10. William
WILLIAM
“Are you serious? She attacked me!”
Heather’s outburst is so loud that several diners at nearby tables turn to look.
There’s no such thing as discretion in a small town. Especially not in a place like Dolly’s Diner, where every busybody retiree likes to congregate in the early evenings, taking advantage of Dolly’s java happy hour deal.
I picked this place intentionally, knowing that Heather would gladly accept. She wouldn’t mind an audience, another stage to tell her story.
Until I turn it around on her, of course.
“My client defended herself after you instigated a physical altercation,” I say calmly. “And we have the footage to prove it.”
Heather’s eyes widen.
I just told a lie. Sometimes it’s necessary in my line of work.
I don’t actually have the footage from the bar. Not yet. But I know what it will show. I trust Dot’s recollection of events, and by Heather’s reaction, she remembers the events of that night well, too.
She clears her throat uncomfortably, straightening in the black-and-white checkered vinyl booth and looking around.
“Shouldn’t you be talking to the prosecutor about this or something?” Heather asks. “I don’t know why I have to be further traumatized by th -”
I laugh aloud when she says traumatized.
Bullies like Heather always like to weaponize therapy language. If anyone is traumatized, it’s Dot from Heather’s years of cruelty.
But still, Dot doesn’t play the victim. She stood up for herself the night she went to jail, and she’s always stood up for herself. Even to me, in some cases, in the years she worked as my assistant.
Now I’m standing up for her. From now on, I’ll be the one to defend her.
For life.
That’s what husbands do, right? And whether she knows it or not, the title of Dot’s Husband is already mine. It’s not official yet, but that's just paperwork.
Paperwork plus that annoying little detail about getting Dot to agree to marry me.
But one thing at a time.
“I’m speaking to you directly because I thought I would spare you the expense and embarrassment of a lawsuit.”
“Excuse me?” she narrows her eyes. “What are you saying?”
I pull the paperwork from my briefcase and slap the stack down in front of Heather. Her birdlike features seem to sharpen even more as she glances down. I see recognition in her eyes as she scans the dozens of screenshots.
One star review after one star review. Under fake names. On every platform possible.
I can’t believe a person could have such a bone to pick with Dot that they’d spend their precious time doing something like this. But after confirming it with my cybercrimes guy – just another person who owes me a favor – it’s the truth.
Heather’s IP address is behind every single one of these accounts.
“So Dot is a shitty photographer,” Heather rolls her eyes, trying to affect a dispassionate expression. “You’re going to sue me because she can’t run a successful business?”
“I’m going to sue you for fraud, defamation, harassment, and anything else the judge lets me throw at you,” I snap, dropping all pretenses.
“I’m going to run you into the ground using all of my resources, and believe me, I’ve got more time and passion for this than you do.
You’ll lose the lawsuit, but not before you drain your savings account defending yourself. ”
Her eyes widen. She doesn’t look so tough now. Like every bully I’ve ever met, she folds quickly and easily.
She shoves the screenshots back at me. One of them flies off of the pile, fluttering and landing by my shoe.
“This is extortion.”
“Is it?” I ask. “I don’t think so.”
“Of course it is. What kind of lawyer are you?” she snarls. “You’re obviously extorting me. You want me to remove my reviews in exchange for -”
“ Your reviews?” I raise a brow and Heather realizes what she’s just said.
I straighten the rumpled stack of screenshots, picking up the one from the floor.
“I mean, those reviews. I didn’t write them. I just mean, you want me to -”
Once again, I push the stack of papers in front of her, rising from the table. Then I lean down, quietly speaking my next words in her ear.
“You have twenty-four hours.”
Fuck, I’ve always wanted to say that to an opponent.
I grin at Heather’s wide-eyed expression before grabbing what’s left of my croissant and heading out the door.
There’s one more thing on my to-do list tonight. And then I can finally see my girl again.
Dot’s eyes widen when she sees the bouquet in my hand.
I’m standing outside the photography studio, where she said she’d still be when I called her earlier. Here I am, waiting for that big, warm glowing smile to break across her face. Any minute now.
But it doesn’t. Instead, she’s staring at the dozen red roses like she’s just seen a ghost.
“What’s wrong?” I frown. “Are you allergic?”
She shakes her head, slowly reaching for the roses and taking them from my hand.
“No, no,” she murmurs. “It’s really thoughtful of you. Thank you so much.”
Immediately, I can sense that something’s wrong.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen after I left?”
“No,” Dot says. “It’s stupid. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be ungrateful…”
“But?”
She looks at me with those earthy blue-green eyes with a pained expression.
“I told you, I’ve got baggage,” she says. “It’s not your fault. I can see your heart was in the right place and I appreciate that.”
“Dot, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to use your real first name again.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Don’t you dare!”
