Chapter 54
Robyn
There’s a knock at my office door. Before I can answer, Carla walks in carrying yet another bunch of flowers. This one is some kind of giant arrangement of peonies, lilies, and roses, all stuffed into a large glass vase.
“This is getting silly,” I tell her. “Give them to the nurses for their—”
“No. Ridge sent them to you, so they’re going in here.”
“Where? I already have five bunches of flowers. He sends me one every day.” I gesture around my office, where every flat surface is covered with a large arrangement of beautiful flowers. There’s a vase on my filing cabinet. Two on the windowsill. One on the corner of my desk.
“What a terrible problem to have.”
“It’s not that I’m ungrateful. It’s just that I thought he’d given up on us.”
“You said ‘us.’”
“I meant me. Don’t read into it. I preferred it when he was quiet.”
“You talk shit. I’ll find a spot.” Carla scans the room, and her eyes land on the bookshelf by the door. She moves a stack of medical journals to one side and plonks the arrangement down. “There. Perfect.”
“It’s not perfect. And I preferred it when he left me alone.” I sneeze for emphasis. “See? I’m developing hay fever. I’m not even allergic to flowers, Carla.”
“He’s trying to apologize.”
“He did that already. I don’t want flowers. I don’t want anything from him.”
“This one has a card.” She plucks a small white envelope from between the stems and waves it at me. “Do you want me to read it?”
“No!” I yell.
Carla laughs. “Okay. I’ll leave it here on your desk.”
“Leave it there.” I point at the filing cabinet on the other side of the room. “I’ll get to it when I’m—”
She walks over to my desk and props the envelope right next to my keyboard. “There you go.”
“I don’t want it.”
“I’ll see you later.” She gives me one of those infuriating smiles.
“Carla, I swear I will fire you if you—”
“No, you won’t.” She’s already at the door.
“I will!”
“You can’t fire me. I’m too good at my job.”
She closes the door behind her, and I let out a growl of pure frustration because, honestly, the woman is impossible. Completely and utterly impossible.
Except, no. I love Carla. That’s the worst part. I love her even when she’s being a pain in my ass.
I get back to work.
I’m not going to read the card. Absolutely not.
No way. I have far too much to do today, and a stupid little white envelope is not going to derail me.
I have payroll to approve. I have three vendor contracts to look over.
I have a meeting with HR at two, and another one with the board at four, and somewhere in between, I need to call back the supplier who has been leaving me messages since Tuesday.
I pull up the first vendor contract on my screen.
I read the same paragraph three times.
I scroll down. Scroll back up and then try again.
The envelope sits on my desk, two inches from my hand. It’s calling to me.
But I’m not going to read it.
After another minute or two, I growl in frustration.
Fine, I’ll read it just so I can throw it away and get on with my day.
I pick up the envelope, slide my finger under the flap, and pull out the small white card.
It’s his handwriting. My heart picks up pace. I wish it wouldn’t.
I haven’t been able to eat pizza.
Miss you,
Ridge
I make a small noise that sounds too much like a sob for my liking.
The thing is, I haven’t been able to eat pizza, either.
I cover my mouth with my hand. Then I read the card again.
A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, completely against my will. Stupid. He’s being stupid. This is stupid. He thinks a card and a flower delivery will fix what he did?
It won’t.
I drop the card into the wastebasket and get back to work. There. That’s so much better.
My phone buzzes on my desk. I glance at the screen.
Carla:
Have you read it yet?
I stare at the message. Then I type back.
No. Go away. I’m busy.
The reply comes almost instantly.
Liar
I lock my phone and put it back face down. I am not engaging. I am not giving her the satisfaction.
I turn back to my computer.
The vendor contract is still open on the same paragraph as before. Right. I can do this. I start reading…
There’s a knock at the door.
I roll my eyes because I know it’s her before she even opens it.
“Go away.” I don’t look up.
The door opens anyway.
“I told you to go away.” Now I look up.
Carla walks in, closes the door behind her, and sits in the chair across from my desk. She crosses one leg over the other and folds her hands in her lap.
“What does the card say?” she asks.
“I didn’t read it.”
“Why is it in your trash, then?”
“Because I’m not going to read it.”
She tilts her head. “Okay, well…” She stands up and reaches for my trash can. “I’ll just throw this out for you. Looks pretty full.”
“Leave it.”
“What? I’m throwing out your trash. That’s part of my job. PA, executive assistant, trash removal specialist.”
“You’re being nosy and inserting yourself where you don’t belong. Leave my trash and go away.”
She doesn’t even pretend to be offended. She just sits back down and looks at me, very calm, like she’s got all day. She is still holding my trash can.
“Did I tell you that I went to see Ridge?” she asks.
My mouth falls open. “What? Why would you do that?”
“I’m glad I did because he was a disaster. A total mess. Even worse than you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he looked terrible.” She wrinkles her nose. “Hadn’t showered in days. Had this thing growing on his face.” She gestures at her own chin and makes a disgusted face. “You should have seen the state of his place. I won’t get into it, or you’ll never take him back.”
“I don’t plan on taking him back.”
“Honestly, Robyn, it was sad. The poor guy. I felt sorry for him.”
“Wait just a minute. We need to backtrack. You went to his house?” I sit forward. “Carla, please tell me you did not go to his house.”
“Of course I did.”
I let out a long groan. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I’m sick of watching you pine away for a guy who actually has feelings for you. A good guy.”
“He’s not a good guy. He used me. He abused my trust. He—”
“You know why that happened. You love him, and he loves you. You’re both just afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“I think that you’re afraid of getting hurt again, so you’d rather give up on love,” she tells me.
“Nope. That’s not true at all.”
“You need to grow a pair and take a chance and smell the flowers.” She gestures around the room. “Or you might regret it. I have done all that I can do here.”
She gets up and puts down my trash can. Then she walks out without another word.
I stare at the trash can for a long moment.
Then I lean down, reach in, and take out the card.
I swear, sometimes I hate Carla more than I love her.