our customers type their note into our iPad so we can print it out nicely and don’t make any mistakes.”
“Thank you. That would be great.”
The woman typed into her computer and then walked to a printer and picked up a small, typed-up floral card. Handing it to me, she smiled. “Here you go. Sorry about that again.”
I looked down and read it.
The lips on your face taste almost as good as the ones between your legs. Apologies for the abrupt departure. Let me make it up to you.
Dinner in my room at 7.
I wasn’t sure if the florist had read it or not, but I felt my cheeks flush anyway.
“Uh, thank you. Have a good day.” I rushed toward the door, but on my way out, the refrigerator full of colorful flowers caught my eye. I turned back. “What kind of flowers were those that you sent me? I’d never seen them before.”
The florist smiled. “They’re blackberry ripple dahlias. Beautiful, aren’t they?”
I pretended I knew what they looked like. “Yes, they are.”
“You know, being a florist is sort of like being a priest. We get people coming in seeking forgiveness for their sins, and others sending flowers to women who aren’t their wives. You’d be amazed how many people tell us intimate stories while they’re picking out an arrangement. We make a habit of keeping our customers’ confidence. But I don’t think there’s any harm in telling you that when the gentleman who sent you those flowers walked in, he went right for those dahlias. I asked him if they were your favorite, and he said he wasn’t sure, but they were beautiful and unique, a lot like the woman he was sending them to.”
My heart did a little flutter. Only Weston Lockwood could make my emotions bounce around like a ping-pong ball. The other night had been amazing—beautiful and heartwarming
and so physically satisfying. But the morning after, he’d seemed to shut down. Though, we’d talked a lot about Caroline, which wasn’t easy for him. So after he left, I’d tried to chalk up what felt like a retreat to just a somber mood.
Then the flower delivery from Liam came, and the flower delivery from Weston hadn’t come. And then there was Mr. Thorne. Who was he? In just the few minutes I’d spent with them, I could see there was an interesting dynamic there.
I smiled at the florist, feeling more confused than when I’d walked in. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
Outside on the street, I started to compose a text to Weston about the flowers, but decided I wanted to see his face when I asked him about the two deliveries. So instead, I sent a short, vague text:
Sophia: Need to discuss a delivery issue. Are you free?
By the time I’d picked up my salad and walked back to the hotel, my phone pinged with the response.
Weston: I’m in Florida. Is it something we can do over the phone?
What?
Sophia: When did you go to Florida?
Weston: This morning.
I don’t know why, but I felt a little hurt that he hadn’t mentioned the trip to me. But maybe it was an emergency and something was wrong. I knew his grandfather lived down there, on the opposite coast of my grandfather.
Sophia: Is everything okay?
Weston: Yes, fine.
I mulled over asking why he hadn’t mentioned leaving. At a minimum, we were running a hotel together. So even if there wasn’t anything personal going on between us, a heads-up would’ve been nice. But I didn’t want to get into it over text. Instead, I opted to wait and have the discussion in person, along with the talk about the flowers.
Sophia: It can wait. Give me a call when you’re back.
***
Two days later, I hadn’t heard another word from Weston. His office door was still closed, and he hadn’t called to let me know he was back like I’d asked him to. Scarlett had flown back to London this morning, and I’d spent the majority of the afternoon in with the legal and accounting team, trying to finalize the list of assets that still needed valuation. Our bid to buy out the minority share from the charity was due in less than three weeks.
