Chapter Fifteen
I have my design folder, an empty coffee mug, and my purse balancing in one hand while the other tries to get the lock open.
We had a rather wet night last night, and this lock sticks when it gets damp.
The landlord was supposed to get them changed last winter, but of course; it was an empty promise.
“Come on you piece of shit,” I grumble, wiggling the key around until I hear it catch and twist it.
I slept like shit last night. I was exhausted after Noah left, but I laid in bed for hours, staring into the dark, waiting for sleep to come.
It came eventually, but then I overslept my alarm, only just managed to get myself ready in time, and I skipped breakfast. Now my stomach is growling; I haven’t had nearly as much caffeine as I need, and my cell is sadly empty of all notifications.
He didn’t text me.
The fact that I’m sad about it is catching me off guard. We don’t do good morning texts, not really. Most of the time our conversation just rolls over from wherever we left it the night before, but we had a rare ‘good night, love you’ last night, but nothing this morning.
I mean, I could just text him, right?
But is that too needy?
Why am I even questioning this? If overthinking had a face, right now it would be me. It’s only been a week since we started whatever this is; I need to get a grip. Maybe my sister was right; maybe the only way this ends is in heartbreak and regret.
No. I need to stop that train of thought. I’m already on the edge of a spiral. I can enjoy this, have fun with it until it comes time to go back to normal. It’s not like I’m getting it anywhere else, and I love being with Noah. Everything will be fine. Better than fine.
This is fine.
I stumble in through the door, catching myself before I face-plant the floor and place all my things down on the front desk.
I have my consultation with my bride today.
I’ve worked hard on the concepts for her wedding day, and I’m not going to lie, I’m a little nervous about showing them.
Betty has been a massive help, providing me with images and inspiration via email, and I’ve used that to put together the design concept for the arch, the colors, and arrangements.
I haven’t spoken to the bride yet, though; everything has been done through Betty.
I’m just about to head through to the back when the door opens, and a guy walks in with a brown bag and a takeout cup.
Immediately I know it’s from Noah and whatever crash out I was just on the border of, leaves, a smile widening my mouth.
“Sidney Adams?” The young guy asks.
“That’s me,” he hands me over the food and scurries away. The smell of the fresh breakfast pastries waft out from the bag and my stomach grumbles in response, but before I dig in, I pull out my cell.
Me: Do you have a direct line to my body
and brain, Noah?
My text is read immediately, and the response comes a minute later.
Noah: Something like that, cricket.
Let me guess, you skipped breakfast
and now you’re ready to tear open that bag?
My smile is wide as I type out a response, my finger twirling my hair as I grin somewhat manically at my cell. I shake my head and cut that out pronto. I’m not a damn teenager anymore.
Me: You’re not wrong. They
can probably hear my stomach
growling in China.
My cell begins to buzz with an incoming call, a picture of Noah and me in front of a Christmas tree lighting up the screen.
We’re wearing matching PJs, a red tartan set, and I have tinsel around my neck while we’re both drinking some bright green concoction my brother-in-law made for us last Christmas.
He called it The Grinch, and I remember exactly how strong it was.
I think I only managed half a glass before I was a stumbling, tipsy mess.
Noah hadn’t been much better, but he at least hid it better than I did.
His chuckle greets me as I answer the phone, “I could hear it from my office.”
I grin and peep into the bag, finding the tin foil wrapped stuffed croissant and a blueberry muffin in a clear box. “Thank you for breakfast.”
“Gotta take care of my girl,” he says easily. “Did you sleep okay?”
I ignore the way his words have my heart skipping a beat. He calls me his girl all the time. I am his girl. Just not in the way I want.
“I did,” I lie, “Fresh as a daisy this morning.”
“That why you stumbled in late?”
My head whips to the window as if I’m going to spot him standing outside, but of course, he isn’t there. “How did you know that?”
“Doorbell,” he reminds me.
“Ah, of course. I forget your stalking tendencies.”
“Not stalking,” I hear him shuffling on the other end of the phone, a couple of keys clicking as he types something on his computer. “Not my fault I get a live feed pop up the moment it gets activated.”
“What are your plans for the day?” I ask, finally unwrapping my breakfast so I can settle my obnoxiously loud stomach.
“Meetings,” he groans. “What about you?”
“I have that consultation today,” I’m not able to keep the excitement from my voice, “The designs are so pretty, Noah. I’m excited to show them.”
“Proud of you, Sid,” I hear the smile in his tone. “Go and get ‘em.”
“I’ll catch you later, yeah?”
“Always,” he answers. “Let me know how it goes. Bye, Sid.”
“Of course. Bye, Noah.”
I hang up the phone and dig into my breakfast while I go over the last checks for the concept.
We’re meeting at a fancy hotel on the other side of the city, their request, not mine, and I need to get going soon so I can get through the traffic.
Selecting a few sample flowers from my stock, I place them in my carrier and leave a note taped to the door.
I have no collections arranged for the day, so no one should be coming by, but I always like to make people aware, just in case.
