Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
There is a flock of pigeons flying above the store, laughing at me, cackling, “How do you like this pigeon poop now?”
Somehow, I manage to sound composed. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” he says and extends a hand.
I take it, and yes, this is everything the handshake with the hot guy is supposed to be.
A little spark. A little sizzle. A magnetic charge.
The universe has one hell of a twisted sense of humor. I jerk my hand back so I don’t yank him against me.
“So, you’re applying for the florist manager job?” he asks, like he doesn’t believe his bad luck either.
“And she’s perfect for it,” Iris cuts in, shooting her dazed boss a bewildered look. She goes over my background, punctuating each word like he’s five and not getting it. She finishes with, “And you gave me your word you’d hire my replacement today. But you two can chat. I’m going to visit the little girl’s room.”
And I’m alone in the flower shop with the guy I spent the morning flirt-texting. The guy I was working up to asking out. The guy I wrote fantasies about and shared with my former employer and ALL OF THE WORLD.
This is the hottest mess of my hot-mess week.
There’s no way I can take this job. That would be so awkward. He probably won’t want to hire the gal he dirty flirted with either.
He fidgets with a potted flower on the counter. “So, I was going to ask your name, but I guess I have it now.”
“Yes, same for you,” I say to the man who balcony banged me in more than a few solo flights.
I wish I didn’t feel a little spark in my chest as I look at his blue eyes, the color of the sea. Disappointment rims his gaze.
“That’s me,” he says, sighing heavily. “And you’re you.”
That’s how we gave our “names” on the sidewalk the other morning. Ugh. He seems to be hating this stroke of bad luck too.
I glance around his shop. “The bike you ride makes even more sense,” I continue. Wow. I’m really going to impress him with my intelligence.
“And this is your appointment,” he says, on a rough swallow.
But, crap. He better not think I was stalking him or something. That would be so awful. “I swear, I had no idea you owned this shop. You, as in, the guy I was texting,” I say, and that feels so uncomfortable on my tongue.
His brow knits. “I didn’t think you knew. Not at all. Don’t worry about that,” he says, and whew. That’s good.
I lift a hand and touch my earrings. “But thanks for these. Maybe they’re not so lucky.”
He frowns. “Why would you say that? Iris has been raving about you, and it sounds like you could be perfect for the job.”
Oh. He still wants to hire me? Even though we were flirting like bunnies about to screw?
That’s great, because I sure as hell need to put bills before boinking. I won’t turn down a job just because I wanted to ask my potential new boss on a date. “I would love to work here,” I say in my best professional tone.
“Great. Because Iris would kill me if I didn’t hire you,” Milo answers with a smile.
A fantastic smile. A sexy smile.
Stop, stop. He’s almost your boss.
“I’d hate for you to die,” I say, with forced cheer. I mean, I don’t want him dead. Of course I don’t. And I have to keep up a cheery, fun disposition.
I need a job so much more than I need a date.
“When can you start?”
He’s no longer my almost boss. He’s my official boss, and my crush is going on ice.
“Tomorrow if you want?” Best to begin as Miss Helpful rather than Miss Hot To Trot.
Milo smiles and it feels the slightest bit wistful. Like maybe he’s wondering what might have been, too, over cake and beer.
But that doesn’t matter.
What does matter is this—the guy I’ve been flirting with now signs my paychecks. And he can never know he’s also Mister Sexy Pants.
10
No Jack Holes Here
Milo
* * *
What kind of businessman would I be to pass on a new hire because I was attracted to her?
The worst.
That’d be rudely unfair.
Clearly, Veronica is right for the job.
Also, what kind of flaming asshole would I be if I said, Hey, Miss Cute Devil Butt, I wanted to ask you out for cake and orgasms, so I can’t hire you, but I’d like to test the strength of my couch with you?
The kind of guy I refuse to be—a jack hole.
Which means, after Iris trains Veronica on Saturday, come Monday morning I’m working side by side in my shop with the woman I wanted to take home and bend over a piece of furniture.
As I spin the pedals on a new custom design, I steal a glance across the store to the flower half of Bikes and Blooms where Veronica’s tying a bow around a bouquet of white jasmine. Wearing a yellow Blooms apron cinched at the waist and a cute blue dress with white polka dots, she looks good enough to eat. And I am a bad, bad man for checking out my new manager while she rings up a curly-haired customer.