Page 7 of Blindly Yours

Yeah, he would be flattered if you told him that

Hey, I’ve gotta go. Talk tomorrow?

ASingleRose26

Sure, I’m at work all day, but I should be around in the evening. Goodnight!

BigSpoon92

Night, little spoon ;)

I smirk as I set my phone to the side and stroke Daisy’s ears again. I’ve almost forgotten the cold blue eyes that pleaded with me earlier tonight.

Almost.

TWO

Rose

Iride the elevator up to the thirty-fifth floor of Astor Tower in downtown Minneapolis, crossing one heel over the other as I lean against the handrail and study the financial report in my hands.

My parents run a billion-dollar financial advisory firm housed in this building—which they also own. I was raised in this world. When I was just six, my mother would set up a mini grocery store with plastic food and Monopoly cash in our living room and teach me how to budget and count money. Thankfully, I enjoyed it just as much as she hoped I would. I graduated from the University of Wisconsin–Madison with a degree in Finance and Wealth Management. And now, at just twenty-six, I sit in line for the executive team at Astor Wealth Partners.

My father is the CEO. Mom’s COO. I’m a Senior Financial Advisor alongside my two older brothers, Henry and George. The three of our names come from relatives a few rungs up on the wealthy family tree. It’s also not a coincidence that their names evoke a sense of royalty. Mom’s not afraid to admit that. Mine came from my great-grandmother, also named Rose Astor, who was supposedly a distant cousin to the well-documented and well-off businessman who went down with the Titanic, John Jacob Astor. Thus, most new clients at AWP begin their introductions with “So, any relation to that one Astor on the Titanic?” It’s too distant to really make an impact, apart from the resulting public respect for our business.

It also doesn’t help that my name is Rose.

But if the box office hit gives me clients, I’ll take them.

As I step out of the elevator, Junie is already rising up from the receptionist desk and closing in on me.

“So? Did you try the app?” She clasps her hands together.

I laugh as she follows me down the hall to my office. “I joined the wrong one. Couldn’t remember what you told me it was called.”

She comes to a stop in front of my desk as I sit down. “Bloom. It’s called Bloom. What didyoujoin?”

I nod and scratch my head as I tap my keyboard to wake my computer from its sleep. “Bloom. Right. I joined some weird app where you don’t post any pictures of yourself, and neither do your matches.”

When Junie doesn’t respond, I glance up to see she’s watching me with horror. “So, you have no idea what they look like? That sounds…chancy.”

“Yeah, I mean, until we both agree to share, it’s completely blind. Kinda weird. That’s what it’s called. Blindly.”

She sinks down into the chair across the desk and crosses one leg over the other as she tucks her raven-colored hair behind her ear. “Sounds like the perfect place for people who keep getting swiped left.” She suddenly furrows her brow and sits forward. “Wait, did you saywe? Are you talking to someone already?”

I focus on my screen and shrug. “Someone messaged me last night. But I’m not gonna stay on the app. I’ll join Bloom.” I look pointedly at her. “Foryou.”

“Yes, you should do it right now.” She taps the black screen of my phone on my mahogany desk.

I look at my watch. “I don’t have time. Mr. Lancaster will be here in five minutes.”

Junie stands up from her chair with a sigh. “Yes, well promise me you’ll join tonight? I’m desperate to live vicariously through you.”

I smirk. “I promise. Now get back to the lobby before he arrives. You know how he is about getting lost on his way in.” I wave her off.

She sticks her tongue out at me before she leaves—a purely lighthearted response to my equally playful managerial instruction. Even though I’m technically her superior, I’ve never used it to any sort of devious advantage that would ruin our friendship, and we never let those formalities get in the way unless necessary.

As soon as I have the room to myself, I unload my bag and place Mr. Lancaster’s files—which I pored over for too long last night—across my desk evenly in the order in which we will address them. His three grandchildren will want for nothing once he passes, and it sends a warmth through my heart, knowing he’ll leave this world with one less regret.

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