Locking up, I walk down the road and hail a cab, bundling everything into the seat beside me. As expected, we hit traffic in the center of the city, but I still have time before the consultation begins so I relax a little, sipping on my coffee.
By the time we pull up to the hotel, I still have ten minutes to spare, which is perfect for me to get everything set up for the meeting to start.
The receptionist shows me through to one of the conference rooms they book out with a big twenty-person table in the middle. It seems a little over the top when it’s only me, Betty, and the bride for the meeting. Maybe they just didn’t have anything else available.
One of the hotel staff members wheels in a cart with fresh coffee and water before they quickly leave me alone again.
I get everything set up while I wait, laying down the pieces of paper from my design book to show my ideas for the wedding floral pieces, along with my portfolio and the samples I brought along with me.
Betty arrives first, entering with a flourish, her bright pink outfit catching me off guard for a moment. Big pearls adorn her neck, and thick-framed sunglasses cover her eyes.
“Sidney!” She beams with a wide smile, her lipstick matching the color of her jacket, “My little flower petal, how are you?”
I cough out a laugh. “Little flower petal?”
“It fits you, don’t you think?” She pats my shoulder, striding past me to go directly to my concepts. We’ve only spoken a handful of times, but this woman puts me at ease in a way I’ve never felt with a stranger before. I love her.
“Well, I guess,” I laugh, stepping up beside her to see what she is seeing.
Her fingers are fiddling with the pearls around her neck as she looks over my ideas but doesn’t say a word, and her face gives nothing away. I shift from foot to foot, my nerves suddenly getting the best of me.
She taps her long fingernail against the design for the arch, “I love this. Will it look this full?”
I glance at the main piece, an arch made up of peonies, daisies, lily of the valley, and greenery to fill in any possible gaps.
“Yes, I can make it this full. A piece like this, however, needs to be erected in place.”
She barks a laugh, “You can’t say that word around me!”
I blink a few times, running over the sentence in my head, but I can’t figure out where I was offensive.
“Erected,” she whispers under her breath, “it sounds dirty.”
“Nanna,” a sweet, feminine voice has us both turning to the door. The blonde is followed in by a wide, towering man, his face set in stone, stoic and unyielding. He takes up a place against the wall, his brows low and stern. “Only you would find an innocent word said in context dirty.”
For a minute, I think I forget to breathe.
No way. There’s no way.
“You’re…” I breathe, blinking in an attempt to reset my vision.
“Stella Shaw?” The woman grins, “Well, yes, but you can call me Thea. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Huh?”
“Stella is a stage name,” Betty informs me, bumping my shoulder.
“Did I not mention that my granddaughter is Stella Shaw? It must have slipped my mind. And that hunk of meat against the wall is Tripp.” I glance to where the man closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, but I see a slight twitch in his lips as if he’s trying to hold back a smile.
Stella—or Thea—shakes her head. “I apologize; she does this a lot.”
“Wait,” I tug out my phone and Google Stella’s name, looking at the image that comes up with the results. Well, I’ll be damned, I am standing in a room with the Stella Shaw, country star sensation and award-winning artist. America’s damn sweetheart.
“That’s me,” Thea points at the screen.
It occurs to me that I’m not only arranging for one of the country’s most popular stars, but it’s for one of the most high-profile weddings of the year.
Thea is marrying Oscar-winning actor Jared Daniels.
Their romance has been filled with scandal and speculation after a rather intimate video was leaked to the press.
It was all over social media and the tabloids since Jared was still dating his former supermodel girlfriend.
The world thought his career might have been over, but then the two announced their engagement, and he somehow won back the public’s favor.
“Do you need to freak out for a minute?” Thea asks, a small, amused smile touching her lips.
“Maybe for like three seconds,” I admit. “I’ll just—” I point to the door and show myself out, closing it behind me where I promptly freak the fuck out.
Yanking my cell from my pocket, I dial Noah.
“This is Lauren,” Noah’s assistant answers the phone. “How can I help?”
“Hi, Lauren. Is Noah available?”
A long, annoyed sigh meets my ear, “He’s busy, Sidney.”
“Right,” I bite my lip. “Do you know when he will be out of his meeting?”
“Can’t say,” Lauren replies, her tone bored. “You know how it is.”
“Can you ask him to call me back?”
“Sure,” she answers, and then promptly hangs up the phone.
Bitch.
Shaking my head, I pocket my cell and do a few breathing exercises to get myself together. Holy shit. This is monumental. Huge.
This could completely transform my career.
I’m arranging flowers for the Stella Shaw. My flowers are going to be broadcast across the entire world. Holy shit, they’ll be in magazines and newspapers.
The realization has my stomach dropping.
I have confidence in my ability, in my art, but having the entire world looking at it, criticizing it—because that will happen—is a whole new game I don’t know how to play.
I can do this; I can handle this.
Blowing out a breath, I head back into the room, tilting my chin like I’m not actually a whole damn mess.
Thea grins at me while Betty nurses a margarita. Where did she even get that!?
“You good?” Thea asks, leaning her hip on the table before crossing her arms.
“I’m good.”
“Then let’s get started.”