And I like it.
“Sorry,” the redhead said with a laugh. “You look like a rose man. Big white roses. Maybe two dozen.”
Grant nodded.
Her smile widened. “Or four. Four dozen definitely makes a statement.”
He pictured the size of that bouquet. “You don’t think that’s too big?”
“Not when you’re telling a woman how you feel. We have packages that include custom delivery options.”
“I’ll be delivering them myself.”
“Okay,” the woman said while writing up the order. “It’ll take a few minutes.”
As Grant waited he looked around the shop. It was surprisingly sparse on flowers. Normally, he would have taken the time to advise the owner on the benefit to keeping the shelves properly stocked and walk him or her through tax write-off procedures. Many people were unaware of how all the small deductions could add up and help them raise revenue they could then reinvest into their business. Not today. Today, I’m just a man driving into town to see a woman.
A woman who is having my baby.
I can’t mess this up.
For just a second he found it hard to breathe as he remembered how hurt she’d looked when she ran from him. She could hate me, and she wouldn’t be wrong to.
He paid for the flowers and exceeded the speed limit as he drove the rest of the way to her office. It was his best guess on where she would be. In the past he wouldn’t have gone in blind, but he didn’t want to use a private investigator or his security team for this. When something is this important, you do it yourself.
He drove up to a trailer that had a sign “Sutton Construction and Rental Main Office” on it. He grabbed the huge bouquet of flowers and made his way up the steps of the trailer. Part of him wanted to throw the door open and enter with bravado. Another part of him thought it would be a good idea to wait until he knew if she was even in there. He knocked because a sign beside the door instructed him to.
“Come in,” Viviana said from inside.
Before opening the door he held the flowers behind his back, changed his mind and held them in front of him, then switched them to behind him again. With a shake of his head and a deep indrawn breath, he opened the door.
The first thing he noticed was how shocked Viviana looked to see him. He searched her face for joy. If it was there, it was hidden well. He let the door close behind him.
The second thing he noticed was that the office was full of all kinds of flowers. There were three vases of them on her desk, several on the floor around her desk, and even more on a nearby conference table. He forced a smile and held out his bouquet toward her. “Hi.”
She stood. “What are you doing here?”
Rather than answering, he picked up a card that was beside one of the vases of flowers. HAVE DINNER WITH ME, KEVIN. “Who is Kevin?”
She strode over and took the card away from him. “None of your business.”
What he hadn’t expected was the rush of possessiveness that filled him. He was known for being rational and calm. Imagining her with another man made him want to stomp his feet and pound his chest like some caveman before hauling her off somewhere so he could remind her why she belonged with him. He was wise enough, though, not to share those thoughts with her. He picked up another card and read it. CALL ME, JAMES. It included his number. “They’re not all from the same man?”
Viviana ripped that card away from him as well. “Do you mind?”
I do, actually. I mind all of this. He walked over and picked up another card. Viviana took it away from him before he had a chance to read it, but he’d held it long enough to see it was from still another man. “What’s going on here?”
She walked around the room, collected all the cards, then stuffed them in her desk drawer. “Nothing that has anything to do with you. We’ve already said everything we have to say to each other.”
No, my little Viv, we have not. Grant laid his bouquet of flowers on the front of her desk and took a moment to assess the situation. None of the cards had been a thank you for a great night with her. They had sounded like invitations. “Come here,” he said.
She shook her head and stayed behind her desk. “No. Listen we had fun together. That’s it. I’m not even upset anymore about what you said in your office. I just want to put it all behind me.”
“Liar.” He stepped closer to her, leaning over the desk and bracing himself on both hands. He ignored the flowers that flanked him on the left side. They were no more of a threat than the men who had sent them. Now that he was with her again there was no denying the sexual attraction that pulsed between them. She felt it, too. It was there in her eyes. He’d seen that look several times since he’d met her, and it usually led somewhere decadent. “We did have fun, but something that intense shouldn’t end over a misunderstanding.”
