3. Chapter 3
October
M iller shoved the hard wooden chair back and dropped into it. Thank God it’s Friday , he thought for about the thirteenth time since nine o’clock that morning.
“I’m guessing today wasn’t any better, huh?” Jackson asked over the music. “Take This Job and Shove It” was a Friday night anthem at the Galley and Nelie, the owner, always cranked up the volume for it.
“No.” Miller dropped his head, defeated. It had been an endless day filled with endless problems. Mrs. Webster, their beloved office administrator at AAS, had retired recently. She’d spent the last month training Michelle Swanson as her replacement. Michelle was the granddaughter of the first Anderson, niece of the second Anderson, and the daughter of Swanson. This had been Michelle’s first week flying solo. She hadn’t crashed, but she hadn’t soared, either.
Today the copier broke, his printer ran out of toner with no replacement backup, she’d double-booked two appointments, and she’d spilled coffee on him and his paperwork in front of a client. Next week was billing week. He was sure it would be a disaster.
Jackson relayed Miller’s other problems to their friends when the music reverted to its regular background volume. He’d heard all about them yesterday on their trail run.
“Michelle Swanson,” Croix said. “Wasn’t she a few years behind us in school? Perky blond with a, you know.” Croix used his hands to explain what his mouth couldn’t.
“Large chest? Boobs? Rack? Coconuts? Winnebagos? Take your pick, Croix, there’s lots of words you can use,” Parker said. “Hell’s bells, you’re a grown man and you can’t say it?”
Croix shifted in his seat and mumbled, “I was trying to be polite.”
“Well, you looked stupid.” Parker took a long drink of his beer.
“OK, kids, settle down,” Jackson intoned.
They caught up on each other’s lives and chatted with other friends who stopped at their table. It was good to have the posse, and Will, back in full force. It had been several weeks since Jackson had joined Miller, Croix, and Parker. Miller looked around the Galley and wondered where Emily was. He’d noticed Krista, Rica, and London in their usual booth, but Emily wasn’t with them. Neither was Wren.
Wren, the prickly woman who popped up in his mind at the most inopportune times. Like whenever he walked by the fresh bouquet on Michelle’s desk. Or when he ate a handful of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies from his “anonymous” soccer-mom baker. When he’d remembered her crack about him needing to watch his girlish figure, he’d put the last cookie back in the bag.
He was even reminded of her on his run yesterday. The turning leaves had reminded him of her hair. As a child, he’d had to be told which ones were red. Is she a redhead? he wondered for the umpteenth time and cursed his color blindness. At some point, he needed to suck it up and ask one of the guys to confirm this. He might not know the color, but he knew her hair looked soft and silky, unlike the crunchy, dry leaves he and Jackson had run through.
“Are you in the doghouse?” he asked Jackson, hoping to clear his mind of Wren.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re here on a Friday night for the first time since your engagement and Emily’s not, so it only makes sense you did something stupid.”
“Aww, you missed me,” Jackson said and batted his eyelashes at Miller. Miller had missed him, just a tiny bit, but he wasn’t going to admit it. “No, I’m not in the doghouse. In fact, I’ll probably be fiancé of the year if there is such a thing. She’s meeting her mom and sister in The Dells.”
“Why didn’t you go? It’s the water park capital of the world.” Croix sounded confused that Jackson had passed up on a weekend of water fun.
“It’s a ladies’ spa weekend. She’s being pampered and gathering information. We’re thinking of adding spas to a few of the Hart Hotels, and I thought it would be a good idea to have firsthand experience.”
“Yep, they’re booked into a four-star resort and they’ll all have facials, mani-pedis, and massages,” Will said. “I’m interested to hear what Emily thinks of the detox seaweed wrap. Hopefully, she’ll like it enough to forgive me for the aerial silk class I signed them up for.”
“Please tell me you learned about all of this while researching and it wasn’t previous knowledge. Because we may need to revoke your man card,” Croix teased.
“What’s the silk class?” Parker asked.
“You know, those long drapey silk loops suspended from the ceiling that circus performers use? You twist in them and do stunts,” Will explained.
“Will, she’s going to hurt herself. What were you thinking?” Jackson rubbed his face and looked at the ceiling.
“She’ll be fine. Don’t worry, boss.”
“Sounds like a smart move, Jackson. You get research and a happy fiancée,” Parker said. The men clinked their almost empty bottles together, but Jackson still looked worried. Emily wasn’t known for her athletic abilities.
“So, if Emily’s not mad at you, why do her friends keep glaring at you?” Miller asked, again.
“They’re not glaring at me, buddy, they’re glaring at you,” Jackson answered.
“Me? Why?” Miller was used to people being mad at him. It came with the territory. But while he was comfortable with people being mad at him professionally, he didn’t like it when it was personal. He hadn’t seen Krista or London since Jackson and Emily’s barbeque, so he didn’t understand why they would be mad. And he and Rica had their bi-weekly lunch date yesterday.
