Indigo
Iwalked into my office and froze. A vase chock-full of red roses was center stage on my desk. “Ah...” I turned around, leaning out my door. “Bellamy?”
My best friend, and personal assistant, pointed to the phone at her ear, indicating she was on a call, so I nodded, stepping back inside. Dropping my purse onto my chair, I looked for a card within the flowers, but I found nothing.
This might make me sound like a bitch, but I hate roses. I find them pretentious. A complete waste of money. If you send them to me, I’ll judge you. And I judge harshly. Not fair, I know but I’m in a business thatrelies on donors to keep the doors open. When people pay for roses, all I see is money that could have been used for my kids. And that irritates me.
“Hey,” Bellamy said, walking into my office. “You’re early.”
I nodded, picking up the roses and moving them to the small table in the corner of my office. “I needed to get a jump on the grant paperwork before the weekend.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
I chuckled. “There’s a lot of paperwork. Any clue on who sent these?”
“No. There wasn’t a signed card, so I called the flower shop, but they said someone paid cash and didn’t leave contact information.”
I frowned. “What kind of psycho drops two-hundred bucks on flowers and doesn’t take credit for it?”
Before Bellamy could comment, my office phone rang and I leaned over to check the caller ID, rolling my eyes before picking it up. “Hi, Cliff, were your ears burning?”
Clifford Thayer was exactly that kind of psycho. Waspy, entitled, and rich as Croesus, he thought he could buy anything, including me. It didn’t matter how often I said no to his advances, he persisted. I’d ignore him, but he donated a hundred-grand to my kids twice a year in hopes of getting on my good side, and I wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Nor was I above putting up with a horse’s ass like Clifford Thayer if it meant more money for the house.
Bellamy let out a chortle, closing the door as she left my office.
“Were you talking about me again?” he teased.
“Did you send me red roses and forget to add a card?”
“I didn’t forget,” he said. “I wanted to hear you say thank you in real time.”
Douche.
“Right, well, thank you,” I ground out.
“You’re welcome. How about dinner?”
“I’m busy.”
“I haven’t even given you a date.”
I sighed. “Cliff, I’m sorry, but as I’ve said a million times before, I’m slammed here. I don’t have time to date.”
“I’m gonna wear you down, Indy.”
When hell freezes over.
“Look, I really need to get going. Thank you for the flowers.”
“Okay, Indy, talk to you later.”
He hung up and I shook my head as I dropped my purse into a drawer, then sat down. “Bellamy,” I called.
She peeked in with a cheeky grin.
“Don’t,” I warned.
“Don’t what?” she retorted. “Sing? Cliff and Indigo sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s—”
