“I can do deliveries. I have a driver’s license and everything.” And his van probably had plenty of gas. “Do I have to pay the tax things?”
Because those really were a pain in the tush.
Jase smirked. “Well, yeah. It’s sort of the law.”
“Do I have to pay a lot of them?” she asked.
He leveled a stare at her, clearly trying to figure her out. “I’ll pay you triple.”
“There’s still taxes. I don’t like paying those.”
“Marlee, I can’t negotiate out the taxes, but there will be more money when you get your check frommeversus when you get your check fromEli.”
Well, that worked, too. “Deal.”
She’d once mentioned to her dad that she’d thought about becoming a florist.
He’d informed her it wasn’t an appropriate position for someone of her pedigree. Now, it would be what kept Lothario fed, which made it all the more fitting.
“When can you start?” Jase held out his hand.
She shook it. “Uh, now? Eli sent me home early because I didn’t eat lunch and I screwed up his almonds.”
Jase’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Did you get lunch or should I call something in?”
Nope, she was good. “Eli fed me before he sent me home.”
Now, he could relax knowing that she would not be tripping over everything in his kitchen or screwing up his jobs.
“Marlee, I have about ten arrangements to finish this afternoon. If you help me, I’ll never make you do anything with almonds,” Jase promised.
“Then you think you can stop me?” Because truth was, she would arrange flowers for free. Well, she would’ve before she didn’t have any money. Now, she’d need to charge. But only because Lothario liked special only-available-online food. He was struggling through the kibble she was able to afford, but he didn’t have to whine for her to know he preferred the other. “But Eli may need my help with some of his events since he’s been planning on me being there.” She didn’t want to leave him high and dry, but he was going to be over the moon that she wasn’t all up in his face all the time. “So I’ll have to work out some kind of a schedule.”
“Fair enough.” Jase pulled a binder from beside the cash register. “This is where I keep the special orders. I also make a list every Monday of the stock we’ll want to keep in the shop that week.”
Marlee rubbed her hands together. “Gimme.”
* * *
Eli had been workingMarlee too hard. Hell, he was exhausted, and he was used to the late hours and early mornings. He’d been busting his butt to keep shaving off the days until he could afford to open his new restaurant. But thanks to his new wife, he’d just landed a fundraising gala. If it went well, he could likely shave ten months off Dean’s timetable with all the extra gigs that would follow.
As soon as he came out as her mystery groom, the call came in from the committee chair for the Consolidated Means gala. Their caterer had bailed, and Marlee had talked her into hiring Eli.
Usually, after a marathon couple of weeks, he’d head up to the mountains with a tent and no cell service. Now that Marlee was staying with him, he’d find something to do closer to home after the big gala. He just hoped like hell that the business following the event would make it all worth it.
With a large brown bag of leftovers tucked under his arm, he paused at the edge of the parking lot. Marlee’s Jag was still parked right next to his Jeep. She hadn’t gone home to rest.
His stomach dropped.
Not that he had any right to tell her what to do or where to go, but she’d looked so wiped earlier. He didn’t want to be responsible for that.
She was either at Jase’s flower shop or Heather’s cookie shop. He’d start with Jase. It was closer anyway, and since Jase was his buddy and it wasn’t totally out of the ordinary for him to stop in after work for a beer, it wouldn’t look like he was tracking down his soon-to-be ex-wife.
Turning back toward the sidewalk, he practically jogged to Jase’s door. Not because he was worried about Marlee. Only because he wanted to see his buddy.
The cowbell on the door clunked as he pushed it open. Eighties hair band music blared from the speakers—Van Halen this time—and Marlee was fussing with an arrangement of tulips, one of The Flower Pot’s aprons hugging her waist.
Marlee was not resting.
