Chapter 5
5
Three Months Later
I did it.
I freaking did it .
Lane at Law .
Is the name kind of generic? Yes.
It’s not like you can tap entirely into your creativity. No one will take Boho Love Law or Sparkly Butterflies at Law seriously.
My office is a brick building fifteen minutes from downtown and less than a minute's walk to Down Home Pub. It’s also not close to Terrance’s—soon-to-be Adrian’s—firm downtown.
No thank you on being near him.
I tapped into my savings, and my parents covered the remodeling costs. Since the space was an insurance office before, not much work was needed.
River and Jax put a fresh coat of paint on.
A local carpenter replaced the old tiled floor with wood and installed new cabinetry. And because I have the most supportive parents in the world, they surprised me with brand-new computers and anything techie needed for a business.
I throw my arms out and spin around .
My own firm.
Somewhere I don’t have to run myself ragged for self-centered men who see me as beneath them. It might take a while to acquire clients, but I’ll work my butt off. I posted an ad for a paralegal but haven’t hired anyone yet.
I straighten items on the antique desk I found at an estate sale last week. Just as I’m about to start my computer and go through paralegal résumés, the door chimes. I leave my office to find Archie Jetson, the local florist, holding a bouquet.
Archie offers me the flowers. “A delivery for Ms. Lane.”
“Thanks, Archie,” I say, taking them from him with a smile. “Who sent these?”
“There’s a note on the card.” He grins and plucks a flower petal from his thick beard. “You have a good day now.”
I thank him again, set the flowers on the front reception desk, and admire them.
The sweet honey bouquet.
My favorite.
The bouquet has blooming sunflowers, blue thistles, and pink snapdragons. I shut my eyes and press my nose against the sunflowers, inhaling their scent. I gently take the pink card sticking out from between the stems. There’s a note written in black ink.
Good luck with your firm.
Wishing you the best,
Adrian
I play with the card in my hand.
Is that sarcasm?
I hold the vase in both hands, lift it off the counter, and walk toward the empty trash can. But I can’t bring myself to throw them away.
“They’ll give the office life,” I tell myself to justify keeping them.