Page 44 of Wild Flower

She nods, but I can tell she’s putting the pieces together as she heads down the foliage-covered aisle.

“Your employee doesn’t know you’re fucking her cousin, does she?” Arie says, once Miranda is out of earshot, and I turn to the red-headed beauty at a loss.

“No,” I mumble.

“Or about Archer, I’m sure.” She gives me a devilish smile. “Secrets have a way of uncovering themselves,” Arie says cryptically. “But that’s not why I’m here. I was serious about you being a model in this shoot. I don’t want to use just your flowers, which again”—she motions to the shop—“are incredible. The truth is, I couldn’t stop thinking aboutyoulast night—in that dress, with the hair and the tattoos, drinking my cocktail like a goddess. There’s just something about you …”

Heat crawls over my tattoos as Arie sears me with a fierce look. Then she rolls her shoulders with a tiny laugh.

“Honestly,” she concludes, “if two of the hottest waiters in my restaurant want to fuck you—together—then I don’t need to define what it is. I just want to bottle it and sell it.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I sell sex,” Arie says plainly. “Obviously, I only charge for the food and cocktails. But you’ve been to Flambé. You knowthe experienceis about turning you on. Plus, those two boys couldn’t keep their hands off you whilethey were working.” I look over my shoulder to see where Miranda is. This is not a conversation I want her to be a part of. “If your magnetism is that strong, I’m taking note, and trust me, I’m going to cash in on it.”

“What exactly are you suggesting? I’m just a florist.”

Arie shakes her head. “Whoever made you believe you’rejustanything, needs to be tarred and feathered. You’re a force of nature.” Arie motions to the flowers that hang like colorful bells on a vine above us. “You’re a sorceress, and I’m going to cash in on your magic.” Arie grabs my arm and starts walking me toward the front of the shop. “I have a plan and a promotional concept. You’re going to love it.”

26

ARCHER

I’m standing in the lobby of the Atlantis resort waiting for Finn. Everything in this resort screams money: the modern chandeliers, the polished floors, the suits on the staff at the front desk. Not that I should talk; I’m wearing the black suit that’s required at Flambé. I’m just as much of a fraud as half the people who visit this establishment. I’m just more creative about how I do it. Sure, I’m serving them the flaming martini rather than paying for it, but Flambé does come with perks.

Arie didn’t fire us, thank goodness. But she did send us a group text telling Finn and I that we have a meeting with her before our evening shift.

“Do you think Arie changed her mind about not firing us?” Finn asks, walking up in his identical black suit.

“No. I think she’s going to slap us on the wrist and remind us about the health code,” I reply, turning to walk in stride with him to the elevator.

“You didn’t wash your hands after touching the patrons?” Finn quips, nudging me in the ribs. At least he’s in a good mood. I’m used to him being the one who’s afraid to break the rules. The sooner he learns that rules are just an illusion you agree to live your life behind, the sooner he can be free of them.

“So …” Finn starts as the elevator doors open and we get inside the cart. His tone makes that signature dip into territory that’s more serious. “Are you going to talk about the big C-word or not?”

“When did I call you a cunt?” I deflect, but Finn doesn’t smile. That was weak and I know it.

“Cancer,” he says, being more direct.

“I don’t have it anymore,” I say quickly, moving to the far side of the elevator. “It’s not a thing.”

“When did you have it?” Finn presses. “From what Arie said, it sounds like it wasn’t that long ago.”

Of course, he would wait until we are in this metal box with nowhere to go to ask these questions—trap me and interrogate me.

“We had a wild time last night,” Finn says in response to my silence. “And we’re about to have more. You don’t think we’re close enough now to talk about cancer?”

“Seeing me naked with our girl and seeing me naked in a hospital gown are two very different things.”

The problem with being sick is the weight of everyone’s pity. It’s not like you don’t have a thousand other terrifying things on your mind when you’re given a giant bolder ofsucks to be you. I don’t talk about the C-word for a reason. It’s always worse when people know. People genuinely want to help—like right now with Finn, he’s not being a dick—but there’s a point when genuine turns to uncomfortable, and uncomfortable turns to pity, and pity becomes silence.

“But it’s gone now, yes?” Finn asks, still trying to be a good friend.

“Remission means there aren’t any symptoms or detectable cancer cells anymore,” I correct. “It’s not the same as gone.”

“So you get it checked out then? Every year or something?”

“Or something,” I mumble, thinking about all those messages from my sister that I’ve been ignoring. “Look, it was four years ago and, mostly, I dealt with it when I lived back in San Diego. After I went into remission the first time, I moved here. If I’m living on borrowed time, I’m choosing to live in paradise.”

---