Rica was a financial planner and she leased office space at AAS. When she’d first moved in, Miller had taken her out to lunch to get acquainted. Several weeks after that, she’d returned the invitation. It was now a thing, a good thing. Every few weeks they grabbed lunch together. In the summer, they escaped to a food truck and in the winter they tended to brown-bag it in the office kitchen. Rica made it clear she was looking for a friend only, no benefits, and Miller respected that.
“Not entirely sure.” It sounded like Jackson was hedging.
“Take a wild guess,” Miller prompted. Jackson leaned forward.
“I may have overheard Krista and Wren talking when Wren was fixing the floral arrangements in Reception. Something about needing to cancel on her and Rica tonight because she had a project for you she needed to finish.” Jackson raised an eyebrow in question.
The subpoena. It’s Friday night and instead of hanging out with her friends, Wren was dealing with the subpoena. Miller didn’t blame them for glaring at him. “Damn,” Miller muttered.
“Damn is right.” Jackson nodded his head in agreement. “Anything you can do to fix it? Whatever it is?”
“I don’t know, but I need to try.” Miller raised his arm and caught the eye of a nearby server. “I need to place a to-go order.”
Friday, 7:05 PM
Rica : I’m at the back door. Open up.
Wren turned down the classic rock station blaring in the background after reading her friend’s text. The hard pounding beats and screeching guitar riffs matched her rough mood. She hopped off the hard stool and moved to the back door. She rolled her shoulders as she walked. It felt good to move. She’d been sitting still, sorting through orders ever since the shop had closed for the day. Wren opened the door, eager to see a friendly face.
“You’re not Rica.”
“Don’t you have a chain on this door? Any fool can barge in,” Miller pointed out as he walked past her. Wren caught a whiff of his cologne. Versace? Pour Homme? she thought she recognized the fresh citrus scent, but she could be wrong. It had been a while since she’d sniffed anyone’s cologne.
“No. I’ve never had the need for one until now.” Wren shut the door and leaned against it. “What can I do for you, Counselor?” She slowly appraised him, from his black wing-tip shoes to his dark grey suit (custom-tailored, no doubt) and lavender shirt. She saw the dark purple tie poking out from his suit coat pocket. There was something so deliciously appealing about a man wearing traditional feminine colors.
“Dinner?” Miller held up the large carry-out bag with the Galley’s logo emblazoned on the front.
“I already ate.” Self-preservation forced her to lie. Her stomach growled when the smell of French fries reached her nose. Her stomach always did have a mind of its own.
“I don’t think your stomach remembers,” he said as he held out a Styrofoam container.
“I don’t have time to play games.” Wren ignored him and walked back to where she’d been working. She topped off the glass of red wine, her version of dinner.
“I’m not here to play games. I’m here to help.” Miller set the food on the counter, then shrugged off his suit coat and draped it over the high stool. He pulled out a small container. Wren’s stomach growled again. It was on a mission.
“What’s that?” She pointed to the container. Her stomach made her ask.
“According to Rica and Krista, this is my ticket in, and the only reason Rica was willing to help me by texting you. I had to buy her one, too.”
“You’re in, but in about fifteen seconds you’ll be out.” Wren moved to the back door.
“If I go, I’m taking this with me.” Miller held up the box and wiggled it.
“What is it?” she asked again, not bothering to hide her irritation and curiosity from her voice.
“Three layers of chocolate cake—dark, milk, and white—with caramel in between each layer, and the whole thing is covered with chocolate ganache.” Miller’s smooth description left her stomach and other parts wanting.
Motherlode chocolate cake , Wren thought with deep longing. It was Nelie’s specialty dessert, made from scratch daily at the Galley. I really should eat something , she rationalized.
“You can stay, but only until I finish this.” Wren reached for the cake.
“Not so fast.” Miller pulled out another large container. “The cake will keep, but dinner’s getting cold.”
“Counselor, on a day like today, cake counts as dinner.”
“I agree, which is why I have my own piece.” He pointed to the second small container. “I also have an order of mostaccioli with a side salad or a grilled chicken sandwich with fries. Which one would you like?” He looked at her expectantly.
What I would like , thought Wren, is for Mr. Nelson to have kept his pecker in his pants. She’d forgiven Miller for the subpoena. He was just looking out for his client’s best interest. If she was in his position, she would have done the same thing. Heck, she would have had her lawyer do the same thing, too, if Michael hadn’t been cooperative in the divorce.
But finding this information for Miller had opened up old wounds, wounds she thought had healed, leaving only rough scar tissue behind as an occasional reminder. Who was she kidding? A cheating spouse left a gaping hole and you don’t get over that quickly. Like any wounded animal, she wanted to hide in a safe place and take care of this herself. She could only do that once Miller left, and since he seemed determined to eat, eating would be the quickest way to get rid of him.
