Chapter 7
Seven
I began the next morning in much more my usual fashion—a happy blend of relaxed chaos.
I was relieved to be out of the heels and fancy work dress and back in my normal clothes. It was a hot day so I put on denim shorts and a green bardot top. Not typical office attire but Rosie's wasn't a typical office.
I climbed out of my van, more than a little worried that my less-than-professional performance yesterday had been reported to my boss. I couldn’t see her around and breathed a sigh of relief.
I hurried into the cabin but froze almost instantly. There on my desk was a small gift box. My stomach sank at the sight of it.
Adam . My first thought was Adam.
In the beginning, Adam's gifts had been sweet; the flowers, the chocolates, the generic gifts. The problem was that it didn't take me long to figure out that he wasn't giving me gifts to make me feel happy, but grateful. If I wasn’t grateful enough, he would get upset.
The gifts would be trotted out on a conveyor belt of material affection as if a bouquet bought him a blow job. Adam had kept the conveyor belt running long after we’d broken up, despite me asking for it to stop.
But Adam hadn't sent me anything in months and after a moment of studying the box, I realised with relief that this gift wasn't from him. Adam's gifts always came in a gaudy red box, this one was pale grey with a black velvet bow.
Curious, I loosened the bow, lifted the lid, and gasped when I found my phone inside.
Had Riley done this? Mr Tell didn't seem like the type to give a shit about me getting my phone back.
I switched it on and a message pinged through from Keira, asking me to have lunch with her today. I replied immediately with a yes. Lunch with my best friend was exactly what I needed.
Clutching my phone with relief, I switched on the old desk computer and waited while it booted itself into gear. I checked my emails first like always.
Still nothing. Every year for the last four years, I'd applied to study garden design at The London College.
I'd sent in my fifth application months ago and every time my inbox pinged, my heart pinged right along with it.
I was hoping that this year would finally be my year, but I wasn't holding out much hope.
The London College had been my dream since I was a child. It had been my mum's too. We'd talked about it a thousand times, and after she died the dream only became more important. Now it was fading away, and every rejection reminded me that I would probably never achieve it.
I glanced around the cabin, at the filing cabinets, the contents of which I knew like the back of my hand.
At Mark's desk littered with his designs, at my own desk littered with supply orders and other grunt work.
I loved Rosie's, but I hated the feeling that I was going to be a grunt worker for the rest of my life.
I was interrupted from my wallowing by the shrill ring of my desk phone. I cleared my throat, which had thickened with frustrated tears, and answered.
"Good Morning, Rosie's Botanical Boutique and Nursery."
"Miss O'Connell." His voice hit me with a visceral intensity that stole my breath away.
It was him .
I slammed the phone down and then stared at it in shock.
I'd just hung up on the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the world. What the hell was wrong with me? Why couldn't I just behave like a normal, professional person?
I almost jumped out of my skin when the phone rang again.
Jesus, Lola. Get a grip!
I picked up the phone as calmly as possible.
"Good Morning, Rosie's?—"
"That was impolite," he said with a calm tone that sent a shiver up my spine.
"What can I do for you, Mr Tell?" I asked, putting as much nerve into my voice as possible. I could hear voices in the background and I wondered where he was right now. I pictured him somewhere fancy, drinking scotch and smoking a cigar.
"Did you receive your phone? It should have been delivered by now."
"You sent it?" I was surprised. I looked down at my phone and the pretty box it came in and I couldn't help wondering what this act of kindness was going to cost me. Then I damned Adam for putting that paranoia in my head. "Yes I got it, thank you.”
"You're welcome." We lapsed into an awkward silence. I played absent-mindedly with the black velvet ribbon and waited for him to speak, but I had a feeling he was playing the same game.
I drummed my fingers on my desk.
I refused to break first.
I refused.
But the tension was wired like a bow string.
"Was there something else?" I broke first and he made a smug, satisfied sound that grated on me.
"I have a proposition for you." A proposition. That didn't sound good. "I want to give you a project." It took me a moment to process what he'd said. I'd expected some kind of sexual proposition, not this.
"A project?" I asked.
"Yes. I want to give you a plot of land at Harrington House and see what you do with it."
My mouth fell open. I felt as if a proposition to design for an international hotel chain should be followed up with a firework display and a marching band but he had spoken as if he was discussing the weather.