Her chest rose and fell, and he wondered if she, too, was imagining him taking her on the desk. The vases would hit the floor just before he slid that sundress strap over her shoulder. His name would be the name she cried out as he pushed her dress up and plunged inside her.
“I understood you perfectly, and that’s why I think you should leave now.”
Okay, so, she needs to hear me say it. “When I called you average and ordinary—”
“Get out,” she said harshly.
“I wasn’t slumming. Not by your definition of the word. Yes, I was out that night looking for someone from a lower socio-economic circle.”
She picked up her phone. “If you don’t leave now, I will call the police. Or my family. Honestly, the police would treat you better.”
He straightened. She looked serious. “If you hear me out, I believe you’ll see—”
She raised a finger above the phone pad as if she were about to make one of those calls. “I didn’t ask you to come here. Go back to Boston. We have nothing left to say to each other.”
“I—” She tapped a number into the phone.
He raised both hands in the air. His goal wasn’t to end up on the evening news. “Okay. Okay. I’m going.”
She was glaring at him when he turned to leave. She was still glaring at him when he looked over his shoulder before he opened the door. That’s not good. Maybe I should call Asher.
Grant was still standing outside the trailer when an older man approached him. “What are you doing here, son?” the man asked.
“I’m here to see Viviana.” Because there was no better way to describe their relationship, he added, “I’m a friend from Boston.”
The man stepped closer. “A friend from Boston?”
“Yes.”
“Grant Barrington?”
“Yes,” Grant said in relief. If this man knew him by name, then he knew how ridiculous it would be to involve the police. “That’s me.”
“I’ve heard about you.” That’s all the man said before he struck Grant in the nose.
Grant stumbled backward against the steps beneath the surprisingly powerful punch. “What the hell?” Grant roared.
The door of the trailer crashed open. “On, no. Gerald, don’t hurt him. He’s from the city.”
She said the last part like it equated to him having never taken a punch in his life. He had, of course. Normally, though, it was from someone he was paying to hone his skills and not a sneak attack from another person he couldn’t in good conscience strike back. “I’m fine,” he said grumpily.
“You’re bleeding,” Viviana exclaimed. She rushed to his side. “He broke your nose.”
“Nah, I barely touched him. His face will still be just as pretty once the swelling goes down,” Gerald said smugly.
“Gerald,” Viviana admonished, “he was leaving. I had it under control.”
“Ow,” Grant said simply to test a theory.
Viviana’s attention swung back to him, and she had the most adorable worried expression on her face. It was almost worth the throbbing headache he was now sporting. She slid under one of his arms, prepared to take th
e weight of him if he couldn’t walk. “Are you dizzy? Can you walk? Come back inside.”
At least she’s not calling the police anymore. “I’m fine, but I wouldn’t mind stepping out of the heat for a minute with a paper towel,” he said, but hugged her close to his side simply because she felt so good against him. This time it was the old man who was glaring at him while he walked away, and Grant took that as a sign that things were turning around.
Once inside the office trailer, Viviana guided him to a chair then quickly returned with several paper towels, some wet, some dry. Grant cleaned off his face. Thankfully his nose had almost instantly stopped bleeding. Gerald was accurate in his guess that it was sore and likely swollen, but not broken.
Viviana paced beside his chair. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
“I had to,” he said.
She stopped and put a hand on one of her hips. “Why?”
He stood and tossed the paper towels in a trash bin before answering. He considered being completely upfront with her, but remembered what Kenzi and the others had thought of that idea. He didn’t normally dance around a subject as big as the fact that she was carrying his baby and he had a right to know.
Maybe some arguments, though, were like chess competitions—winning didn’t matter as much as everyone leaving it with what they needed. What does she need from me? Kenzie said to just keep telling her I care.
Could it be that simple? “I care about you, and I knew you’d been hurt by what I said.” He could have tried to explain again that his comment, if heard in the context of what was going on in his life, actually wasn’t an insult—but he didn’t choose to defend himself. One day soon, when he woke to find her cuddled to his side, he would tell her everything. For now, it was better to keep things simple. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t mean to.”
