"Apparently one couldn't fill the entire order," Sophie explains. "They apologized. The delivery guys said they’d never seen anything like it. There were supposed to be a thousand stems here but five are missing so..." She shrugs. “Do the math.”
"Jesus Christ," I mutter.
"The building manager called," Sophie adds. "He wanted to know if someone died."
"Only my patience," I say under my breath.
"There's more in the restroom. We couldn’t fit them all in the office." Sophie’s clearly trying hard not to laugh. "It's kind of romantic, though." She sighs dramatically. "In an overwhelming, slightly unhinged kind of way. It definitely makes a statement."
I don't answer, so Sophie continues.
"There’s a card on your desk," she says. "Under that vase to the left of your computer."
I find it—a small white card tucked beneath a vase.
"It’s from Sailor," Jennifer says. "That's what the delivery guys said when they were bringing everything up. 'Delivery for Liv from Sailor.'"
Part of me wants to laugh at the absurdity of it as I pick up the card.
Please call me. I know I don't deserve it, but please.
"Fuck," I say, setting the card back down on my desk. Blair Davis, billionaire entrepreneur who can buy anything she wants, is begging. But she can’t buy me.
"Get rid of them," I say to no one in particular.
The room goes silent. My entire team stares at me like I've gone mad.
"Wait," Amanda, our social media manager, holds up her hand. "Can I at least get a few shots first? This is incredible content."
"No," I say. The last thing I need is Blair seeing photos of her grand gesture on our Instagram, thinking it worked, thinking I'm touched or flattered or whatever reaction she's hoping for. "No photos. Just get rid of them."
"But Liv—" Amanda starts.
"No photos," I repeat firmly.
Then I realize what I've just asked them to do. It's going to take them a while to clear this many roses, and we have a Monday morning meeting in fifteen minutes.
"Actually," I say, scrolling through my phone. "This isn’t your problem. I'll call the building manager. He can send someone up to clear them out. Have them put the vases on the sidewalk. I'm sure people walking by would be thrilled to pick up free roses. And keep as many as you want for yourselves, as long as they’re not in the way."
38
BLAIR
Danny's sitting on the edge of his bed, still wearing his Baltimore Orioles pajamas even though it's nearly noon. The bandages are off now, replaced by a neat line of stitches that the doctor says will fade with time. He looks better—color back in his cheeks, that spark returned to his eyes.
"You promise you'll come back?" he asks for the third time this morning.
"I promise," I say. "We're going to Wisconsin, remember?"
He grins. "The National Mustard Museum."
"The National Mustard Museum," I confirm. "We'll taste every single mustard they have and get you that certificate."
"And hot dogs," he adds seriously. "They put the mustard on hot dogs."
"The best part." I sit down beside him on the bed. "Are you going to be okay?"
"Yeah." He nods and looks up to meet my eyes. "I'm sorry the roses didn't work."
