Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
VALERIE
“THOSE ARE THE prettiest flowers I’ve ever seen, Val.” Crystal does a slow walk around the tiny, circular table in the dining nook of her small apartment. “You must have made quite an impression on the dickhead.”
I press my lips together because I didn’t tell my only friend the full truth of how my date with Fynn went yesterday. I skipped over a few parts. Namely the bit where he got me off in the middle of the ocean and then abandoned me when a surprisingly aggressive woman decided to go all vigilante on us.
So I’m guessing the breathtaking arrangement that arrived this afternoon is less about the impression I made and more about apologizing for running with his tail between his legs.
It’s still really pretty. Full-petaled, pale pink roses stand tall in a clear glass vase, surrounded by a variety of flowers in similar shades of pink and white. Peonies, hydrangeas, and lilies fill out the huge bouquet, making it not just the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen, but also the best smelling.
Crystal gives me a sly smile over the top of it, her head dipping in a slow nod. “He’s hot for you.”
I don’t disagree, but I’m not sure that’s going to help my case, which has me panicking a little. I was hoping I could ease Fynn into this little plan of mine, but, after yesterday, I think I just need to rip off the Band-Aid. Shoot my shot and pray he’s as invested in saving his reputation as I am in ruining mine.
I slide my palm into the back pocket of my jean shorts, pressing it against the card I lifted the second the delivery man carried in the flowers, ensuring my well-meaning but overbearing roommate didn’t get her hands on it. “I’m going to run to the bathroom.”
Crystal pushes up on her toes as I leave, widening her eyes at me over the gargantuan arrangement. “You need to call him and thank him for these.” She sniffs one of the roses. “Gush about how gorgeous they are.”
“Okay.” I manage to give her a smile before I duck into the bathroom. My heart is pounding as I pull the tiny, pale pink envelope from my pocket and slide the card inside free.
I’m sorry.
Fynn.
The handwriting is too pretty to be his, the curling letters graceful, but not quite feminine looking. A man like Fynn would make neat, but scrawling, letters.
So, after leaving me on the beach to deal with his mess, he couldn’t even be bothered to order apology flowers in person?
Finally, Crystal is right about something. I should call Fynn. Tell him maybe Jessica isn’t the only reason he’s having so much trouble scoring a date. He could have at least written the damn note himself. It’s a handful of freaking words for Christ’s sake.
I glare at myself in the mirror, eyes narrowing at my reflection as I weigh my options. I can tell Fynn to take his beautiful flowers and half-assed apology and shove them up his well-toned butt. Forget this whole plan and stand my ground when my father and Warren find me.
And they will find me.
I wish I could believe I’d be capable of it. That I’m finally strong enough to hold my own against them. But it wouldn’t just be them I’d be taking on, and that’s what has me hesitating. Part of what has me hesitating.
I look back at the card in my hand, eyes narrowing at the half-assed apology.
No. Fuck him. I’m not letting Fynn force me to back down and give up the way I always have. If I’ve learned nothing else from my time with him, it’s that he needs me as much as I need him. And I’m going to make him see that.
I smile, feeling hopeful for the first time since Fynn walked away from me yesterday. Hopeful and a little excited. Fynn might think he’s told me goodbye, but he’s going to be seeing this face again. Soon.
Whether he likes it or not.
THE TINY SET of bells hanging on the glass door fills the shop with soft jingling as I step inside the small space situated in downtown Sweet Side. The chilly air of the interior smells green and fresh and is a welcome change from the muggy humidity outside.
“Can I help you?”
I lean to one side, trying to peek at the man behind the counter around the giant flowers I’m doing my best not to ruin. In spite of their irritating origins, they are beautiful and I would hate to see anything happen to them, which is why I carried them here instead of trying to cram them into my car—a decision I was regretting two blocks into the five-block journey.
A tall, thin-framed man with a tight fade, eyes the vase in my arms, one well-groomed brow lifting in question as our eyes meet.
“I hope so.” I step forward, taking a second to wrestle the flowers onto the counter between us. The damn things are heavy as hell and my arms are burning from exertion. I give him a sweet smile in spite of my sweaty, breathless state, hoping I can butter him up enough to get the information I’m pretty sure he’s not going to want to give me.
“I was wondering if the man who ordered these flowers for me actually came in here this morning.” I pull the card out and slide it toward the guy still watching me with a wary gaze. “Because, while the handwriting is beautiful, I don’t think it’s his, which means he couldn’t even take the time to write the damn card himself.”
The man’s dark eyes narrow. Then his face splits into a wide smile. “That’s a dick move, isn’t it?”
“Right?” I lean against the counter, feeling slightly less winded and a tiny bit more confident. “At first I was considering forgiving him because,” I motion to the flowers, “I mean, who wouldn’t with flowers like this? They’re stunning.” I let out a sigh. “But then I saw that card and it just pissed me off all over again.”
The man rests his elbows on the counter, propping his chin on one hand. “So what are you going to do?”
