Chapter 17
CHARLOTTE
A massive bouquet arrived at my office on Monday morning, filling the air with a soft, floral sweetness. Pink lilies, peonies, and gerberas were nestled together in a stunning display of color. Tucked among the blooms was a small note, simple yet thoughtful.
Thank you for your help.
I know exactly who they are from because I didn’t offer River any assistance.
Brandon is under my skin.
After the game on Saturday night, he looked irresistible in his designer suit.
Not the leisure wear he wore when we hung out.
I remember the first time I saw him in his boardshorts from Australia, or his boardies, as he liked to call them.
How I fell head over heels for his tanned, athletic body.
I know the contour of every muscle beneath that suit, yet it clings to him in a different way—muscles defined over time.
Now, I can’t stop thinking how he’s changed. Matured. Grown into a man.
I still hate him.
The lilium has started to open, the fresh fragrance filling my office, but I can’t take a chance of it falling on my clothes.
So I retrieve scissors and begin cutting the pollen from the stamen before it falls and stains everything.
After two flowers, I stop and smile with an idea.
A brilliant but childish idea. Nothing is beyond me after the humiliation he dealt years ago. And this is nothing compared to that.
I pick up the phone and connect to the laundry. “Miranda, have you received anything from Mr. Brandon Johns?”
“Yes, Ms. Hendricks.”
“Perfect. I’ll be down in a minute.”
I grab the flowers out of the vase and wrap them in paper. Then, I place the flowers in a bag before heading down to the laundry.
Miranda is sorting through clothes and directs me to Brandon’s basket of clothes.
“He asked me to check one of his pockets,” I tell her, then discreetly wrap the flowers between his white shirts and T-shirts.
Since one machine is empty, I use the opportunity to shove all of his clothes in, add detergent, and press the gentle cycle.
There’s no way I can chance her finding my gift.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Hendricks. I’ll do it. I never expected you to wash.” Her face is taut with worry.
“Oh, it’s fine. I know how to work a washer.”
“Okay then. Let me know if you have any problems.”
I head back up to my office and continue to address the long list of emails while I wait for her call.
After an hour, I check the clock, and on cue, my phone rings.
“Hello, Miranda. Is everything okay?”
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Hendricks. But somehow these plants, I mean flowers, were caught in Mr. Johns’s clothes, and, and…”
“It’s okay, Miranda. I should have checked more thoroughly. I didn’t expect any foliage in his clothes. Can we just wash them again?”
“Ms. Hendricks… his clothes are stained pink and yellow,” she wallows.
“Miranda, it’s fine. These things happen, and I’ll take full responsibility for them. Dry the clothes, and I’ll deliver them myself. Oh, and if you have any remnants of the flowers, can you please keep them so I can show Mr. Johns what happened? It isn’t our fault.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you for understanding.”
“Miranda, this had nothing to do with you. It was an oversight on my behalf not to check his clothes first. So please, don’t worry. I’ll deal with Mr. Johns myself.”
I thought I was being a smartass. I drop my face into my hands.
My lungs constrict, making it hard for me to breathe.
Why am I resorting to attention-seeking behavior?
Now I have implicated Miranda, who I’ll defend to HR if it comes to that.
Why couldn’t I have said, thanks for the flowers, but please don’t send any again, as there is nothing between us?
I imagined him angry.
I visualized the team taunting him, so he was humiliated in the early days of being here.
I wanted to punish him.
The revenge behavior will never alleviate my pain, so why am I doing it?
I inhale a sharp breath when the truth surfaces.
I still want him.
Even when I push him too far, the BJ I know will never fight back.