“Then tell me what’s up. We said honesty, right? What’s the baggage?”
She waves me inside the studio. I follow her into the kitchen. The memory of eating her out at that kitchen table is probably permanently burned into my brain, but I’m too focused on getting to the bottom of this flower situation to be too distracted by the table and chairs in the corner.
I watch as she carefully retrieves an old water pitcher from one of the cabinets and fills it with water, gently inserting the rose stems into the pitcher. Then she exhales, bringing them to the center of the kitchen table and setting them down.
“Okay,” she sighs. “Roses are what my dad would always bring my mother after a work trip. I always wondered why he did it. He never put much effort into birthdays, anniversaries, or Valentines Day. But whenever he got back from a work trip, it was always red roses and chocolates and all the usual cliche romantic gestures.”
Fuck. I think I know where this is going.
“I thought it was just their thing. His way of saying he missed her while he was traveling. Now I know.”
“Those work trips weren’t actually for work, were they?”
My girl shakes her head and I can see she’s fighting for her life trying to contain the emotions inside. I wish she wouldn’t. She has no reason to put up a wall when she’s with me. I’m with her, every step of the way.
“I guess he felt guilty or something. Or maybe just overcompensating so my mom wouldn’t be suspicious. Either way, once the truth about his infidelity came out, I realized every time I’d ever seen my dad come through the door with roses, it meant he’d just cheated on my mom. Every. Single. Time.”
She looks at me.
“You’re gonna think I’m crazy. But when I saw you with these roses just now, my first thought was ‘He cheated on you.’”
“I would never betray you, Dot.”
I go to the roses on the table, picking up the water pitcher and going towards the trash.
“What are you doing!?” she gasps, yanking on my arm.
“Dumping the roses,” I growl. “Anything that makes you feel that way isn’t welcome in your presence. Don’t worry. I’ll replace them with something else.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Dot insists. “And please don’t throw those away! That’s so wasteful. We can donate them to a hospital or a retirement home, or something.”
Reluctantly, I abandon the kitchen trash can and return the cursed roses to the kitchen table. Then I sit down and pull Dot into my lap, wrapping my arms around her and inhaling the fresh scent of her hair the way I’ve wanted to do since I last left this building.
“I wanted to get you a gift,” I murmur in her ear.
“I know. I appreciate the intention, even if it didn’t turn out how you’d hoped. The fact that you thought of me is more than enough.”
But it isn’t.
“What’s your favorite flower, baby?” I whisper into her ear, pulling her hair back to expose her delicate neck.
“It’s obviously not roses. Or do you dislike getting any kind of flowers from men?
I can work with that. No more flowers. I can buy you one of those Edible Arrangements.
Do you like fruit? If not, I’ll make you a bouquet out of chicken nuggets or… or…”
Dot is belly laughing now and I’m relieved that she’s feeling better. The last thing I ever want is to be the reason Dot is sad. I’ll always be the man to wipe her tears, but I don’t ever want to be the reason for them in the first place.
“A bouquet of chicken nuggets?” Dot asks through peals of laughter. “Who does that?”
“Me. If that’s what you wanted.”
“But how?”
“Step one: Acquire chicken nuggets and wooden skewers. Step two: Stab chicken nuggets with the skewers. Step three: Arrange chicken nugget skewers in a bouquet. Pretty simple, actually.”
“Wow. That’s…an actual plan. You’ve really thought this through.”
“I’m just creatively inspired whenever you’re around,” I reply.
And I’d move heaven and earth just to make you smile.
I kiss Dot deeply on the lips, tongue caressing hers.
My cock grows hard, but I have no intention of changing my mind about only giving Dot pleasure for a while, not receiving pleasure.
The first time we had sex, it happened the wrong way.
I want to wait a while before we try that again.
I want to show her that I’m not using her…
and that hell will freeze over before I’m ever bored of her.
When we finish the kiss, Dot looks dazed.
“I like bluebonnets,” she says.
“Bluebonnets?”
“My favorite flower. The state flower of Texas. Easy to find them on the hills, just growing wild wherever they want, the spring.”
I nod. I’ve lived in Texas all my life, so I’m well aware of bluebonnets…but it’s not a flower people give as a gift. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them in a flower shop.
“But I don’t want flowers from you,” Dot clarifies. “I’m not really a ‘receiving flowers’ kind of woman, to be honest. There’s just…too much history there. I just wanted you to know my favorite. So that you have one more bit of information about me.”
“Thank you for sharing that. I want all of the information there is to know about you,” I tell her. “I’ll spend the rest of my days learning about you, Dot.”
“You really mean that, don’t you?” she asks with bewilderment.
“I do. And I intend to show you. I just need you to give me time. Deal?”
She nods.
“Deal.”