Page 2 of Petals and Fangs

“Out of all florists in New York? Am I the only one who sent samples?”

“Ms. Snow, I know art when I see it. Your own talent brought you to this place.”

“You must have a thing for pastel aesthetics, then.”

“Or perhaps after seeing your profile, I simply can’t think of a better florist to decorate my huge building. Your business is quite impressive,” he says as he looks at my printed samples like it is his first time seeing them.

“Where have you been all these years?” I ask, but it suddenly feels like the question is too futile. I feel so overwhelmed just looking at him. Feelings of mistrust are blinding me.

“Is the job offer to your liking?” Ethan asks, completely ignoring my question.

“Ethan, I-”

“It is Mr. Rothschild for now, please, Lily.”

“I can’t believe you,” I sigh and lay back on the sofa.

“You have to accept things as they are, Lily. I, too, am surprised that we had to meet like this. Maybe it is for a reason. It is a good business deal after all, don’t you think?”

“I am after any opportunity that will make me excel in my career.”

Ethan clears his throat and crosses his arms together, looking like he wants to negotiate some unsolved businesses.

“Your resume says you are brilliant and artistic, and I need some sort of life in this place.”

“Life?”

“Yes,” he says, his voice quieter than ever.

“What does that mean? Is that a code for something?”

“I am sure my face shows how impressed I am with these samples, Lily. I am also sure that you would do wonders in this project. You’ve always done wonders in art class. I remember how fond I was of your work.”

“Oh, please. You can’t bring that up. Old history. We are grown-up people now, aren’t we? Aren’t we, Mr. Rothschild?”

He doesn’t say a word. He simply nods and sits back in his massive chair. The eye contact between us is driving me crazy. He is staring at me differently this time. His stare is so cold.

“I mean, look at you. A CEO? And an owner of this building?”

“I own this entire city, Ms. Snow,” he cockily smiles. It is almost like I am talking to a whole different person.

“Ethan Rothschild, huh? Back from the dead?” I say to him, leaning back on the sofa the same way he does, feeling sudden, immense power, as if I have already gotten the project.

“Technically, yes,” he clears his throat.

“It has been almost ten years since I have last seen you. You look different.”

Ethan looks down and laughs. His eyes are sparkling when they meet mine. The smile is gone, and seriousness takes over. His hands are joined on the table, and he leans forward. I can almost smell him from across the table.

His lips are pressed into a straight line and his jaw clenches. The silence between us is unbearable.

“Have you had a chance to look into the Rothschild Pharmaceuticals for our businesses’ partnership?”

“I haven’t.”

“I believe that’s better.”

“Why is that?” I ask, slightly smirking. It feels like I know the answer.

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