“Harry?”
“Sorry, what?” I ask, distracted.
Samantha squints at me, and I shake my head. Dear God.I’m losing it.
And now of all times!
The next day,as I consider William’s point, I try not to think about Samantha. Or her playful manner and her wit. Her likable energy and her spunk. And her tight butt, curves, her taste, her lips, and eyes.
I workout and burn off my rising sexual energy. It’s key I do not let it screw up my duties, or my plans to build the world’s biggest entertainment conglomerate.
After an hour of pumping iron, I run through my estate. I make it around the forest and lake, then I reach the front entrance again.
William has just pulled up in the Land Rover, and he has more than usual in his arms.
I help the old gent with the Rover door, and he steps out with courier packs and parcels.
“Thank you, Master Harry,”
“My pleasure, how may I help?”
“Well, I can get these, but those are rather awkward.”
The back is filled with a ridiculous amount of flowers. “Jesus.”
“Indeed.”
“For?”
“Well, Master, it would appear young Samantha has an admirer.”
My jaw tenses, and I don’t like it. Opening the back, I read the card as William watches. I give zero fucks.
‘Thinking of You.’
I inhale and mumble low, “Thinking of Killing You.”
I lift the two armfuls of flowers and consider burning them. My flowing, positive, free energy that I just cultivated for ninety minutes is gone.
Now, I want arse, but not only hers. Now, I need to know who the hell thinks they have the right. The right to send her…
Anything.
I prepare to burn the flowers when I decide to be the better person. The other me. The one who I did not become.
Instead of leaving the flowers in the kitchen for her, I take them upstairs.
I carry the two large bunches up the marble steps, feeling like a good errand boy. I also feel like a complete loser.
I push on, telling myself it is personal growth. I head down the oak-lined hall and stop at the door.
As I lean against her door edge, covered in sweat, half-naked, and with the huge bunch of flowers, I realize I must look confusing. Even odd. Screw it, I have worse problems, like finding the bastard who sent these.
I knock, and then fun music blasts out. A bouncy Samantha opens the door and fast.
“Oh, my God!” she screams. “Thanks, but you shouldn’t have.”
She grabs me, and I don’t stop her.
