“Stop it. I chose you to be my star designer this year. More specifically, your designs didn’t bore me to death. I want you to go really wild and off the wall with this one. You’ve shown that you can take instructions well, but now I want to see the mad hatter in you. The artist.”
“You got it.” I did my best not to jump up and down, laughing through my unstoppable happy tears, which I was no longer able to hold back. I usually reserved my tears for good news and Disney movies.
“When is it due?” I asked.
“A couple months, so you better get your butt in gear.” He made a whiplash sound. “Oh, and before you ask—it doesn’t come with a bonus,” he pointed out dryly.
“Starving artist for the win.” I fist-pumped the air. “How is Francisco doing, by the way?”
“Still wanting a child.”
“And you?”
“Still wanting to run away with my Equinox trainer.”
“Liar,” I said softly, rubbing his forearm. I didn’t press for more info, though. If Sven wanted to tell me more about his adoption case, he would.
I was busy browsing through my assignment packet, memorizing all the details, when I heard a bored voice behind me. “Maddie Goldbloom?”
“Right here,” I singsonged, still on a high. I turned around, coming face-to-face with a young delivery guy in yellow overalls and a purple hoodie underneath. He was holding a bouquet of lilies.
“Delivery for you.” He thrust a digital screen at me to sign. I did, stabbing the screen with the gray plastic pen.
“Ugh. Those things never work. My signature ends up being nothing more than a jagged gray line,” I muttered, scribbling harder.
“Don’t worry, dude. It’s just for legal purposes. Nobody is planning to sell it on eBay.” The delivery guy flipped his hair sideways. I took my white lilies, placed them next to my own flowers, and fished for the note. I knew Nina was going to have a field day about the addition of more flowers to my corner of the office.
I finally found the small note and opened it with shaky fingers. I didn’t let myself hope. Which was a good thing.
Maddie,
After long and careful consideration, I decided whatever it is you are willing to give me—I’m willing to take it.
I’m in.
—Ethan
I took a picture of the note and sent it to Layla. Her name flashed on my screen after no longer than five seconds.
“Oh. My—”
“Don’t you have class?” I cut into her speech.
“I do. Teaching preschoolers independency and self-management is highly important, I’ll have you know.” She snickered. I heard her voice echo as she settled in the empty hallway. “I’ll be honest—I didn’t think Ethan had a chance after Chase barged back into the picture, but this is a game changer. He is basically agreeing to be the sidepiece. Juicy.”
“No, he isn’t,” I protested.
“You know what you need to do?”
“No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
“You have to screw both and see which one’s better.”
I already had a feeling I knew who took the cake (and orgasms). I stared at the note tucked inside the flowers, feeling nothing but dread and disappointment.
“That won’t be fair to one of them.” I munched on my lower lip.
“Hmm, no. It would just cement the fact Chase surpasses Ethan and that you have to put on your big-girl panties and just cut Ethan loose. I’m the first to admit Chase is not boyfriend material—the guy is the male version of me. But Ethan . . .” Layla tsked. “Nah-ah.”
“Is that all?” I groaned.
“No. I also want to report Grant is excellent in the sack and congratulate you on your assignment. Love you.”
“Yeah, me too.” I hung up.
I texted Ethan a quick thank-you message, asking him if he wanted to grab coffee. It was the least I could do after his sweet gesture. His reply was immediate.
Ethan: I would very much like that.
I smoothed a blank page over my drawing board, blinking at it with a smile when I thought about my Dream Wedding Dress assignment. There was nothing that excited me more than a blank page. The possibilities were endless. It could be amazing or mediocre or bad or a masterpiece. The fate of the dress that was about to grace the page was yet to be written. It was my job to write its story.
“What am I going to do with you?” I whispered, tapping my charcoal pencil on my lips, grinning at the page.
“I’m thinking a good meal, followed by first base in the cab, followed by eating you out in the elevator up to my penthouse—sorry, I won’t be able to resist—followed by a fuck-fest that would make Jenna Jameson blush.”
I gasped, turning around to see where the voice came from. I recognized the deadpan, wry tone on impact. My knees buckled, but this time I didn’t fall off my chair.
“You cannot sa—”
“Not your boss,” he pointed out before I finished my sentence.
“Just because I don’t work for you doesn’t mean you’re not sexually harassing me.”
“Am I sexually harassing you?” He slanted his head sideways, cocking an eyebrow.
No.
My face must’ve conveyed my answer, because he let out a deep, rumbling chuckle.
“What are you doing here?” I scowled at Chase. He matched his black suit with a burgundy tie, hand tucked in his pocket, his Rolex poking out. He was the closest thing to corporate porn I’d ever seen in my life.
“Seeking you out,” he said unapologetically, glancing at the three vases full of flowers by my desk. “One vase you keep because of your mom,” he said, making my heart jolt in surprise. He remembered? “Who sent you the other two?”
“Someone I sent a wedding dress to.”
“And?”
“Ethan.”
“His are the lilies, right?” He approached the flowers, tugging at a petal. I flinched. “Nice choice. Is he mourning the premature end of your relationship?”
“The relationship with Ethan is not dead.”
He threw his head back, laughing carelessly. “Put him out of his misery, Mad. It’s game over for Dr. Seuss. A bunch of flowers aren’t going to change that.”
“A bunch of flowers change everything”—I slapped his hand away, protecting the flowers—“to a florist’s daughter.”
He cocked his head, looking at me funny now. I didn’t like his look. It was the look of a man with a plan, and I didn’t think Chase’s plans and mine were aligned.
“Is that so?” A glint of mischief flickered in his eyes.
I looked away as if hit by his beauty. I hated the giddiness that seeped its way into my gut every time his eyes were on me.
“Come with me.” He opened his palm. I didn’t take it.
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s not a request.”
“It’s also not the seventeenth century. You can’t order me around.”
“That’s true, but I can make a scene that would make you wish you’ve never met me.”
“I already wish that,” I quipped, lying.
“You’re wasting everyone’s time. Ethan’s, particularly. Martyr Maddie wants to have babies with Ethan. But the real you wants to take the plunge, drown with me. Come on.”