Page 14 of Fire

Gwen grew equally confused. “What flowers?”

“You had flowers delivered. I put them in the breakroom.”

Curious, Gwen made her way there, Sheila hot on her heels.

A huge display of red roses—too many to count at a glance—graced the center of the breakroom table. Stunned, Gwen hesitantly inched forward. The cut-glass vase alone must have cost a fortune. Amongst the blooms, an envelope protruded. She plucked it from its holder and pulled out the card.

I fucked up.

She flipped the card over, but there wasn’t anything else written on it. She knew they were from Blake—it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out—but what she didn’t understand was the reasoning behind them.

While their encounter had ended not as they would’ve liked—for vastly different reasons—he hadn’t done anything he needed to apologize for. He’d made assumptions. She’d made assumptions. It just so happened their assumptions were on two different wavelengths. Honestly, she hadn’t thought she’d ever hear from him again. And she didn’t fear running into him as she had no plans of ever stepping foot into Fire again—invitation or not.

“Who are they from?”

Shoot, she’d forgotten Sheila. Not wanting to share a subject that was now moot and start a big hoopla, Gwen tucked the card back into its tiny envelope and rushed to come up with something. “I, um, got into a fight with my dad last week.”

“Wow. Must’ve been some fight. That had to have set him back at least two hundred bucks.”

“Yeah, it was a doozy.” Not having a pocket, she slipped the card into her bra—away from prying eyes. “I better get back to work. I have Mrs. Middleton coming in soon and want to get the latest shipment from Dior hung before she gets here.”

“Give a holler if you need any help.”

“Will do.” She fled the breakroom but not without taking one last look at her roses before doing so.

A gift basket arrived an hour later.

Gwen had just finished steaming the last of the silk blouses and was rolling the portable clothing rack out to ladies’ casual wear when Sheila intercepted her.

“Um, Gwen. You’ve had another delivery.”

She stopped mid-step, looking over her shoulder. “What?”

“Another delivery. It’s in the breakroom.”

Gwen looked down at her watch. She had about a half hour until her appointment with Mrs. Middleton, but she needed to sort the rack and pull some things before she arrived. She didn’t have time to stop, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t damn curious.

As if sensing her dilemma, Sheila grabbed hold of the rack, “I’ll take care of this.”

Gwen threw her a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

“But just saying, that must’ve been one hell of a fight.”

Or something.

Gwen made the trip to the breakroom. Again. Sitting on the table beside the roses was an oversized basket covered in red, orange, and yellow clear cellophane that resembled fire, with a ribbon at the top bunching it together.

Peering through the wrapping, she could see it was filled with a variety of assorted chocolate. Bars, boxes, bags, and even cookies and muffins all in fancy packages with brand names she’d never heard of.

Flowers were one thing, but a gift basket seemed extravagant. He’d already spent too much money on her. Gwen didn’t want to accept it, but not knowing how to contact Blake other than going to Fire, she wasn’t sure what to do.

An envelope—a bit larger than the one that had been attached to the roses—was tucked under the ribbon. Giving it a tug, she opened it, pulling out the card.

I want to see you again.

She frowned. Why? Was he still only interested in just a fuck? If so, all the presents in the world wouldn’t change her way of thinking. Or was this his way of saying he wanted more? And if so, what had changed his mind?

Gwen didn’t know the answer to those questions, but what she did know was she needed to get back to work. Pondering the dilemma—otherwise known as Blake Stone—would have to wait.

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