3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Delilah
S uit and Tie– Cedric –asks Myrta whether there’s somewhere they can speak in private, and it breaks my heart a little when she takes him to her office. Sure, it’s a small room, but I would have expected her to say something along the lines of, “ Anything you need to tell me, you can say in front of Delilah ,” which would have been pretty awesome, though too sentimental for Myrta’s liking. Since she hadn’t told me about this meeting in the first place, I guess my presence simply isn’t required.
Which I still think is a little odd. I am the only employee Myrta has ever had.
“Thank you,” I breathe to Norman as I handle a hefty stack of pots Myrta ordered from him, and nearly threaten to catastrophically drop when I try to close the door with my foot. I might have wolf strength, but this dress wasn’t designed with heavy lifting in mind.
I snort to myself, taking the pots toward the back of the shop. When I pass by Myrta’s office, I can only hear some muffled talking… and my curiosity gets the best of me. If Myrta didn’t tell me that this guy was coming, there could be something sketchy about it, and it’s only fair that I’m included. Or that I include myself. I deposit the pots as soundlessly as possible in the back room, then walk on my tiptoes and place my ear to Myrta’s office’s door.
“You are aware of what you’re asking of us, Mr. Campbell,” Myrta says.
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” he replies. “Believe me, I would have spared myself the twelve hour flight, if my boss had deemed this could be discussed over a phone call.”
What is this he’s talking about?
Myrta makes a dismissive sound I’ve heard too many times to count. “It is odd, Mr. Campbell, that your boss did not grace Fern Port with his own presence and sent over a…delegate, instead. No offense, of course.”
“Of course,” Cedric says after a beat, and though I can’t see his face, I can somewhat imagine his stern expression. “Like I mentioned before, he is a rather busy man.”
When I think the conversation might be over, though that would be a weird place to stop, Cedric continues.
“I know this is a lot to ask, ma’am, but I assure you we don’t have other options.”
“I presume you do not.”
I furrow my brows, my palms gripping onto the door. Why does it all sound so ominous? How did Myrta, a florist from our middle of nowhere town, get in talks with hot shot business people from across the globe? And why does his voice have to sound so–
My stomach drops into the void when my palms lose purchase on the wooden surface as it opens suddenly…and I fall at Cedric Campbell’s feet.
Cedric
“Delilah,” Myrta sighs as the girl nearly face plants on the floor.
So that’s her name. Delilah— delicate . It rather suits her.
“It’s not what it looks like,” she squeals as she struggles to get up, her long flamingo-pink dress stifling her movements.
I crouch so that we’re at eye level, offering my hands. Her eyes are wide in embarrassment, and I can’t stop myself from teasing her.
“I think it was barely twenty minutes ago that you said, and I quote, ‘ I’m not a damsel in distress .’”
She eyes my hands with a little smirk that could be either self-deprecating or reluctantly amused. It makes the corner of my own mouth kick up despite myself.
“I can handle it,” she whispers, and with sudden, impressive stealth, she gets up.
Myrta eyes Delilah unhappily, but before the girl can make up an excuse for her obvious eavesdropping, Myrta raises an imperious hand.
“You can get back to work,” she says, and slams the door shut behind us.
“That went well,” I start drily, while Delilah’s strawberry blond locks are already swishing away from me.
“Your secret meeting with my employer or my ungraceful descent to the floor?” she asks as she walks back to the shop proper and behind the counter.
“Both,” I say, observing her practiced movements in this space. “Rest assured, the nature of my visit and the meeting themselves were purely business related.”
“Don’t take it the wrong way, but I can’t imagine why Myrta would conduct business with you at all. She’s never mentioned this before,” she muses as she fumbles with the register. She starts counting the bills stored inside; as she inspects one of the notes, I can see it has a gaping hole in its middle.
“I’m sure you are aware of how valuable some of the plant species you cultivate here are,” I say, parroting the phrase I have on the tip of my tongue should anyone ask.
“And I’m sure you know they’re valuable because they only grow here,” she replies as she almost drops a handful of coins.
“I’m neither here to steal your secrets nor ravage your land.”
She gives me an odd look, though not an unkind one.
“I suppose I will see you tomorrow, Delilah,” I add.
“You’re leaving?” she asks, the money forgotten. I shouldn’t allow myself the luxury of assuming she’s disappointed at the prospect.
“I fear I might get nothing done if I stay,” I say, surprised at how easily the truth came out.
I grab my briefcase as I give her one last look before walking out of the shop.