Bang(6)

“Lots of places.”

“I haven’t seen one of those in years. You do know they make these things called tablets now.”

Smiling at his banter, I say, “Yes. Every now and then I’m able to crawl out from under my rock to keep up to speed with modern technology, thank you.”

He shakes his head and laughs as I watch his smile reach his green eyes and crinkle at the corners.

“Do you even own one?” he asks, still smirking at me.

“No.”

He doesn’t respond, but his unfaltering look pulls out my answer to his unspoken ‘Why?’

“I like privacy. Technology disrupts that. I can burn paper and throw the ashes away as if it never existed. Untraceable.” Giving the sly grin back to him, I add, “But you? Don’t you think it’s foolish that you’re putting yourself out there? To be exposed?”

“Is this a riddle?”

I laugh, ignoring his question as I flip through my calendar and confirm, “You have December 31st open, correct?”

Sighing, he shifts and looks at his laptop, saying, “Yes.”

“Great. Bennett likes to keep this event small, two hundred or so. Security is important to him—”

“You as well?” he interrupts and I soften my face, smile, and say, “Yes. Me, as well. As I was saying, guests will need to check in, so will your staff provide that amenity?”

“Anything you want.”

We spend the next hour discussing ideas for setup and scheduling meetings with a few vendors for the next couple of weeks before I call to have Baldwin pick me up. Declan’s well-bred manners sway to the salacious side with the way he kisses me when I leave, gripping my upper arms in his hands and dragging his lips along my cheek before pressing his lips on the shell of my ear, whispering, “Until next time.”





DECLAN CALLED ME two days ago to confirm my meeting with the florist. He recommended the company located in Andersonville that his hotel uses to outfit the lobby, so I agreed. After discussing the masked ball theme with Bennett this morning, he gave me the green light, which made me happy. I can tell he misses me from our phone call—he wasn’t quick to hang up—but he’ll be returning from Dubai tomorrow evening. Despite his loneliness, he was happy to have acquired the production plant that he set out to buy from the nearly bankrupt company over there.

The drive to Andersonville takes longer than usual with the weather. Winters in Chicago are brutal to the city but a brutality that I enjoy. So as I ride in the backseat, I find myself watching the white snow hit the window and slowly melt to a drizzling cascade down the glass.

Arriving at Marguerite Gardens, I walk into the rustic shop. Brick walls, weathered wooden floors, extravagant floral arrangements set atop the agrarian tables, and him. Standing there in charcoal slacks and a light blue button-up, he turns away from the woman he’s speaking with and smiles as I walk over to him. Miffed.

“What are you doing here?”

“You made it,” Declan announces quietly with what looks like irritation and drops a scant kiss to my hand when he takes it.

“I didn’t know you’d be joining me.”

“I promised your husband I would oversee everything to ensure you get exactly what you want. So here I am,” he states, and then lowers his voice, “ensuring you get exactly what you want.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“That,” I say. “Your crass flirting.”

“Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“Are you trying to make me uncomfortable?”

Completely ignoring my question, he turns around and calls out, “Betty, show us what you have.”

The lady he was talking to when I walked in is now situated behind one of the tables.

Declan pulls a chair out for me, and as I take a seat, Betty greets me and says, “So I was informed that we are planning a New Year’s Eve party. Do you already have an idea of what you’d like?”

“I believe we are firm on a masquerade theme. I was leaning towards dark oranges and whites.”

Betty and I go through a couple of books, taking notes on flowers and arrangement styles while Declan remains quiet in the seat next to me. At the end of our meeting, we decide on various arrangements of rusty orange dahlias, mint and buttercup roses, antique hydrangeas, ranunculus, and aspidistra.

After Betty excuses herself to leave Declan and me, I pull out my phone to text for the car, but before I can start typing, he snatches it out of my hands and says, “I’m starving.”

“Good to know,” I snap—annoyed—and grab for my phone at the same time he pulls it away and out of reach. “Give me my phone.”

“Have lunch with me.”

“No, thank you,” I say, making a mockery of my politeness.

Taking my hand and pulling me out of my seat as he stands, he says, “It wasn’t a question.”

His words come out clipped, almost angry, so I don’t give him attitude when he picks up my coat and helps me put it on. I’m not sure what to think about this shift in his demeanor. Normally, he’s light and flirty, but today he’s quiet and stern.

The frigid wind nearly stings my skin when he leads me outside and walks us over to his black Mercedes sports car. Of course he would drive a luxury car like this. It fits the mysterious, sexy look about him. I slip down into the cold leather seat and watch as he walks around the front of the car before he opens his door and gets in.