“I’d like the pasta, please.” Wren cleared off the countertop so they could eat there. “Would you like a glass of wine?” she halfheartedly offered.
“No, thanks.” He pulled two bottles of water from the bottom of the bag, handing one to Wren. They ate mostly in silence. Wren walked a fine line between being polite and rude. Miller tried to engage Wren in conversation, but she didn’t cooperate. She answered his questions, but she didn’t elaborate. If a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer worked, that’s all she gave. She also didn’t ask any questions of him. The sooner he left, the better.
“I can’t eat another bite,” Wren admitted, pushing her container away and helping herself to a few of Miller’s French fries. “Is it all right with you if I save the cake until later?”
“Later works.” Miller started to clear away the nearly empty containers. “Should I put our cakes in the cooler, or do you like yours at room temperature?”
“Aren’t you leaving?” Wren asked, panic in her voice.
“Eventually, but not now.”
“Counselor, I appreciate the dinner and the cake, but I need to get back to work. I have a subpoena to address, in case you forgot.”
“I’m staying to help.” Miller rolled up his shirt sleeves. Wren’s eyes zeroed in on his hands and the way his forearm muscles flexed. The lavender color of his crisp dress shirt contrasted beautifully with the exposed soft black hairs on his arm. Wren’s fingers itched to capture the scene, the nuances of the different textures. Maybe later, in the safety of her apartment, she’d play with her colored pencils and try to recreate it. Breathing became difficult as she studied him. She moved toward the back door, hoping he’d follow. He didn’t.
“Why does it feel like you’re always trying to get rid of me?” Miller asked as he finished rolling up his second sleeve.
“Because I am.” Wren slapped her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t intended to say that out loud. No matter how frustrated she was, that was no excuse for being rude.
“Ouch.” Miller clutched his heart as though he’d been shot. “Come on, let’s get to work.”
“This is my business, I’ll handle it. You’ll be about as useful as a trapdoor in a canoe.” Wren pushed up her sweatshirt sleeves and smiled. She was done being polite.
“That sounded like an insult.”
“Well, bless your heart. You’re smarter than you look.”
“Now, I know that was an insult.” Miller pointed his finger at her and glared. She was thinking of another semi-insult to sling, but Miller spoke first. “Wren, for your sake, I wish I could leave, but the Minnesota Rule of Civil Procedure number forty-five requires me to take reasonable steps to avoid imposing undue burden or expense on a person subject to a subpoena.” Miller rolled his broad shoulders and took a long look at all the paperwork surrounding them. “And, from what I see, this looks like an undue burden.”
Wren leaned against the door, grateful for its support, and glared at him. “You made that up,” she accused.
“Nope. It’s true. Google it.” Miller picked up piles of papers and began moving them around.
Wren rushed over and grabbed the work orders from him before he muddled up her process. She had no choice. She had to work with him. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. Two people working would get through the orders more quickly. And, the quicker they finished, the sooner he could leave. And the sooner he left, the safer she’d be.
“If I’m forced to let you help, let me explain my system,” she said.
“There’s a system?”
“Yes, kind of.” Wren didn’t argue with him on this one. “I’m sure an outside observer would say it sucks.” She wandered around the workroom tidying up the already tidy space. She worked hard to be a successful business owner. The partial admission that her current system was less than adequate was a hit to her pride. “When I took over from my aunt, Wallflowers wasn’t this busy. She kept all the orders by hand. Most shops have computer systems tied to their websites and the national wire services. I didn’t think I’d need one, because I didn’t think I’d be here more than a year.” She looked at Miller to gauge his reaction. She saw curiosity and interest in his eyes and foolishly continued. At the end of the evening, she would blame it on her second glass of wine, conveniently forgetting she had drunk it on a full stomach.
“But I thought you bought Wallflowers.”
“I did. But I didn’t get much. Her customer list was short and most of the equipment was on its last legs.”
“So, no tangible assets?”
“Not really. My aunt had a year left in her lease. She figured it was cheaper to sell the business to me at a rock-bottom price than to pay off the lease. My uncle was being transferred to Phoenix for work, so she had to do something. I bought time and a place to stay.”
“What’s rock bottom going for in the floral industry, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Five dollars.” Wren grinned.
“You paid more in legal fees than you did for the business,” Miller observed.
“Nope. No lawyers. We did everything on a napkin over dinner at the Galley and Nelie witnessed it.”
“I’m shocked and appalled.” Wren laughed at his dramatic, pained expression. “So, owning a successful florist shop wasn’t your life’s ambition?” he asked.
