“Thank you for reminding me,” I bitterly snap. “At least your boyfriend’s a super trouper, sending us clients.”
“If he could also put a ring on this finger,” Jamie chuckles, raising his left hand, “I’d be even happier. But I’ll take his clients for now. You’re right, he’s being awesome.”
Another email comes through, this time on the agency’s main address. It’s from Ruth Metzler, and it starts with “Sorry to inform you.” My blood pressure plummets as I take a sip of coffee, followed by a long, deep breath.
“Make that four,” I grumble.
Jamie’s eyes pop out as he jumps from his seat and comes over to my side of the desk, so he can read the email for himself. “That raggedy hag. I’ll bet you dollars to donuts, those pricks at Steel Rose Inc. gave her a discount or something. We already had the best price on the market and a much better delivery time frame.”
“I cannot let her win.”
“You won’t.Wewon’t,” he says. “Will, remember how hard we had it growing up the way we did.”
“I’ll never forget.”
“Right. My point is, we worked hard for this, Will. There’s no way I’m letting that bitter redheaded bitch ruin ourbusiness and our livelihood because she’s got some kind of personal grudge against you. No way.”
I offer Jamie a soft, heartfelt smile. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you saying that.”
“Together, always, through thick and thin.”
“Always.”
We bump fists just as the door opens and a courier pokes his head through. “Delivery for Miss Willow Bennett?”
“Sure, come in,” I say.
The courier comes in with a massive bouquet of roses, from which a gilded-framed note hangs by a satin bow. Jamie signs for the delivery, and I take custody of the flowers, breathing in their scent. I’m flooded with memories of my earliest childhood, before my parents passed away.
Mom had a rose garden, a small patch just outside our apartment building. It wasn’t much, but she loved it. The smell takes me back there, when life was pretty, easy, and so colorful.
“Holy smokes,” Jamie says as he admires the flowers. “Somebody means business, Willow. Who are they from?” He pauses and gasps with wonder. “Wait, don’t tell me…”
“I don’t know; hold on,” I reply and check the note. “Yep.”
“Give me that!” He snatches the note away and reads it aloud. “Dinner. Friday evening at 8 p.m. We’ll pick you up. Wear something tight.” Jamie pauses to giggle. “Signed, the Morgan brothers. Hot diggity.”
“I didn’t think they were serious,” I mutter.
But as enticed as I am by the prospect of seeing where this might lead with them, I’m also concerned by Sheila’s threat from the gala. She wanted me to stay away from the Morgans.
Jamie picks up on my frown. “Girl, what are you worried about? They’re showing intent. Isn’t that what you wanted in a guy? You’re getting it from three!”
“It is what I wanted. I just… I mean, it’s strange. One woman, three men. I get that polyamory isn’t the taboo it used to be, but still.”
“That’s not what this is about.” He sounds so confident.
I glare at him. “Oh, it isn’t? Enlighten me.”
“I saw you with them that night, Will. The chemistry was damn near palpable. And you’ve had a spring in your step since they dropped you off at home,” Jamie says with a casual shrug. “I know a woman with a fire lit when I see one. And you deserve to be treated better, to be worshipped and wanted, especially after that prick Terrence. Why not let these guys do their thing? Why not let them woo you? They’re clearly interested.”
My heart beats a little faster. Terrence and Sheila’s words cut so deep that I ended up doubting myself as a woman. All I ever wanted was to be loved, to belong. I thought Terrence was going to be the guy to do that, until he turned out to be a terrible man and an even worse fiancé.
“Sheila wouldn’t like that very much,” I say to Jamie. “And she’s done enough damage to our business for me to at least try to be cautious.”
“Oh, please. She’s not technically their mother. And since she’s already done said damage, what more couldshe do?”
“Remember, we’re partners in this business. I’m trying to look out for both of us,” I reply with a wry smile.