"Mr Tell, designing isn't my job. Mark will be back in a few days and I'm sure he would be very happy to?—"
"I don't give a damn about Mark Tafferty," he cut me off, "nor do I care what your job description is or isn't. You might be an office body but your knowledge extends far beyond that. I believe you designed the Boutique Garden at your work?"
How the hell did he know that?
"I researched you," he said, answering my unspoken question.
Of course he'd researched me. The Boutique Garden I'd designed for Rosie's cafe had been all over the business's social media when I'd finished it.
It was a small, square space with a very limited budget.
I'd lined the area with pergolas to give the illusion of privacy in the middle of the busy garden centre.
A bench provided a quiet spot to sit, and a lily-covered fountain drowned out the noise of the shoppers.
It had been Mark's first project for me—first and only.
He hadn't given me another one since and I couldn't deny how much that hurt.
"Yes, I designed it but I don't have any formal training."
"Which is why you'll have Riley's guidance." Riley's guidance. I'd be guided by Riley Fitzpatrick.
No, I couldn't accept it.
"Mr Tell," I repeated forcefully. "It really wouldn't be appropriate. This is Mark’s contract. Anything regarding it should be discussed with him and besides, I really can't take time off from my work to?—"
"You have weekends and you'll be recompensed for your time, of course,” he said, easily dismissing my protests.
"You said you wanted to design but rarely got the opportunity, I’m giving you the opportunity now.
Come back tonight. I'll have Riley show you the plot and we can discuss it over dinner.
" He had an answer for everything. So far, every interaction I'd had with this man had been a battle of wits, a game in which he was obviously far more schooled than I was.
But that didn't mean I couldn't be smart too.
"I'll consider it… " I said, letting my unspoken ‘ if’ hang in the air, just waiting for him to catch on. It took less than a second.
"If?" He sounded excited by the challenge. A challenge was a rare beast after all.
"If you apologise for coming on to me yesterday. It was very unprofessional."
"Yes, it was," he admitted. I almost fell off my chair in shock.
"You, on the other hand, were the epitome of professionalism.
Crashed into anyone else's car recently?
" Shit . I scowled at the empty office. "I'm not going to apologise, Miss O'Connell, because I don't regret it, nor do I feel guilty. "
"I don't suppose regret or guilt are things you feel very often."
"I don't suppose you know me well enough to be making those kinds of assumptions," he said evenly. I winced. “But my lack of remorse isn’t why you won’t get an apology out of me.” I swear I could hear him smiling down the phone. He was enjoying this.
"Then, why? Because it wasn't court ordered?"
“Because you wanted it." His words sent a pulse straight to my core. I inhaled sharply, my mind spinning. "Nothing to say now, Miss O'Connell?"
"I…I can't believe you said that! You are the most insufferable?—"
"Are you pressing your thighs together?"
I gasped as his words sent another jolt through me. I looked down at my own thighs, how I'd pressed them together to alleviate the ache between my legs. "Mr Tell?—"
"Come to me tonight," he cut me off, his harsh instruction stealing my breath away.
A moment ago we had been playful, a moment before that we were all business, and now he had brought me to this place, and he'd done it as easily as he had on the rooftop yesterday, moving me from one scene to another.
"Are you scared?"
"No." Yes.
"I have to see you again."
"Why? Because I'm a rare beast and you love a challenge? I'm not interested in being in anyone's game."
"But you are interested in playing, you're very interested in winning, and you definitely want that project.
" So that's the carrot he was going to use to lure me with?
Would he even give me the project after he'd had his way with me?
I didn't trust him, not even close, but the thought of finally getting a shot at my dream called to me.
I was desperate to say yes but there was a voice in the back of my head screaming not to give him any leverage over me, and working directly for him would give him major leverage.
This just wasn't going to work.
"Mr Tell, I've said no. Thank you for returning my phone to me. Enjoy the rest of your day." I hung up before he could speak again. If I heard that lilting voice one more time I knew I would buckle.
Disappointment hit me first. I'd wanted that project so damned much. Had I made the right choice?
My mobile buzzed a minute later and I picked it up.
You didn't deny that you wanted it.
A.
He'd stolen my number. That sneaky, evil genius had stolen my number.
I switched off my phone, threw it in my drawer, and went back to work.