by Olivia Luck
The first bouquet of flowers arrives before lunch on Monday. I’m walking back to my desk from a trip to the ladies’ room when I see Violet smirking at me, hip cocked on the edge of my desk.
“What’s up?”
Her line of sight makes a sweeping gesture to my desk. My mouth falls open in surprise. An enormous, lush bouquet of white hydrangeas rests next to my computer. Their soft scent drapes around me hypnotically. Without looking at my sassy soon-to-be cousin-in-law, I finger the envelope peering between the petals. My name is written in a bold, masculine scrawl.
Lips red as the rose. Hair black as ebony. Skin white as snow. Forgive me, Stella.
There’s no signature on the card, but there’s no question who sent these delicate beauties. What started out as a normal day just veered into Twilight Zone territory. Forgive him? I see no apology on the card, only a demand.
“Whoa,” Violet breathes, literally the word comes out on a breathy exhale into my ear. She’s standing behind my left shoulder reading the card. I yank the cream paper to my chest, hiding it from her. “Too late, I saw it. Any guy who quotes Snow White wants you, Stella. Bad.”
A hot poker of pain stabs at my heart and I whip around toward her. If he wanted me, he wouldn’t have acted like an ass. “And?”
She rolls her expressive hazel eyes, annoyed with my stubbornness. “And what are you going to do about it?”
“Ignore him and hope he’ll go away.” Saying the words aloud sends another painful stab, this time straight to my gut.
Violet tsks disapprovingly. “Quit denying your feelings. You’ve wanted to date this guy for forever. Yeah, he screwed up, but at least consider giving him a chance. Now’s the time to be open to a relationship.”
“It is the worst time,” I hiss and flop into my desk chair.
“Why?”
My voice comes out tense and low, not wanting anyone to overhear our conversation. “Zoe’s barely holding it together. The last thing she needs is to find out her best friend is dating her brother. Too many people have used her to get to Blake. On top of regaining some sense of normalcy, she’ll have to adjust to me dating her brother? Not happening. I don’t want to add to the chaos in her life. By the way, did we both forget what happened the last time we hooked up? He didn’t use a condom!” I realize my voice is rising with emotion when I notice one of my colleagues tossing me a sidelong glance.
Very professional, Stella.
Instead of looking at me like the crazy person that I am, Violet’s fighting off a grin. “Chickie, you’ve got it just as bad for him as he does for you.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be telling me to run for the hills?” I grumble, pressing my hot, mortified face into my palm.
“It wouldn’t hurt to talk to him, would it? You said yourself that you hooked up under very tense circumstances. I think he deserves a little reprieve. I’m not saying forgive him but hear him out. As for the Zoe thing… Look, I’ve never met the girl, but from everything that you’ve told me, it doesn’t sound like she would be upset if you dated her brother. She adores you.”
My hand falls down on my desk with a thump. I tilt my head back to look up at where Violet perches on the edge of my desk. She’s wearing her sympathetic smile.
“Not enough to want my help,” I say softly, the ache still fresh from her rejection.
Violet pats my shoulder, reminding me that I’m sort of acting like a petulant child. I’ll blame that on Blake, too. He has me all twisted up in every which way. Part of me wants to run back to him, forgive him, start fresh, whatever. The other, louder part of me doesn’t want to get hurt again. Losing Zoe in my life and the death of my dream guy dwells in the back corners of my mind. When I’m daydreaming on the commute home, in the last moments before I fall asleep, in the middle of a boring meeting, my thoughts drift to Zoe’s despair and Blake’s rejection. No, these are topics that I don’t enjoy revisiting.
“Whatever you want to do, I’ll support you,” Violet vows, snapping me out of my dismal thoughts.
“What I need to do is focus on my work and,” I cast a look at the gorgeous blooms, “think about this later.”
Monday passes with no more communication from Blake. Shock rocks through me Tuesday morning when I land at my desk and find another blooming bouquet of the lush white petals. The note’s the same. Forgive me, Stella. Then another Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Wherever I look on my desk—the computer, keyboard, printed documents—those dang hydrangeas are staring me down. They’re a silent reminder of Blake and how badly I want him. For the remainder of the week, they’re a relentless stalker until Friday afternoon when I put them on the reception desk in a silent act of defiance.
