An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(28)

Then, I managed to sneak into Cal’s office with armfuls of flowers, setting up the room like a colorful, floral garden.

There are dozens of them.

Pink, yellow, fuchsia, and white.

The little potted plants are scattered around the space, lining his desk, and perched beneath the lone window along with a note that says, “Water us every Friday, please!”

I have to believe that even if he never warms up to me, the gesture will start to melt his freezer-burned heart.

Just a little.

I’m settled behind the desk a while later, scrolling through the low inventory report, when the service door swings open. My heart jack-knifes in anticipation of seeing Cal for the first time since our charged confrontation, but it’s just Dante unwrapping one of Ike’s blue raspberry Dum Dums as he moves toward me with a half-smile.

He must notice my brush with panic and realize I was expecting Cal because there’s a weird look on his face as he approaches.

Pity.

He pities me and my pitifulness.

Clearing my throat, I dive back into inventory and pretend like I’m not a mess.

He just huffs a laugh. “The boss getting under your skin?”

“No,” I lie quickly. Too quickly.

“You’re terrible at taking advice, sweetheart.”

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I feel my cheeks heat. “I can’t just avoid him, Dante,” I say, clicking my fingers across the keyboard as if I’m diligently working, but I’m actually only typing my name over and over again.

“I said to avoid talking to him about personal shit, and not to get offended when he acts like an asshole.”

Shrugging my shoulders, I look away, defeated. “It’s nothing,” I clip. “We used to be friends, so I just thought—” I trail off, blowing out a breath. “Like I said, it’s nothing.”

“Well,” he says, readjusting his coveralls. “I don’t think he wants to be your friend anymore.”

“I’ve noticed. Thanks.”

“Not what I meant.”

I falter mid-keyboard click, my gaze skating back to him, eyebrows pinching together. “What do you mean?”

Dante rolls his neck, letting out a sigh when he meets my confused stare. “There’s only two reasons a man threatens anyone who makes a move on a woman,” he says, looking at me pointedly. “Either that woman is related to him, or she’s a woman he has a personal interest in.”

My heart teeters.

I ignore the little tickle in my throat when he says personal interest and shake my head. “Or,” I counter, “maybe he just wants his employees to be treated with respect.”

“On the job? Sure. I’d buy it. But his orders were clear to stay away from you on and off the clock.”

Wait…what?

The tickle morphs into a beehive, and my cheeks flame pink. “Okay,” I say, the word drawn out because I need extra time to process his meaning. Then I gulp. “He made it…clear?”

“Crystal.”

It feels like my equilibrium is going on the fritz. “I – I mean, it’s possible you heard him out of context. He probably sees me as a sister, which falls into the first category.”

That makes sense.

There, I solved it.

Dante scrubs a hand up and down his face, trying to hide the You’re Really Not Smart expression it’s wearing. “He doesn’t see you as a sister, sweetheart. Promise.”

My teetering heart nearly collapses in on itself when the service door swings open again with double the force, producing a brassed-off Cal.

Dante shoots me a look, stepping closer and whispering, “Watch.”

I zig-zag my attention between Cal storming at us, and Dante, who is closing in on my personal bubble. He wraps an arm around my shoulders, causing me to freeze in place. I glance up at him with big, questioning eyes, spotting Cal trudge to a stop out of my peripheral vision.

“What do you say?” Dante asks, eyebrows waggling conspiratorially. “Tomorrow night?”

“What? Oh, sure,” I swallow. “Okay.”

“Why are you fucking touching her?” Cal snaps from a few feet away.

We both turn to see him glaring daggers at Dante, arms folding over his puffed-out chest. One of his skull tattoos looks like it’s sneering when a muscle flexes near his shoulder.

Unwrapping his arm from me, Dante moves away and stuffs both hands into his cargo pants. “Hey, boss. Just having a chat.”

“You were touching her. Why?”

I cut in, smoothing out my hair. “It’s fine, Cal. We were making plans.”

“Plans to do what?”

He looks livid. Sweat gleams off his bronzed skin beneath the overhead light, and his hair is in disarray from work, heightening the chaotic look in his eyes.

“Gonna catch a movie,” Dante says, looking nonplussed. “Netflix and chill, maybe.”

“The fuck you are.”

Oh my God.

My eyes widen to blue saucers.

That Jason Bateman meme spirals through my brain, and I start combing my fingers through my hair—hair that suddenly feels like a heavy wool coat dead set on suffocating me.

Cal’s glances at me, confirming that my attempt to become invisible has failed. Forcing an ultra-strained smile, I turn back toward the computer screen and start backspacing the line of “Lucys” before he spots them.