Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Olivia
I should fire Sheryl.
“Mr. Donato,” I whisper his name. “What are you doing here?”
He stares at me. “I came to thank you.”
I skim my hands over the wrinkled skirt of my red dress. My hair is a mess. I’ve spent the better part of the last thirty minutes in the stock room rummaging through a box of satin boyshorts that were sent to this store by mistake.
The shipment was destined for our competitor who just opened a new location a block from here.
Trying to locate the purchase order that was tucked into the box with hundreds of pairs of underwear wasn’t an easy task.
The manager of this store called me in a panic right before lunch because she assumed this shipment was part of our winter line and she had no record of the order.
She wanted to know the unit number for the shorts in our point of sale software program.
I couldn’t find it so I told her I’d come down to sort things out.
I asked her repeatedly if the box was addressed to this Liore location. She assured me it was.
I didn’t realize until I looked at the shipping label that the delivery person is the one who made a mistake.
“These are for you.” Alexander pushes a large bunch of flowers toward me. “Thank you for what you did for my nephew.”
I brush the bouquet away with a swat of my hand. “This isn’t necessary.”
A gasp from a woman standing near us turns both our heads. “How ungrateful,” she mutters under her breath.
“It is necessary.” Alexander shifts his gaze back to my face. “You did something special for my nephew. I appreciate that.”
My first instinct is to deny that I’m the person responsible for the replacement jersey for his nephew, but he’s so sure of himself. Buck must have let it slip that I’m the one who went to Trey.
“You should thank Buck, not me.” I glance around the boutique and the dozen or so customers who are now staring at the two of us. I drop my voice to barely more than a whisper. “He’s the one who broke his promise to me.”
Alexander’s gaze follows mine. “Is there somewhere more private that we can talk?”
I run a hand through my hair. “There’s an office in the back. We can talk there.”
I lead the way, feeling every set of eyes in the boutique following each move we make.
“Don’t blame Buck,” Alexander says as I close the door of the office. He turns his phone screen toward me.
I stare at the picture of Trey and me in matching baseball jerseys and caps.
Dammit.
I remember the day that picture was taken. It was last spring, and we were having lunch in Boston on Mother’s Day.
Trey thought our moms would get a kick out of the two of us dressing alike.
They did.
My mom was the one who took the photo using Trey’s phone. He sent it to me, but I had no idea that he also uploaded it to his Instagram account.
“The only clue he gave me was that a female relative of Trey’s told him about my stolen jersey.” He shoves the phone back into the pocket of his gray dress slacks.
He’s wearing black shoes and a black V-neck sweater.
His dark hair is tousled in that sexy way that only men who look like him can pull off.
Get a grip, Olivia. He’s not your type.
Since I’m standing in silence, he goes on. “I thought it was a long shot when I started going through Trey’s old Instagram posts, but I struck gold when I found that picture of the two of you.”
I tug on one of my earrings, suddenly feeling self-conscious about how I looked in the picture and how I look now. “You didn’t have to come all the way down here to thank me.”
He pushes the flowers toward me again. “I wanted to give you these to thank you for what you did for Alvin.”
“Alvin?” I repeat the name back. “Is that your nephew?”
His phone is in his palm again. He shows me the screen and an image of a young blond haired boy with big blue eyes. “He’s my sister’s kid. Your cousin is his hero.”
Any lingering reservations I had about going to Trey to ask for a signed jersey, disappear at the sight of that boy’s smiling face. “I’m glad I could help.”
“You did more than help.” He stares intently into my eyes. “Alvin is going to meet Trey. He’s going to watch the first game of the World Series from one of the best seats in the house and that’s all because of you.”
“Trey loves his fans.” I try to shift the focus of his gratitude to my cousin. All I did was ask for a jersey. “Trey and his agent came up with the idea for the game tickets and the meeting. I can’t take any credit for that.”
“You’re the one who got the ball rolling.” He moves the flowers closer to me. “Please accept these as a small token of my appreciation.”
I begrudgingly reach for the bouquet, knowing that every employee in this boutique is going to question me about the flowers and the handsome man who gave them to me.
I clear my throat. “Thank you. They’re lovely.”
“Have dinner with me.”
Dumbfounded, I fumble with something to say. I didn’t expect a dinner invitation. Hell, I didn’t expect him to come down to the boutique today. “No…I won’t…I mean, I can’t…”
If he’s offended, it’s hidden behind the brilliant smile on his face. “You can’t or you won’t. Which is it?”
“It’s not necessary,” I clarify, not wanting to look like a fool because I instantly assumed that the invitation was for a date, not a thanks-for-making-my-nephew’s-dreams-come-true dinner. “The flowers are thank you enough.”
Confusion knits his brow. “The flowers are a start.”
“They’re enough,” I argue.
“Hardly,” he spits back. “I’ll be in touch, Ms. Hull.”
“Why?” I ask as he starts toward the office door. “I did you a favor. You thanked me. That’s the end.”
“I’m in your debt.” He stops to look me over. “I always repay my debts.”
Before I can say anything else, he turns on his heel, opens the door and disappears into the crowded boutique, every female turning her head as he passes.
I have no idea what the hell just happened between Alexander and me but he’s wrong, he doesn’t owe me a thing.