That night, I dream of delicate white petals drifting along my traitorous body. There’s no hiding from my adoration for Blake, not even when I sleep.
“Good thing your mom hoards her clothes,” Violet comments on Saturday from where she inspects a navy long-sleeve dress with white cuffs and a Peter Pan collar. We’re getting our outfits together for the Speck-a-thon, the charity gala happening in a few hours. Violet recruited me to set up the event with her. Once the up lighting meets Violet’s rigorous demands, the drink menus adorn the bar tops, decorations turn the space into Studio 54, and the club staff are debriefed, we’ll get dressed in one of the club’s bathrooms.
“Are you sure this jumpsuit doesn’t make me look like a meatball?” Warily, I eye the black halter garment on the hanger. It’s backless and wildly inappropriate for a blustery winter day, but I’ll worry about frostbite later.
Violet shoots me a ‘you’re kidding me, right?’ look and I shrug helplessly.
“Let’s get out of here before you convince yourself to wear something out of theme. Can you imagine the horror of showing up at a seventies party in millennial garb?” Violet teases. Her elbow connects with my side in a light jab. “You look model hot in that jumpsuit.”
“I don’t know why I’m so tense,” I tell her as we gather our bags where they sit at the front door of my condo. “Don’t be mad, but I have this sixth sense like something is on the horizon.”
“Why would I be mad? Something means that we’re about to have the best Speck-a-thon yet. Something means that we’re going to raise the most money we ever have.”
I let Violet gab on about specialty cocktails while she drives us to Luminous, the club hosting the event. A nagging sensation won’t release me, murmuring in the recesses of my thoughts that something worrisome awaits me tonight. Anxious preoccupations are very unlike me. Growing up with a chaotic extended family, I learned to be easygoing. Despite all my training and an even keel attitude, I can’t shake the lingering fear while we decorate the club. It’s not until the disco ball is hung, the raffle prizes are on display, and Violet and I commandeer the ladies’ room to get ready that my tension eases.
“You okay?” Violet teases the crown of her head before pulling her hair into a high ponytail. She eyes me with concern as she wraps several strands around the elastic band for a finished look. The girl knows how to throw a raging party, put together the perfect outfit, and manage it all effortlessly.
A real smile spreads across my face as I try to wrangle my own thick hair into soft waves with a curling iron. “Yes, actually. I don’t know what got into me before. Tonight’s going to be killer, thanks to your hard work. What time are the guys getting here?”
Felix and Max are the only of our friends supporting the Speck-a-thon tonight. Since they knew the date of the gala far enough in advance, they both managed to get the night off from the fire station.
“Sometime between seven and eight,” Violet mutters, now drawing subtle cat lines at the corners of her eyes.
“How do you know exactly what to do to look like a seventies supermodel?”
“Lots of time spent on Pinterest.” Her tongue wags unintentionally as she concentrates.
“I hope Max sees you in all your glory. That man needs to know what he is getting into by mar
rying you,” I tease.
“With high maintenance cousins like you and Antonia, I’m a walk in the park,” she shoots back jokingly, knowing full well that I prefer a hint of blush and nothing more in the make-up department. “How much time do you have to spend schmoozing clients?”
My mouth parts as I paint on scarlet lip tint. “A fair amount. Ryan Sullivan’s going to be here, and since he’s my biggest client, that means lots of friendly professional Stella tonight.”
“You’re always friendly, Stella. Don’t be too friendly, though. Something about that guy gives me the creeps.” Violet shudders in response to her words and it ignites a realization inside of me.
“Maybe that’s why I’ve not been myself, thinking about Ryan being there tonight,” I muse. “Nah. I can handle him.”
“You tell ‘em, chickie.”
I dip into a bathroom stall and step out of my sloppy sweatpants and t-shirt to slide into the slinky black jumpsuit. “If you have to tape your boobs into your outfit, it might not be a good fit,” I grumble as I use the double-sided tape to lock my breasts in place. A bang on the stall door makes me jump and nearly rip off my nipple. “What!”
