Hansley Bardot
Can’t wait.
CHAPTER 27
LEMON
Ididn’t see Hansley on Monday. Actually, I saw him, but only from afar. He was always surrounded. Once, I thought he was coming toward me, but then fucking Zarek Weaver intercepted and before long, it was the end of the day.
We talked via messenger throughout the day, and he said many times that he kept trying to see me, but things were always getting in the way.
When I got home, I yelled at karma and fate and whatever else out there telling them I want them to stay out of this. Let me ruin this on my own. I don’t need them to get in the way and drive us apart by always putting something between us.
Believe me, if something is going to put him off, it’s going to be something about me. Just let me have my moment until that happens! Don’t I deserve at least that?!
The thing is, I know he can’t just drop everything for me. That’s both unfair and unrealistic. I spent the entire flight looking into his wife, just to see if she’s as great as he says she is. No one is that perfect. And yet, this damn woman appears that perfect.
Which is rather impressive if you think about it. The internet is a cruel place, and I can’t find one legitimate article or picture that paints her any way other than a damn angel.
I rarely feel bad about anything but yeah, I feel bad for having a hand in hurting her. A big hand. I basically built the hand!
As it turns out, looking up Jessica Bardot was the wrong thing to do. I was plagued with dreams that night of Hansley telling me he’s getting back together with his wife. And throughout the day yesterday, I kept thinking the same thing as the minutes went by and we couldn’t seem to cross paths once.
Now I’m sitting in my car chewing on my lip. He told me that if I’m feeling insecure or worried, if I have any doubts, I should tell him. At the time, it was comforting. Now I just feel pathetic. I’m a grown ass man. I shouldn’t need that kind of assurance.
Pushing open my door, I grab my bag and travel cup, and head to my office. My door is unlocked, which makes me frown. I almost always lock my door on the way out. Then again, I was preoccupied yesterday, so it’s entirely possible that I missed it.
Leaving the door wide open, I step inside and set my things down as I take a cursory look. My gaze freezes on my desk. There’s a single flower there. A stunning… something, with a deep blue and purple base, white petals, with blue and purple tips.
Swallowing, I take a step toward it and find the little red heart with the words ‘thinking of you’ and the initials HB. My heart stutters so dangerously that I fall into my chair before I end up on my face. Tears sting my eyes as I pick it up and bring it to my nose.
In all my forty-three years, no one has given me flowers. Not once. If asked, I’d say I didn’t care. That had been the truth. But that was also before I’d been given one.
It means he’s thinking of me. He was thinking about me enough to stop and buy me a flower.
Sitting back, I close my eyes with what’s probably a stupidly sappy smile on my face. I leave the flower leaning against my lips, right under my nose, so I can continue to fill my lungs with its soft perfume. How can I make this flower last forever? I want to keep it always.
A knock on my door has my eyes snapping open and a scowl on my face. The scowl deepens when I see Zarek standing just outside my open door.
“Yes?”
His eyes narrow in on my flower, but I determinedly ignore it and leave my flower just where it is. He crosses the room and hands me an envelope. “I know your aversion to email and since I can’t guarantee you’re going to read anything until I see you do it, I’m hand delivering this.”
Reluctantly, I lean forward to accept it.
“Let me know if you have any questions.”
I nod and wait for him to leave. He doesn’t. “You want me to read it right now?”
“Yes. I want to make sure you read it and not just tell me you did.”
Rolling my eyes, I set my flower in my lap and tear open the envelope. Letting my eyes scan the letter without actually reading it, I suddenly pause when I see the words ‘donation to the football team in the sum of $20,000 to be used at Coach Lemon Frost’s discretion.’ I read the letter more thoroughly to hunt down who it came from, but it distinctly says ‘anonymous.’
I bring my gaze back to Zarek. “Who did this?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. If someone knows, they’re not saying. We were wondering if you had an idea. I’m sure you’d like to honor them on your webpage.”
I would. Loudly. But I shake my head. “I don’t,” I admit. “Who would give me that kind of money?”
