Outside on the street, I started to compose a text to Weston about the flowers, but decided I wanted to see his face when I asked him about the two deliveries. So instead, I sent a short, vague text:
Sophia: Need to discuss a delivery issue. Are you free?
By the time I’d picked up my salad and walked back to the hotel, my phone pinged with the response.
Weston: I’m in Florida. Is it something we can do over the phone?
What?
Sophia: When did you go to Florida?
Weston: This morning.
I don’t know why, but I felt a little hurt that he hadn’t mentioned the trip to me. But maybe it was an emergency and something was wrong. I knew his grandfather lived down there, on the opposite coast of my grandfather.
Sophia: Is everything okay?
Weston: Yes, fine.
I mulled over asking why he hadn’t mentioned leaving. At a minimum, we were running a hotel together. So even if there wasn’t anything personal going on between us, a heads-up would’ve been nice. But I didn’t want to get into it over text. Instead, I opted to wait and have the discussion in person, along with the talk about the flowers.
Sophia: It can wait. Give me a call when you’re back.
***
Two days later, I hadn’t heard another word from Weston. His office door was still closed, and he hadn’t called to let me know he was back like I’d asked him to. Scarlett had flown back to London this morning, and I’d spent the majority of the afternoon in with the legal and accounting team, trying to finalize the list of assets that still needed valuation. Our bid to buy out the minority share from the charity was due in less than three weeks.
Around seven o’clock, I went downstairs to the front desk to check in with the reception manager since Louis was off today. While I was there, a messenger delivered a package, and I overheard the bellman say to one of the employees, “I’m going to run this up to Mr. Lockwood. I’ll be back in five minutes, in case anyone’s looking for me.”
The clerk nodded. “No problem. I’ll keep an eye on your station.”
I walked over and interjected, “Mr. Lockwood is out of town. But he has a mail bin in the manager’s office in the back.”
The clerk looked confused. “Did he leave again? I saw him a few hours ago.”
“You saw Weston today?”
She nodded. “He came in about eleven this morning with his luggage.”
What the hell? He’s back? Where the heck had he been all day, and why hadn’t he called me like he was supposed to?
I forced a smile and extended my hand to the bellman. “I’ll take it up to him. I didn’t realize he was back, and I have some reports to drop off also.”
I stewed the entire ride up to the eighth floor. What the hell was his problem? If he wanted to back away from whatever was going on between us personally, that was one thing. But I’d told him I had business to discuss, and he hadn’t even had the courtesy to let me know he was back in town?
At his door, I took a deep breath and knocked. The entire floor was quiet, including his room. After a minute or two and no sign of Weston, I wondered if maybe the clerk had made a mistake. Sighing, I headed back to the elevator with his package. But when the silver doors slid open, guess who was inside?
“You’re back?” I said.
Weston stepped off the elevator. “Do you need something?”
“Did you get in this morning?”
“Closer to lunchtime. Maybe a little before noon.”
“Where were you?”
“In Florida. I told you that the other day.”
“No, I mean all afternoon. I came by your office earlier, and the door was shut.”
He looked away. “I had a lot of work to do, so I kept it closed.”
I squinted at him. “I thought you were going to call me when you got in.”
He continued to avoid my eyes. “I was?”
“Yes, remember? I texted you the other day and said I wanted to discuss a delivery issue.”
The adjacent second elevator doors dinged and slid open. A woman from housekeeping wheeled a cart out, and we all exchanged pleasantries. She parked her cart outside a guest room two doors down from the elevator and propped the door open.
I looked at Weston, waiting for his answer.
He shrugged. “It must’ve slipped my mind. What’s up?”
The maid went in and out of the nearby room, bringing in sheets and taking out garbage, and I didn’t want to have this conversation in the hall.
“Do you think we can have this discussion in your room?”
Weston seemed to hesitate a moment, but he nodded. We walked to his room together in awkward silence. I wasn’t sure what was up, but I was now certain something was.
Inside his room, the first thing I noticed was the enormous flower arrangement sitting on the desk. It was still wrapped in paper, but it had the logo of Park Florist stamped all over it.
“Flowers?” I said, arching an eyebrow. “Do you have a secret admirer?”
He walked over to the minibar and grabbed a water. “I…uh…tried to deliver them to a guest for the bellman the other day right before I left for my trip. But the guest had checked out early. I was running late, so I just left them in here. I need to toss them.”
“Oh really? That would be such a shame. What kind of flowers are they?”
Well, I’d learned one thing about Weston today. He was a really shitty liar. He couldn’t seem to meet my eyes every time he spewed another one.
He shrugged. “Not sure. I didn’t look.”
I stared at him until he returned my gaze.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing. Just seems like a shame to throw out perfectly good flowers. Maybe I’ll take them. I love flowers.” I was really enjoying screwing with him, so I added, “Unless they’re dahlias. I’m not a fan, and they make me sneeze.”
Weston had looked away again, but now his eyes came back to mine. I watched as the wheels in his head turned, trying to decide how to proceed.
In the end, he went with cautiously. “Dahlias only?”
I flashed a smile somewhere between smug and friendly, which only added to his confusion. “Yup. Just dahlias. In fact, the blackberry ripple variety are the absolute worst. I just sneeze and sneeze and sneeze…”
His already-squinting eyes narrowed even more. So I widened my smile and upped the ante.
Walking over to the flowers on the other side of the room, I fingered the card still stapled to the paper wrapping. “You weren’t even curious what the card said?”
Weston stayed rooted to his spot. He looked about seventy-five percent sure I was fucking with him, yet the remaining twenty-five percent wanted to hold out before folding.
He shook his head slowly. This time when he spoke, his eyes remained locked with mine. “Nope. No interest whatsoever.”
I fiddled with the card but left it attached to the paper. “Hmmm... Well, I am. Hope you don’t mind if I read it.”
Weston’s jaw ticked as I called his bluff.
“It’s an invasion of the sender’s privacy,” he grumbled. “Don’t you think?”
I plucked the card from the paper wrapping and smiled. “Then you don’t have to read it.” Taking my sweet-ass time, I ran my nail across the back of the envelope and sliced it open. For full dramatic effect, I flashed my pearly whites at Weston as I slowly pulled the card out.