Page 25 of Love in Bloom

“Looks like you’re feeding me now,” he commented.

“Drinks are not food,” Wren chastised him, before taking a sip of her Coke. “So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Why do you think something’s wrong?”

“I’ve never seen you drink alcohol, you’re standing in a bar alone drinking expensive rum, and you said it wouldn’t help. All that implies you’re in a bad mood.”

Miller leaned back in the chair and rolled his shoulders. “I’m one of the bachelors tonight.”

“Congratulations?”

“Hardly. My boss’s wife just told me their daughter is bidding on me.”

“Diane said Michelle’s bidding on you?”

“Yes.” He scowled. Wren felt a stab of jealously, but reminded herself she wasn’t looking to get involved with anyone right now, especially Miller. Michelle would make a perfect partner’s wife. She was the best match for Miller.

“I think most people would consider the boss’s daughter taking an interest in them to be a good thing.”

“We’re colleagues. Even if I was attracted to her, it would be unprofessional and awkward at work.”

“You’re not attracted to her?”

“No, I’m not.” Miller gave her a hard look. His admission shouldn’t make Wren happy, but it did. Her heart softened.

“Still, it could be helpful. Maybe you should find the good in this.”

“No thanks, Pollyanna, I’m not for sale. Thanks for the drink.” Miller stood, tossed a few dollars on the table for a tip, and stalked out of the bar.

Wren sucked on an ice cube and stared at her pointy toes. She loved these shoes, but looking at them now, she remembered why she had them. She’d seen them on display while passing through Nordstrom’s during a weekend conference in Nashville and Michael had insisted on buying them for her. A reward for putting up with all his meetings and being left to entertain herself while he’d been gone.

She’d been bought. He’d bought the shoes and everything else for her so she could maintain their society-perfect illusion. He’d paid cash that day, but the real currency had been her self-respect and identity. Too high of a price for a closetful of designer clothes and accessories.

Yeah, being bought sucks. Wren frowned as she found her way to the restroom and then made her way back to the ballroom for the auction. She wove through the crowd and neared Diane Swanson and a few of her friends. Wren did the social smile-and-nod so she could keep moving, but Diane touched her arm, stopping her.

“Wren, don’t you look nice this evening,” Diane said, sounding surprised. “Awfully fancy for just checking on the flowers, don’t you think, Char?” The lady offered a benign smile.

“Oh, no, I’m not working. I have a ticket.” Wren smiled.

Diane introduced her circle of friends. “Wren owns that charming little floral shop next door to us, Wallflowers. We get all our flowers there, but Wren, dear, lately they’ve been looking a little pedestrian. They’re still lovely, but not quite to our usual standards.” Diane slammed Wren’s business with a smile all under the guise of being concerned.

Killing her would be bad PR. She smiled at all the ladies and rested her gaze on Diane. “Thank you for your feedback, Mrs. Swanson. I appreciate your business and how difficult telling me this must be for you, especially in front of your friends.” Wren patted Diane’s arm in sympathy. “Let’s set up an appointment next week to review your expectations and we can adjust the pricing accordingly. I’m sure we can come to a better understanding.” Wren smiled at the ladies and turned to leave, but Diane stepped closer and her ring-encrusted hand grabbed Wren’s arm.

“I saw you with him. In the bar. Stay away from Miller,” she warned.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Wren tried to escape, but the crowd held her in place.

“Don’t be coy. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you drop off flowers. Set your sights on someone else. Leave him alone.” Diane sneered.

Wren pried Diane’s fingers off her forearm and stepped back. “Enjoy your evening.”

Black uniformed waitstaff circulated with appetizers and champagne. The organizers of the auction knew relaxed women led to relaxed purse strings. Wren grabbed two champagne flutes off a passing tray. The first one was empty within five strides.

Wren found her friends toward the side of the room near the silent auction items. “What are you doing here, Emily? Does Jackson know you’re shopping for a replacement?”

“No, they’ll be no replacing him. He’s a keeper.”

“I’m glad to hear that, my dear,” Mrs. Hart, Jackson’s grandmother, said as she joined the group. “Emily is helping me with some of the details tonight. This fundraiser for the hospital and youth enrichment program has gotten bigger and bigger each year, especially since we’ve moved it toward the end of the month. Rumor has it we’re even getting women from Minneapolis coming to bid.”

---