Page 153 of Fiery Romance

But he’s putting in the effort. And I can’t stay mad at that.

The bodyguards exchange looks.

Finally, Mr. P steps back, allowing me to go.

I walk gingerly in my heels, trying not to step on too many flowers. I plan on picking those bouquets up and sending them to the women’s shelter. I only need to keep one spray anyway. The rest can brighten up someone else’s day.

“Ma’am.” The operator of the buggy extends his hand to me.

I accept it and heft myself into the plush carriage.

My employees and the clients inside the salon have noticed the spectacle by now. They’re all lining up at the window.

Amy’s got her face smushed against the glass. Her eyes are bright with excitement and she’s mouthing, “Is it Byron?”

I shake my head. The only thing Byron probably wants to send me is an invoice for the gas he wasted to drive to our date.

The horse takes off. People stop to look as the buggy clops past. A part of me wants to cringe from the over-the-top-ness of it all, but every time I think of Clay, I can’t be embarrassed.

The man is willing to step out of his comfort zone.

I can do the same too.

I lift my head high and smile for the pictures that are taken of the buggy. Hopefully, those photos get tagged online and drum up more publicity for the salon.

The horse and buggy slow down at a historical park nearby. There are cobblestoned paths, gardens and several gazebos.

“Where is Clay?” I ask, arching my neck to look around.

Tourists are milling about and a few office workers are having an early lunch. Everyone turns and stares at me.

I glance over them, but I don’t see a giant billionaire in a tight T-shirt, heavy trousers and boots.

The operator helps me down and points in the direction of a gazebo to the back. “Head right that way. Your gentleman is waiting for you there.”

“Thank you so much.” I fish through my purse for a bill.

“Oh no. I already got paid.”

“Take it.” I push the money into his hand and smile. “It’s hot today. Buy yourself something cool to drink.” I walk past the horse and pat its flank gently. “And buy a little snack for my friend here.”

“Will do. Thank you, ma’am.” He waves.

I take my time crossing the cobblestones to the gazebo. Though I’m still far off, I can make out enough of the man in the gazebo to tell that it isn’t Clay.

My body tightens with unease.

This guy has long hair. His shoulders are lean. He’s not as tall.

And he’s wearing a suit.

I don’t think Clay would be caughtdeadin a suit.

When I get near, the man turns and I freeze where I stand.

Taz.

His bright hazel eyes beam into me, dragging me back to that first moment in high school when our gazes locked and I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I’d found my person.

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