I Speak Floral, Not Legal #2
“Steady this morning, but pretty slow this afternoon.”
The tension building in my body ratchets up another billion notches as I try to play it cool. We just restocked the grocery stores, so the likelihood of a new set of orders without a major holiday was slim. Still, I was hoping.
”You did get a call from that fine piece of hockey-playing ass named Jackson Frost.” Grey says, fanning his face.
”Grey!” I laugh, cause he is so not wrong.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he says, looking me up and down, no doubt noticing my face flush.
“He’s a customer,” I stammer.
“Mhm. A customer with muscles sculpted to perfection, an ass you could bounce a quarter off, and lips I’d kill to have wrapped around certain unnamed parts of my lush body. And judging by the way you’re blushing, you agree.” He says sassily with a snap of his fingers.
I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head as I head for the back room to call Jackson back.
“That’s what I thought,” Grey calls after me with another snap of his fingers. I can hear him snickering as I dial.
Jackson picks up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mr. Frost. This is Kallie from Bloomhaus returning your call.”
“Hey, Kallie. Please, just Jackson. Give me a second.”
“Of course,” I say as I hear him call for his financée, Grace.
“Hey, Kallie. It’s Grace. We’ve got you on speaker.”
“Ok,” I reply, wondering what this could be about.
“We, well, mainly me, since Frosty is indifferent, were wondering if we could come in and look at some more options.”
“Absolutely,” I say cheerfully, although I’m surprised. “What kind of options would you like to see? Different tablescapes, bouquets?”
There’s a pause before Jackson chimes in. “Everything,” he says sheepishly.
It takes me a minute to stammer out an “Everything?” response as the floor bottoms out from beneath me.
My mind races as I mentally catalogue the dozens of special order requests for flowers grown only by supernatural florists in the northernmost regions of the world, where Jackson’s family hails from.
Not to mention all the specialty floral structures I ordered in advance to construct the wedding arch and aisle markers.
“Kallie? Are you there?” Grace says, indicating my silence has stretched a beat too long due to my internal spiral.
I mean, can’t fault a girl. This has been a dumpster fire atop a train wreck in the midst of a shit show of a day.
“Sorry, I must have cut out,” I try to cover. “So we’re starting from scratch?” I ask in the calmest voice I can muster.
Grace hums thoughtfully. “Not necessarily. I was watching reruns of an old wedding-planning reality show, and there was an episode that really caught my attention on the floral front. Bold, tropical flowers bursting in a rainbow of color. I was just thinking maybe we could look at some options and compare them to the original plan. If that’s okay?
” she ends on a hesitant question that immediately makes me feel like an uncaring, money-hungry bitch.
“Of course!” I exclaim. “We have plenty of time to change things if that’s the direction you want to go.”
Okay, that may be a stretch. If I have to start from scratch, and depending on the flowers and availability, it may be down to the wire. Not how I like to do things, but this is a wedding that could propel the business to the next level.
If I survive the legal battle, I think grimly.
They both let out a breath of what I hope is relief, indicating I’ve redeemed my initial reaction.
“Awesome,” Grace says happily.
“When did you want to come by? I can get something together by the end of next week.”
Jackson clears his throat. “Could you make that Tuesday? Grace and I are going out of town on Wednesday and won’t be back for a few weeks. Mini vacation for my workaholic—OW!” Jackson yelps. “That was my nipple!”
“Mind your mouth, Frosty. I am not a workaholic, and even if I was, that's the pot calling the damn kettle black.” Grace snarks as a dog barks in the background. “See, even Mistletoe—”
“Mischief,” Jackson growls.
“Mistletoe agrees.”
If I weren’t so stressed, I’d be cackling.
Jackson starts to retort, but Grace cuts him off. “Sorry about that, Kallie. Will Tuesday mid-morning be okay?”
I swallow down the lump of anxiety lodged in my throat. I can’t say no, but I also have the appointment with Neeve to drop off my financials and meet the forensic accountant. I could prep everything and let Grey handle it, but with this being such an important client, I want to handle it myself.
“Tuesday is perfect. I’ll see you guys then,” I say with a little too much false enthusiasm.
“See you then,” Jackson says.
“Bye, Kallie,” Grace says just before the call ends.
Fuck. My. Life.
I set the phone down and massage my temples as a massive headache begins to form.
“You okay?”
I look up to find Grey with his head poking in the doorway.
“All good. Just a slight headache. I think we’re safe to go ahead and close up. If you count the drawer, I’ll close out the computer.”
Again, Grey looks as if he has more to say, but simply nods and heads back to the front. I quickly close out the computer and tidy up a few things in the back. Ten minutes later, we walk out the door and say goodnight.
Much like the drive to work from Neeve’s office, the drive home is a blur of numb dread and mounting anxiety.
How am I going to afford this accountant?
Do forensic accountants have payment plans?
Am I going to be able to afford the accountant and still pay Neeve?
What if I can’t afford both?
Maybe Mel and I can watch a bunch of legal shows involving divorce. Then I can wear an earpiece, and Mel can feed me the appropriate legal speak to get me through court. Okay, that’s unlikely. We’ll call that plan X, as in, this should not be an option.
As my thoughts continue to spiral, I spot Mel’s car as I pull into the driveway.
“Mel? Everything okay?” I call out once I get inside the house.
“All good,” she says from where I spot her in the kitchen, the sound of a knife chopping echoing in the quiet space.
She pauses as I walk towards the kitchen and picks up a glass of wine, holding it out to me.
“Bless you,” I say, accepting it gratefully.
“Figured you’d need it after the lawyer. You’re home early. I was hoping to have dinner done before you got home,” she says, picking up the knife and resuming the chopping of veggies.
I place a grateful hand on my sister’s back. “Thank you. It was dead, so we closed early. Let me wash up, and I can help.”
Once I’ve taken several soothing sips of my wine and washed up, I finish chopping while Mel begins stir-frying chicken. As we cook, I give her the details of my meeting with Neeve. By the time we finish the stir fry and sit down, I’ve moved on to the call from Jackson and Grace.
“So I’m basically fucked,” I say around a mouthful of heavenly spices and noodles coated in a luxurious sauce.
“You’re not fucked,” Mel says flatly, pouring us each more wine.
“I’m fucked. I can’t be at the lawyer’s and at the shop at the same time. And it’s not that I don’t trust Grey, I do. It’s just that this is such a huge event, and it’s celebrity-level clientele. I just feel more comfortable handling it myself.”
Mel nods, chewing like the lady I clearly am not in this moment, before speaking, “That’s understandable, Kallie. This is a big deal for the business. But you are not fucked, nor do you need to find a way to break the laws of the space-time continuum so that you can be in two places at once.”
“Elaborate,” I say flatly.
“You keep your appointment with Jackson and Grace. I’ll take all the financial stuff to Neeve. I can at least meet the forensics guy and give you my gut feelings about him, her, or them. Problem solved,” she finishes matter-of-factly.
“Oh” is all I manage to get out.
She smiles and pats my hand. “It’s been a rough day” is all she says before she resumes eating.
Fucking understatement.
“Thank you. Seriously, I don’t know how I’d survive without you.”
“You wouldn’t, which is why you’ll never be rid of me.”
We both laugh and finish our meal. After we clean up, Mel heads home, and I head for bed. As I lay there trying and failing to fall asleep, I hope that everything will work out.
If it doesn’t, I don’t know what I’ll do.