Page 20 of The Date

My eyes flicker to my boss’s office, but there’s no way I’m going to ask if the flowers were sent by him. I doubt it. He doesn’t seem like the flower-buying kind. He’s more a flowers are for wooing; I prefer making women uncomfortable kind of creep.

I nibble on my bottom lip as I pick up the receiver on my desk, dial zero to get an outside line, and type in the number on the back of the card.

Butterflies take flight in my stomach when the call connects. “The Posy Room, Shantel speaking.”

“Hi, this is Rose Donovan. I had a delivery from you earlier. There was no name on the card attached. I was wondering if you could tell me who they’re from?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t. The gentleman came into the store this morning and chose the flowers himself. He didn’t leave a name, and he paid for them with cash.”

“Did he say anything? Maybe something that could help me figure out who he is?”

“I’m sorry, no. He was adamant that he wanted roses, though. He chose the colours himself.”

My cheeks puff out in disappointment. “Thank you for your time.”

I lean in and inhale the delicate fragrance of the flowers, closing my eyes for a moment. A smile creeps across my lips before I can stop it. The sender may be a complete mystery, but they’ve unknowingly turned my shitty day around.

Chapter 7

Bronson

I swore I’d stay away, yet here I am, parked across the road from Rose’s building again. Why am I here? I can’t really say, but I can think of two reasons.

First, I’m still waiting for Rose to apply for the PA position at my firm, so I need to confirm she’s still working for Whitmore Industries and looking for a new job.

Second, the flowers I sent her earlier today. I want to make sure she got them, but more importantly, that she kept them.

I suck in a sharp breath and hold it the second Rose exits the building and steps onto the sidewalk. She’s wearing slacks again. White ones today, paired with a white top covered in a swirly black pattern.

It’s not tucked into the waistband or cinched in with that thin black belt she wore on our first date. Instead, it hangs loose, stopping below the curve of her hips, but I can still see a hint of that round, peachy arse of hers.

The sleeves are long, the cuffs surpassing her wrists. The neckline is high, wrapping around her throat, leaving barely an inch of skin exposed.

It’s as though she’s deliberately trying to completely cover as much of herself as she can. And that makes me fucking livid.

She’s clutching the ridiculously large flower arrangement tightly to her chest. That makes me happier than it should. I sit and watch as she glances down at them, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s a smile curving her lips.

A clear plastic bag dangles from one hand. It looks like it’s full of oranges. She must really like oranges. I’ll have to remember that if she starts working for me.

How the fuck is she going to manage public transport carrying all that stuff? The sensible thing would’ve been for me to send the flowers to her apartment. I have the exact address now. I just asked for the biggest, most beautiful arrangement the florist could make. I never once considered how Rose would get them home.

The last time I saw her, she looked so fucking dejected it hurt my damn heart. Today, not so much. Maybe I need to send her flowers every day. Or at least until she sees my fucking ads.

Everything in me screams to help her get home. Even if it means boarding the damn bus with her and taking all that stuff off her hands. But I can’t do that. I’m trying to get her back into my life, not scare her away.

I wait until she’s out of sight before pressing the ignition and pulling into traffic. Instead of heading home, as planned, I find myself navigating through the city, heading towards her side of town.

I’m starting to think there’s something seriously wrong with me. How did a mistaken blind date lead me here? I’ve never had a problem getting a woman, so going to these kinds of lengths is completely foreign. What is it about Rose … like the flower, that has me completely undone?

I’m sitting at my desk the following afternoon, watching the clock. I swore I wouldn’t do a repeat of yesterday, yet here I am, making sure I’m ready to leave in time, so I don’t miss Rose.

I glance up when my office door flies open, to find my sister standing in the threshold, with a look on her face that tells me she’s contemplating murder.

She’s been in here multiple times today with more resumes. The last time, she lost her shit. “I’m only bringing in applicants who are qualified for the job. You’re not even looking through them, Bronson,” she yelled. “You’re glancing at them at best, and then rejecting every single one. I swear to God, if you don’t at least choose some people to come in for an interview soon, you’ll be looking for a new HR officer as well.”

My sister releases a tiny growl as she slams another pile on my desk, and I have to press my lips together to hide my grin. I pick up the first one, glance at the name, then toss it to the side with a firm, “Nope.”

Violet throws her arms in the air in defeat. I’ll be the first to admit I get a small thrill every time she comes in here, hoping with each applicant I flip through that I’ll finally see the one name I’m looking for. Only to be disappointed time and time again.