“Come out here and I’ll help you. I’m an expert with fashion tape.”
“Something to add to your resume.” I push the door open where Violet taps her bootie on the tile floor, already dressed in the long-sleeve dress.
“Lift up your arms.”
I do as I’m told, allowing her to push and prod my body into place. When I’m not begrudging the sexy, backless outfit or wondering why my mom bought something so suggestive, I admit the garment does elongate my form. A black faux leather strap emphasizes my slim waist.
“There.” Violet steps back to admire her work. “Yeah. You’re going to sell raffle tickets. No man will be able to turn those gorgeous tatas down.”
“Violet!” I chide.
“We’re trying to raise some money tonight.” She shrugs and heads back to the mirror to apply her lipstick. With a helpless sigh, I finish dressing, spraying perfume on my neck and wrists. If Ryan Sullivan wants to hit on me, that’s his problem.
It’s not long before Speck employees and guests start arriving dressed to the nines. Violet hired a trendy DJ to blast today’s hits infused with disco remixes. While people socialize, down cocktails, and nibble on appetizers, I make my way through the crowd selling raffle tickets. Most of the donations are available through the silent auction, but there’s one big-ticket item that will be awarded during a speech from the Speck CEO: a weekend at a five-star hotel, Scrapers tickets, and dinner at one of the city’s best restaurants.
I’m making my way into what is probably the VIP section of the club, a banquet of leather booths facing the dance floor, when fingers tickle my exposed shoulder. A shiver runs down my bare arms and not a pleasant one.
“There you are; I’ve been looking for you.” The Chicago Center assistant operations manager gives me a slimy once-over. I fight the urge to take a step backward. There’s lewdness in his gaze, and it makes my stomach pitch.
“Here I am. Glad you could make it, Ryan. Can I interest you in a raffle ticket?” Luckily, I’m holding an iPad to accept payments in one hand and a curl of tickets in the other, so he can’t expect me to hug him or shake his hand. Despite my ‘get away from me’ body language, Ryan continues to rest his hand on my shoulder. Where are Max and Felix when I need them? I’ve got major creep-outs happening and no quick way to escape.
“What are they for?” Ryan all but purrs, looming closer with his hand marking my skin. God, I’ll have to take a shower when I get home tonight to wipe off the stench of his overpowering cologne. Yech.
“Do you need to know the prize when the money goes to a good cause?” I force a brilliant smile even though my skin is crawling. “All the funds donated tonight go to the city’s biggest food bank. It’s a lofty goal, but we want to raise ten thousand dollars.”
“And what will I win?”
Jerk. As I list off the prizes, his gaze doesn’t leave my cleavage. I want to tell him off and slap him across the face for his chauvinism, but Ryan’s my most important client. The client that I need to get my promotion. Therefore, the brittle smile stays in place.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
My neck twists so fast at the husky rasp, I’m surprised that I don’t get whiplash when I jerk to the sound of a very familiar voice. My breath catches, heart stops, the loud thumping music mutes, and the background chatter suspends.
Blake’s inches away, wearing a calm smile and soothing the uneasiness in me. Blake’s here, he’ll make Ryan go away. In a slim cut dark suit (Black? Navy? Dark gray? I can’t tell in the crappy club lighting) with a crisp dress shirt, dark tie, and tie clip, Blake doesn’t fit the seventies theme. I can’t be bothered to care. He’s gorgeous and looking at me like he’s been searching for me longer than just this night. The moment his big, warm hand settles on my waist, I gasp in surprise and Ryan all but jumps six feet backward. With a swift, effortless tug, I careen against Blake’s rippling abdomen. Through the expensive material of his suit, I can make out the wall of muscle. Tucked against him, I can breathe easier.
“You-you know Blake?” Ryan stumbles over the words, clearly shocked.
I’m frozen in my own dazed state and unable to put a coherent thought together.
“Of course, she didn’t tell you.” Blake shakes his head while shooting me an affectionate look. “Stella doesn’t want any special treatment. Now you know, right Ryan? Treat her with care.” There’s an edge to Blake’s tone. It’s not a request.
“Sure, yes, of course.”