“Well,” I pause a second, nervous to make my move, “I was thinking I would take his flowers back to him and tell him he can shove them.” I hesitate again because the next bit is the tricky part. The part I need his help with. “But I don’t know where he lives.”
“That’s unfortunate, because it sounds like this guy really deserves a visit from you.” The man across the counter sighs. “I wish I could help you, but I can’t give out information like that.” He leans in. “It would be illegal.” Suddenly, he straightens, one hand pushing a spiral bound book across the counter toward me as he spins to look in the direction of the back room, yelling toward the open door. “What?”
He turns back my way. “I’m sorry, I’ll be right back.” He winks before walking away, leaving me staring at the name on the book he put in front of me.
And the address that goes along with it.
Fynn Hadawa y
14 Ocean Ave. #14
The air rushes from my lungs as I memorize the location. Thank God for all the fourteen’s and a simple street name, because I’m not sure my adrenaline-addled brain could handle anything more complicated.
I grab my flowers and start to leave. “Shit.” Angling back around, I shift the heavy arrangement to one arm so I can grab the card from the counter and tuck it back into the pocket of the wrap dress I tied on hoping to sweeten my proposed deal with some leg and cleavage. I hurry outside, teetering in my heels as I spin to get my bearings. Sliding my phone from my purse I swipe open the screen and carefully type the address into the maps app. Directions populate and I let out a groan when I see Fynn’s place is two blocks back the direction I just came. This better work, because hauling these flowers all over Sweet Side is turning out to be exhausting.
I wind through the people cluttering the street, dodging older women juggling shopping bags and men in suits with cell phones glued to their ears. My hair is sticking to my neck and my feet are starting to ache, but I don’t slow down. I’ve come so far and I can’t stop now. Not when I’m so close.
Hopefully so close.
Once I reach Ocean Avenue I hang a left, breathing out a sigh of relief when Fynn’s building comes into view. It’s not as tall as some of the buildings in Sweet Side, but that’s probably because it doesn’t have to be. There are only a couple smaller structures standing between it and the ocean, so anyone from the third floor up has sweeping views of the water. It’s only two blocks from Crystal’s apartment, but the two places seem worlds away at this point.
And I haven’t even gone in yet.
Taking a solidifying breath, I march toward the glass doors leading inside. I jostle the flowers to one side, hopefully for the last time, and open the door, coming face to face with a security guard. He’s the last hurdle I have in this journey, so I give him the same smile that’s gotten me this far. “Hello.”
His eyes move over the flowers in my hands. “Making a delivery?”
My brain barely stutters at his question. “Yup.”
He pushes a button, unlocking the door between me and the elevators then goes back to scrolling his phone.
Holy crap, that was easier than I was expecting.
“Thank you.” I hustle to push my way through before he changes his mind or my arms fall off. Both seem equally likely.
After a little juggling, I manage to press the button for the seventh floor. It’s my best guess for where Fynn’s unit will be. Based on the basic size of the footprint—and my assumptions about the kind of square footage a man of Fynn’s means would require—there are probably two units per floor. If I’m wrong, I’ll just try again.
Because I’m not giving up.
Tapping the toe of my pump against the tile, I wait for the world’s slowest elevator. Panic is setting in now that I’ve made it here. That’s how it’s been from the second I left Minnesota. Each step I take I’m almost positive I’m going to fail. Sure I’ll fall back to being the meek, agreeable woman who almost let her father barter her off for his own gain.
But I don’t want to be her anymore, and I will do whatever it takes to make sure they can’t drag me back.
Straightening my shoulders, I step into the elevator Fynn uses every day, ready to tell him he can take the flowers he sent me and cram them up his crapper.
Then somehow convince him to marry and deflower me in exchange for a reputation overhaul. I’m not exactly sure how I’ll get from point A to point B, but honestly I wasn’t sure how I’d get this far. And here I am. Taking control of things. Like I said I was going to.
The elevator moves faster than I expected based on the initial wait, and in only a few deep breaths the doors are opening with a slightly obnoxious squeak. Swallowing hard, I step out into a small hall with two doors, confirming my assumptions about the layout. One is marked #13 and the other is Fynn’s. I march up to it, sucking in one final breath before banging my knuckles against the smooth wood. The sound echoes in the empty hall almost as loud as my heart pounds in my ears.
Nerves bite my insides as the anticipation of seeing Fynn again sends a swarm of butterflies free, wreaking havoc on my already twisted stomach. I know I should be upset with him for leaving the way he did, but my lusty little brain keeps reminding me of all that happened before everything went to shit. The way he held me close. Teased me. Touched me.
Heat flushes my body and I tap my foot again, this time against the carpet of the hall. Impatience has me knocking again. If he’s not home I swear to God—
“Can I help you?”
I turn to find the door to #13 open, and a huge, virtual house of a man looking me up and down with a wary gaze. He’s got to be six-five and every one of those inches is muscle on muscle. His wavy dark hair hangs to his shoulders in damp waves and his full mouth is pressed into a frown. His presence is intimidating and threatens to send me running.
