Chapter 21
“What are you doing tonight, friend?”
Rylan’s deep voice rolled through her phone, smooth and warm enough to send an involuntary shiver down Natalie’s spine. She leaned back in her desk chair, biting back a smile that insisted on taking over her face.
“I’m working on your design concepts,” she said, aiming for professional even as her stomach fluttered. “Might do another yoga class tonight. Any interest in joining me?”
“Never again,” he grumbled, with such vehemence she had to laugh. Then he surprised her. “Want to join me for a boxing workout?”
“Boxing?” She sat up straighter, curiosity piqued. “I’ve never tried boxing. Isn’t it… you know… punch-in-the-face dangerous?”
He chuckled, low and rich, the sound curling through her like warm whiskey. “I won’t throw you in the ring. Not the first time, at least.”
Her heart did an unhelpful skip. “First time? You’re assuming there will be more?”
“Oh, there will be,” he said, so certain she could almost see the smirk in his voice. “I’ll pick you up at six, we’ll hit my gym, then I’ll take you to dinner.”
“I think it’s my turn to pay for dinner, Rylan,” she argued.
“Not a chance,” he replied firmly. “I’m keeping the upper hand in this friendship.”
“Friendship?” she teased. “Funny… most of my friends don’t growl when they talk to me.”
“You haven’t met the right friends,” he said. And before she could fire back, he hung up.
Natalie stared at her phone, half-irritated, half-grinning like a fool. The man was maddening—and utterly captivating.
Her thoughts were still whirling when Jenny breezed into her office, setting a large box on her desk. “Hey, Natalie, this arrived for you today.”
Jenny’s eyes lingered on the package a beat too long, the curiosity practically radiating off her. Natalie felt her guard rise; Jenny always set her on edge.
“Thanks,” Natalie said in a clipped tone, hoping she’d leave.
But then Melanie, the receptionist, bounced in carrying an enormous vase of flowers. The bouquet was a chaotic riot of colors—no arrangement, no harmony, just a floral free-for-all that looked like someone had mugged a botanical garden.
“Flowers too? Somebody likes you!” Melanie announced, plunking the vase down with a dramatic flourish.
“Who sent you those?” Jenny asked, voice laced with faux innocence.
Natalie eyed the bouquet, her inner designer quietly screaming.
Melanie tapped the card buried amid the blooms. “Aren’t you going to read the note?” She was practically vibrating with nosiness.
Before Natalie could reply, Henry appeared in the doorway with a file. He froze when he saw the bouquet. “What the hell is that? Did you offend a florist?”
Natalie’s lips twitched. “It’s… unconventional.”
“Unconventional?” Henry barked. “That’s an insult to flowers everywhere.” He shook his head in disgust. “I’ll make sure they never get a client from us again.”
“Thanks, Henry,” Natalie said quickly, cutting him off before he could start a Yelp crusade. “Is that the info on the new furniture company?”
“Yeah, but something about their sourcing feels off. I’d be cautious.” He set the file down, then gave Melanie and Jenny a pointed look. “Don’t you two have work to do?”
They rolled their eyes but finally left.
As soon as they were gone, Natalie turned her attention to the package. Grabbing a utility knife, she carefully sliced through the tape.
The moment the flaps opened, a violent eruption of hot pink glitter shot into the air with the force of a Vegas confetti cannon.
She froze, mid-breath, as the glitter seemed to hang suspended in the sunlight streaming through her office window—spinning, twinkling, mocking her in slow motion before beginning its descent.
It landed everywhere. Her desk. Her chair. Her hair. And—most tragically—her meticulously crafted mood boards. The fabric swatches, arranged to convey a delicate, minimalist elegance for a client, now looked like a disco ball had gotten drunk and passed out on them.
“No. No, no, no!” she whispered, each repetition louder than the last. She brushed at the boards frantically, but the glitter clung like it had signed a lifetime lease.
The particles embedded themselves in the fibers, winking up at her with the smugness of a toddler who knows you can’t stay mad at them.
She glanced down. Her black pencil skirt was now aggressively magenta in certain lighting. Her blouse shimmered like she’d just come back from auditioning as a backup dancer for a pop star.
Her office… looked like a unicorn had exploded. Not a cute children’s birthday party unicorn—this was the aftermath of a unicorn gang war.
“Oh, my God,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair—big mistake. A new avalanche of glitter cascaded over her shoulders and down her back.
Whoever did this clearly hated her. Or was in love with her. Or was a deranged art student with access to bulk craft supplies.
She glanced at her laptop and groaned. Glitter sparkled between the keys, meaning her emails were now technically “bedazzled.” She’d be answering client messages with enough sparkle to qualify as performance art.
Glitter was like a bad ex—it never truly went away. You could block it, delete it, burn the bridge, and years later it would still turn up at your door wearing a smug smile.
She started sweeping handfuls into the trash can, her irritation growing. This wasn’t just a prank—it felt calculated. First the break-in. Then the near miss in the parking garage. Now this.
Natalie grabbed the shipping label, hoping for a clue.
All it said was the generic address of a glitter-bomb company. No name. No return contact. Just pure, untraceable chaos.
She sat back in her chair, glaring at the glittery carnage. Whoever sent this clearly didn’t know who they were messing with.