Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Juliet
Jenna waited exactly twelve seconds after the bell chimed behind him before she exploded. “TRIPLE,” she stage-whispered, hands flying into the air like she was praising some unholy deity. “Juliet. He said triple again. It wasn’t a fluke the last time. Do you understand what that means?”
“I understand math,” I said, turning back to the roses I’d been pretending to arrange since Asher Jake walked out of my shop for the second time. “I also understand calendars. I’m booked.”
Jackie leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in thought. “He wasn’t wrong, though.”
I snipped a stem a little harder than necessary. “About what?”
“You,” she said. “He wanted you.”
“That’s not a compliment,” I replied automatically.
Jenna scoffed. “It absolutely is. Also, did you see his handsome face?”
“Focus,” I muttered. And I, of course, saw his face. I would have had to have been blind to not realize how handsome the man was.
They didn’t focus, though.
Jenna followed me toward the prep table, lowering her voice but not her intensity. “Okay, listen. I know Valentine’s week is insane. I know you’re allergic to chaos. But triple pay?”
“I’m not desperate,” I said.
“No one said you were.”
“I’m saying it,” I replied, finally turning to face her. “Because the second I even consider it, that’s the line I have to be clear on.”
Jackie pushed off the counter and joined us. “Juliet, this isn’t desperation. This is money. Lots of money.”
I laughed once, sharp and humorless. “That’s worse.”
The truth sat heavy in my chest, right where it always did when money came up.
Money was never enough, that was something I had learned growing up.
Money had always been my father’s favorite language.
Growing up, he’d show up every few months like clockwork in a leather jacket, crooked smile, and big plans.
He’d bring dinner, promise stories, swear this time was different.
And then, inevitably, the ask would come.
Could he borrow a little cash? Could he crash on the couch for a few nights?
Could we spot him until his next thing came through?
Money was how he smoothed things over. How he explained away broken promises. How he tried to buy forgiveness without earning trust.
I’d learned early that cash didn’t mean care.
It meant convenience.
And that was why Asher’s offer stuck under my skin the way it did.
Because he hadn’t begged. He hadn’t sweet-talked. He hadn’t argued when I said no.
He’d just… stated his terms. Clean. Calm. Like he was ordering a piece of equipment, not a person. Except he hadn’t treated me like equipment at all.
“He didn’t negotiate,” Jackie said quietly, like she was reading my thoughts. “He didn’t even push.”
I swallowed.
No. He hadn’t.
He’d respected the no. Then made a different offer.
One that acknowledged my time. My skill. My control.
“I don’t like that he made it personal,” I said.
Jenna raised a brow. “You don’t like that he noticed you.”
“I don’t like that he saw me,” I corrected.
Jackie nodded slowly. “That part’s fair.”
I turned back to my work, but my hands weren’t steady anymore. I kept replaying his voice in my head. Flat. Certain.
I don’t want your employees or the florist across town. I want you.
It wasn’t flirtation, but purpose.
I didn’t know what to do with a man who didn’t push.
“Say you did it,” Jenna pressed. “Hypothetically.”
I shot her a look. “I didn’t say that.”
“But say you did,” she continued undeterred. “What would it look like?”
I exhaled slowly. “I wouldn’t be able to help with orders here. Full creative control, but other than that, I don’t know. I have a few ideas of what I could put on the bikes, but…”
Jackie’s lips twitched. “You’ve already thought about this.”
I glared at her. “I think about everything.”
That was true. Overthinking was my survival skill, but thinking didn’t mean agreeing.
I finished my shift in a fog, muscle memory carrying me through arrangements, invoices, and phone calls. By the time we locked up, my head ached, and my heart was doing something inconvenient I didn’t want to name.
Jenna lingered by the door as Jackie headed out. “Whatever you decide,” she said more gently, “we’ve got the shop. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
I nodded. “I know.”
She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to me. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
It was Asher’s number. Ugh.
Alone, I turned off the lights one by one, the shop settling into quiet shadows. I stood in the middle of it for a moment, breathing in the scent of flowers and something familiar enough to feel like home.
This place was mine. My proof that I could build something solid. Something that didn’t disappear when things got hard.
If I stepped into Asher’s world, even briefly, I needed to do it on my terms.
I pulled out my phone before I could overthink myself into paralysis.
I pulled out the paper with his number on it and stared at it for a long moment.
My finger hovered over the numbers, then quickly punched them in. Then I hit call.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hello, Juliet,” he said, like he’d been expecting me.
“How did you know it was me?” I asked.
“Because I don’t hand out my number to anyone,” he explained.
“I’m calling about the ride,” I said, because I wasn’t about to acknowledge the way my pulse kicked up at the sound of his voice.
“Okay.”
“I’m not agreeing yet.”
“Understood.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “If I do this, I have conditions.”
“Name them.”
No hesitation. No bargaining. That should have made this easier. It didn’t.
“Limited hours,” I said. “I won’t neglect my existing clients. I’ll handle the design and placement personally, but I’m not on-call twenty-four seven.”
“Agreed.”
I blinked. “Full creative control.”
“Yours.”
“No interference,” I continued. “From you or anyone else. If something doesn’t work, that’s on me. But I won’t be micromanaged.”
There was a pause. Just long enough for my chest to tighten. Then, “That’s fair.”
I swallowed. “And payment up front.”
A low exhale. “Done.”
I stared at the wall, unease curling through me. “You didn’t even push back.”
“I told you,” he said. “I’m not negotiating.”
“That’s not how most people operate.”
“I’m not most people.”
No kidding.
Silence stretched between us, not awkward, just weighted.
“This doesn’t mean anything else,” I said finally. “This is business.”
“Sure,” he replied.
And somehow, the certainty in his voice made me feel like he knew it wouldn’t stay that way.
“Then yes,” I said, before I could second-guess myself. “I’ll do it.”
Another pause. Then, “Sounds good.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
“That’s it. I’ll be over tomorrow.”
I hung up feeling more unsettled than if he’d celebrated.
Because men who pushed made sense to me.
Men who accepted terms without question? Those were dangerous in a completely different way.
I locked the shop and walked to my car, the night cool against my skin. The decision sat heavy and electric in my chest.
I’d chosen this.
Not because of the money.
Not because of him.
But because something about the way he’d respected my no, then trusted me with a yes, made me want to see what happened next.
And that terrified me.
Because for the first time in a long time, the risk felt like it might be worth it.