“No, so you can imagine my surprise when I realized my temporary escape had become my permanent life.” She stopped wandering and settled on the stool next to him. “This wasn’t supposed to be my life, but I’m glad it is. I have great friends, a thriving business, and I love Haven during the warm months.”
“You don’t like winter?”
“Only a crazy person would.”
“Consider me crazy then.”
“I already do, Counselor.” She’d caught herself in time. She’d almost said Miller. But to get through tonight, she’d have to stick with the deal. Tonight, she needed to call him Counselor and be mad. Easy peasy, especially if he keeps looking around the shop with that scowl on his face. Even when he scowled, he was the most attractive man she’d ever met. She put her hand over her belly to steady herself.
“I’ll admit it, if I’d known you weren’t computerized, I may have thought twice about subpoenaing you.”
“But you still would have,” Wren finished for him. “You want to do the best job you can for Mrs. Nelson, and I respect that.” Wren shuffled papers around to avoid looking at Miller. “Now, before I say anything else I’ll regret in the morning, let me explain the system.”
She reached past him for a thick three-ring binder and her breast brushed against his arm. Miller didn’t move, but she thought she heard his breath catch. Wren felt herself blush and used all of her muscles to heft the heavy binder and sit back down without touching him again. She cleared her throat. “These are the daily delivery sheets. I’ve been scanning them for the mistress’s address. When I find one, I then pull the work orders for that day. They’re stored chronologically and each month has its own box.”
“Seems like a good system.”
“Good, but slow,” she admitted. “Before you showed up, I figured I had about six more hours to go.”
“So, now it’s three, plus time for cake.”
Much to Wren’s surprise, they worked well together. Miller reviewed the delivery sheets and when he found the address, Wren then pulled the work order. By the end of the evening, they had about a dozen orders. Mr. Nelson had ordered four of the bouquets over the phone and had paid for them with his business credit card. Since they were phone orders, there was a record of what the card’s message was. Both were lovey-dovey, and in Wren’s mind, damning to hell. The rest of the orders, however, he’d paid for with cash, and Mr. Nelson had filled out the card personally when he’d stopped in to order them. They didn’t know those messages.
“Will this be enough or will you need to depose me?” Wren asked cautiously as they cleared off the counter. She’d spent most of her time that evening fighting the need to be near him. There was something about him that just pulled at her, like gravity. Tired now, she gave up the fight and stood next to him at the counter.
“You sure know your legal terms.”
“Lots of Law and Order ,“ Wren lied. “And you didn’t answer my question, Counselor.”
“I didn’t answer it because I think you already know the answer.”
“You’re sorry, but you’re going to depose me, right?”
“Yes. I need you to identify the man who paid cash.”
“OK, just tell me where and when.”
Miller stood there, stunned. Wren lightly touched the bottom of his scratchy jaw and closed his mouth. She couldn’t stop herself.
“Careful, Counselor, you’re losing your poker face,” she warned. Her fingers tingled. It’s from the whiskers, nothing else , she told herself.
“You’re not fighting me on this?”
“No, Counselor, I’m not. You should probably take your cake and go before I change my mind.”
“Quit while I’m ahead?” Miller was no fool. He slipped on his suit coat and gathered his cake and the remaining work orders.
“Something like that,” she agreed, and once again opened the back door for him.
“I’ll call you with some options for the deposition.”
“I’m sure you will,” Wren agreed.
“Sure you don’t want me to stay? According to the clock, you have about half an hour left to be mad at me. I wouldn’t want to deprive you.” It sounded like he was mocking her.
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m quite able to be mad at you even when you’re not here,” she assured him. “Good night, Counselor.” She heard him laugh as she locked the door behind him and set the alarm system.
Wren slumped against the door and gently knocked her head against it three times. It was too late to knock any sense into her, but it would serve as minor punishment. Not only had she let him help her, but she’d also let him feed her! To top it off, she’d told him how she’d bought the business. So much for keeping him at arm’s length. She hated to admit it, but everyone was right. Miller was a nice guy. After getting over the fact that her orders weren’t computerized, he’d dug right in and did whatever she’d told him to. They’d made a good team tonight, and she hoped this boded well for the wedding planning.
While climbing the stairs to her apartment, Wren felt lighter than she had in weeks. She hadn’t realized what a burden the subpoena had been. She’d purposely waited until the last moment to comply with it so she could stick it to Miller. You’re not the boss of me! Immature, but satisfying.
Helping Mrs. Nelson had been more satisfying and healing than she’d thought it would be. Yes, she still felt wounded, but the emotional scars felt smoother and softer, like there was less scar tissue. Wren felt a kinship with Mrs. Nelson and she was glad she could help. But, she wasn’t done yet. She still had the annoying deposition, but from what Miller had said, it would be a few questions and they’d handle it in his office. She hoped Miller and the older woman would be able to take the cheating spouse for everything he had. Fools like her and Mrs. Nelson had to stick together.