“Um.” I glance at the door in front of me, willing it to open.
Doesn’t happen.
So I have to collect what remains of my determination and turn back to Fynn’s neighbor, praying he doesn’t send me packing. I offer him the same smile that got me this address and access to the elevator, hoping for a third strike of luck. “I’m visiting Fynn.”
His dark eyes narrow. “You’re visiting Fynn? Fynn Hadaway?” He looks about half a second from calling that security guard who didn’t blink an eye at me. It makes me wonder if other women come here looking for Fynn. If they made it just as far as I have. Based on big boy’s reaction, it sure seems like it.
Probably without the same good intentions I have. If you call hoping to convince a man to marry and fuck you so you can’t be used, good intentions.
The thought of Fynn’s body over mine, ruining me in the best way possible has fire rushing through my veins. It’s a distraction I don’t need right now .
Clearing my throat, I attempt to refocus. “He sent me flowers.” I spin to fully face the man so he can get a good look at the evidence. “I wanted to thank him.”
“So you brought the flowers all the way here?” I can’t see his face with the arrangement in the way, but his skepticism is clear. This guy is calling my bluff. Hard.
I blow out a breath and my chin starts to quiver as all my false bravado bleeds away. My arms hurt. My feet hurt. And I’m so freaking close but still so goddamn far away. If Fynn would just open the flipping door and let me freaking help him, we could both get what we want. We could both be happy. I kick the door with the toe of my pump, feeling my handle on this situation slipping away.
“He’s not home.” The neighbor steps into view. “Went to visit his mom.”
Great. Just fucking great. All this damn work for nothing.
And now Fynn will know I was here. On his doorstep. Toting a giant flower arrangement.
The enormous man comes closer. “Why don’t I let you in so you can wait for him?”
I blink at him. He’s the third man to assist me on my quest to force Fynn to let me help him, so he can help me. First the man at the flower shop. Then the security guard.
Now this guy.
I’m starting to think it’s less because I’m a great actress and more because of Fynn himself. In spite of his hasty exit yesterday, Fynn’s not a bad man. I know bad men and he’s not it. And I’m glad he has a few people looking out for him.
And since those people are helping me, it means they know I’m not like the rest of the women who come looking for him. I hope he sees it the same way after I make my proposition.
“Thank you.” I step back, letting the neighbor unlock the keypad on the door. “I’m Valerie.”
“Figured as much.” The man pushes the door wide and steps to one side. “I’m Gavin.”
I step into Fynn’s apartment and turn. “Is he going to be mad that I’m in here?”
Gavin laughs. “Hell yes he is.” He gives me a wink. “But it won’t be at you.” He points to the large leather sofa sitting in front of a row of floor-to-ceiling windows. “Make yourself at home.”
“Okay.” I continue to stand in the same spot long after Gavin shuts me in Fynn’s place, staring at the door.
Figured as much. That’s what Gavin said when I introduced myself. He knows who I am.
Knowing Fynn told his neighbor—and likely friend—about me sends a foreign sense of giddiness rushing through my limbs. I know this is just supposed to be a mutually beneficial, transactional sort of thing, but my body doesn’t seem to have gotten that memo. It is focused only on one very specific part of this whole plan and eager to close the deal.
The thought of imminent sex with Fynn is exhilarating and thrilling and terrifying and has me forcing air into my lungs as I dig around for the bravery I know I possess. I walked away from an entire life for God’s sake. Ran from dangerous men knowing what would happen if they caught me.
All because I wanted to be happy. To be free. To take charge of my own self.
And that’s what I’m here to do.
I spin to face the large space Fynn calls home, looking for a spot to deposit this stupidly heavy vase of flowers he sent me. There’s a wide marble topped island separating the kitchen from the rest of the open-concept living and dining area. It’s big enough I could lay down on it, so it should be big enough for these damn flowers.
I carefully set the vase on the counter. Once it’s down, I can see the blooms are beginning to droop. I drained the vase before I left so it wouldn’t slosh all over me, and the lack of water is starting to be a problem. I go into the kitchen in search of a cup, peeking into cabinets, trying not to be nosier than I have to be.
Luckily, I find a large plastic cup with the logo for the Cape Coral Swamp Cats in the second cabinet I open. After filling it in the sink, I carefully pour the water into the vase before setting the cup upside down to dry in the rack.
My eyes drag to the line of windows overlooking the water. The lure of the view has me walking across the condo, barely hesitating at the door leading to the deck, before pulling it open and stepping outside. A soft breeze lifts my hair as I lean against the rail, looking out at the ocean edging Sweet Side.
I didn’t intend to stop here, but I’m glad I did. Not only because it might be what saves me, but because I genuinely want to help Fynn. I know what it’s like to suffer because of another person and it sucks.
Hopefully I can save us both. I’m sure as hell going to try.
I don’t hear the door open. But I don’t really have to. I can feel the instant Fynn steps into the condo behind me. I turn to face him, my renewed sense of purpose straightening my spine and setting my jaw.
But then I see him.
And all my intentions fly away with the wind.