Chapter 13 Rose
ROSE
Closing my eyes, I blew out a breath and leaned back in my office chair, willing the headache between my temples to go away.
It had been a day of back to back appointments, playing catch-up in-between, and ending with a brutal monthly staff meeting to recap our current cases—all on three hours of sleep.
And to top it off, Theo still hadn’t graced me with his decision about my Equine Assisted Therapy program proposal.
Not surprisingly, word had gotten out about the gruesome murder of Carl Higgins. The town was in an uproar, feeding gossip, demanding answers. Everyone was on edge, excluding Mr. Jenkins. His bakeshop had gone through twenty dozen donut holes in the morning alone.
I hadn’t heard from Andrew since I’d visited that morning, adding restlessness and anxiety to my fatigued state. Had his brother agreed to scan Creepy-Ted for fingerprints? Or, had Andrew forgotten about the favor? Or maybe he was too wrapped up with Detective Jagger and Crazy Carl.
I opened one eye and glanced at the clock on the wall—4:47 p.m.—and considered packing up. It would have been the first time I’d left before five, ever.
Then, a knock at the door.
“Come in…”
The door handle jangled, then jangled again. Frowning, I stood and crossed the room just as the door swung open and Zoey stumbled in, balancing two large boxes in her hands. At the doorway, sat two more.
I took one from her hand. “What’s this?”
“A lot.”
“Yeah, but what?”
“Sorry, my X-Ray vision is on the fritz. A delivery dude—hot, by the way—just delivered them for you.”
“From where?”
She shrugged and kicked another box inside.
“He didn’t say where they came from?”
“Girl.” Zoey heaved out a breath as she shoved in the last box. “I don’t—”
“You don’t know. Right. Sorry.”
“Well, Merry Christmas.” Zoey smoothed her cheetah-print blouse and wiped her hands on her pleather spanx. “Cameron and I are going to head to Frank’s for a few beers after this. Wanna come?”
“You and Cameron are heading to Frank’s for karaoke night.”
She flashed an innocent smile. “I can’t help it that I have the voice of an angel.”
A beer sounded great. Howling coyotes did not.
Frank’s Bar was a good ol’ southern honky-tonk bar with ninety-nine cent taps and the best barbecue in the tristate area. A favorite with the locals, the bar was tucked away in the outskirts of town, away from the prying eyes of the tourists that flooded the town half the year.
I shook my head. “This angel is calling it a night early. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Let’s hope you don’t pull up the driveway to your ex wearing nothing but a G-string and a purple orchid between his teeth?”
I wrinkled my nose at the image, reminding me I had zero sexual attraction to my former fiancé. Zoey, on the other hand, apparently did.
I’d told Zoey about the orchid, but not about Creepy-Ted. I wasn’t sure why, exactly, other than I didn’t want to have to dissect it more than I already had and bring more “energy” to it. Bad juju and all that.
“I won’t say it again,” Zoey continued, “but I really think you should give the guy another chance, Rose. I mean, he’s…”
“Marriage material. I know. You’ve reminded me a million times.”
“He’s handsome, educated, comes from money…”
“Nice to know your checklist.”
She grinned, then, “I’m serious. You’re the marrying kind, Rose.”
I smiled and looked down. Good to know that the carefully orchestrated life I’d built around myself wasn’t going unnoticed. Thing was, Zoey had no idea it was all a facade. Zoey had no idea about my past.
No one did.
“What about any of those hot doctors you interviewed on your Roseology podcast? Are any of those eligible bachelors?”
“Are you asking for a friend?” I winked.
“No, just trying to find you a good man. Why’d you close that down, anyway?”
“Men or my podcast?”
She laughed. “Podcast.”
I shifted my weight. “I wanted to put my full focus on this new job.” It was a truthful answer, but one that I still questioned every day.
I missed doing my podcast, more than I could have ever imagined when I’d canceled it.
It had been my little baby, something I’d started from nothing, worked my butt off to grow, and turned it into a success that had stacked my savings account and birthed my love for designer duds.
It wasn’t the money, though, it was the feeling of accomplishment.
Like one step closer to my dream of running my own business.
Yeah, I missed it terribly. But I knew that if Theo would approve my Equine Therapy Center, it would fill that void. And help potentially thousands of people in the process.
I felt my shoulders begin to tighten. The usual reaction to anyone bringing up my former fiancé and any time I thought about my past.
“Anyway…” I swooped down and picked up a box.
“Okay, I’ll shut up,” Zoey said. “I’m just saying, you’re not getting any younger is all.”
“Not getting any younger?” I dropped the box from my arms, missing my heels by an inch. “I’m twenty-eight years old, Zoey.”
“Geez.” Her palms lifted to surrender. “Sorry. I’ll leave you alone, then.”
“No, I’m sorry, it’s just been a hell of a day, and I just want to get out of here—after going through whatever is in these boxes of course.”
“I get it. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” Before stepping out of the office, she glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t stay too late. More storms are comin’, you know.”
As the door clicked shut behind me, I turned to the window.
Sure enough, a thick band of black clouds loomed on the horizon. A few drops tapped the glass—warning that the storm was coming.
There was a charge in the air. Not just weather—something else. A pressure deep in my gut, like the crawl of impending doom. My chest tightened. I inhaled, but it didn’t help. The room felt smaller somehow, like the walls were inching in.
What is wrong with me?
I mentally counted back to my last period, wondering if I was just caught in the middle of an epic hormonal surge. That would explain the irrational sense of dread. Maybe.
I grabbed the box cutter and sliced through the packing tape on the first delivery.
Then froze.
My jaw dropped as I peeled back the flaps and looked inside.
It was a brand-spanking-new Apple monitor, in all its gorgeous, sleek, silver glory.
What?
Who?
I moved onto the next box.
Another monitor. Dual Apple monitors.
The third box held a new computer tower and docking station, and the forth, a new keyboard, and a matching mouse and mousepad painted with red roses.
Red roses?
“So your name is Rose Flower…”
Phoenix’s voice materialized in my head, pulling me back to the moment I’d first seen him, the moment he’d spun around in my desk chair—the first time Phoenix Steele had given me butterflies. Then, minutes later, him destroying my desk in a fit of rage.
I blinked, staring at the thousands of dollars of computer equipment on the floor.
No freaking way had he done this.
No. Freaking. Way.
I searched for a card, a receipt, or any indication of who had sent it, but there was nothing.
My question was answered by a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
Zoey poked her head in with a demure, polite smile that suggested she wasn’t alone.
“Ah… There’s someone here to see you, Dr. Floris.”
“Who—”
She pushed open the door. As if he’d materialized from my thoughts, the man, the myth, the legend, Phoenix Steele, loomed in the doorway.
He was wearing the same black leather jacket from the day before, but this time it hung over a Steele Shadows Security T-shirt.
A worn pair of jeans and scuffed cowboy boots completed the look.
His hair was extra mussed, his five o’clock shadow thicker than the day before.
His eyes, as blue as a spring’s sky, and loaded with as much turbulence.
“I’ll, uh, leave you two alone,” Zoey said, giving me a questionable look, before shutting the door. So much for my request to give me a heads up if Phoenix came into the office. Thanks, Zoey.
I scrambled off the floor.
“Mr. Steele.”
“Phoenix.” His tone reminded me of when he’d bribed me with sex and money.
“It’s Phoenix now? Yesterday, you asked that I call you—”
“It’s Phoenix today.”