Watching Ryan get put into place gives me back some of my confidence. “How about those raffle tickets?”
My client quickly buys a few then scurries off without a second glance, leaving me alone with Blake, who conveniently still grips me to his hip. The moment Ryan disappears into the thick of the crowd, I step out of Blake’s embrace and cross my arms protectively across my chest. Unlike Ryan, Blake’s eyes stay focused on my face. Chivalry’s not dead—this time around, at least.
Why would he check you out? He’s not attracted to you other than when he needs a warm body. My stomach twists at the thought.
“Stella.”
“Whatever possessed you to show up was wrong, Blake. I don’t know why you’re here, but it’s not to see me.” I spin around on the stiletto heels that thankfully give me a bit of height and start to make off in the direction of the raffle table where I can deposit the iPad.
This time when a hand closes around my shoulder, only a luxurious, pleasant sensation fills me. His suit jacket brushes against my naked skin and I want to sink backward against him and let him cocoon me against his strength. It’s wrong. Too wrong. Warm lips graze against the shell of my ear and he speaks in a whisper. “Saw a Channing Tatum lookalike getting up close and personal with another guy. Seems like you didn’t have a date last week.”
My back goes ramrod straight and embarrassment replaces all that pleasantness.
Turning enough that my chin looks over my shoulder, I enunciate the words sharply. “Leave. Me. Alone.” There’s not enough time for him to respond before I storm off in a huff. Not the sexiest or most suave thing I’ve ever done, but the man pisses me off! Violet would be proud that I stood up for myself, but probably tell me to listen to Blake. So why do I only feel bitter disappointment and confusion?
On shaky legs, I return the raffle collecting items to the next ticket seller then set off for backup. I scour the dance floor until I catch Felix skirting toward the bar. I practically run toward him, grabbing the elbow of his white seventies man blouse.
“What’s with the crazy eyes?” he asks in amusement.
“Blake’s here.”
Felix’s dark blond eyebrow shoots to his hairline in surprise. “Come again?”
“Any idea where V is?”
“She’s missing in action, probably dealing with a wayward waiter.
Let’s take a shot; you look like you need it.”
I cast a look over my shoulder—weak sauce!—scouting for Blake. Leaning against a pillar, eyes pinning me in my spot, he stands with his arms folded across his chest. The only thing I can focus on is the memory of that chest pressing me into his desk.
“He’s looking at you like an ice cream cone.” Felix steers me toward the bar and orders two lemon drops.
“An ice cream cone?”
“That man wants to lick you from head to toe.”
“Felix!” I squeak at the man wagging his eyebrows at me. “Stop that. Blake’s a former football player. Ergo, a competitive guy. Not responding to his flowers probably kickstarted his need to win or something,” I say.
“Yeah. I’m sure he did the research to find out where you’d be tonight, threw on a suit on a Saturday night, and donated five thousand dollars to our charity all because you bruised his tender ego. Now drink,” Felix commands.
He shoves the shot in my unsuspecting hand and there’s nothing for my stupefied body to do but automatically down the sweet liquor. The liquid slides down my throat with ease. The glass jumps when I slam it on the bar and I lean across the bar to grasp the silky material of Felix’s shirt. I yank him closer and hiss, “Five thousand dollars! You’re serious?”
“As a dog with a bone.”
“I don’t believe it,” I mutter to myself. What in the hell is going on? First, Blake was a distant friend. Thanks to the psycho who pointed a gun at Zoe, we grew closer. Then with the slam of a laptop shell, we became lovers. And now, he’s appearing in my life after a month of nothing with flowers and donations to my company’s fundraiser.
“Am I back in Calculus? This equation doesn’t add up,” I grumble.
Felix tosses his head back in a deep laugh, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each chuckle. “Better figure out the math because he’s on his way over here.” Cotton balls fill my ears, my senses cut off from observing anything other than the object of my affection as he introduces himself to Felix. At first, he’s simply standing close, too close, and then the tips of his fingers land on my lower back. Blast my mom for being a promiscuous dresser back in the day. The halter gives anyone easy access to my skin. It’s not much contact, but his touch spreads all over my body like honey.
