The Grand Pact (The Grand Men #1)(40)

She knows how I am.

If nothing else, it made me respect her.

She says she isn’t independent and all that girly bullshit she spouts, but truth is, she’s more independent than any woman I’ve ever met. She has a standard, one which I’m not even sure she understands—Miller is the perfect example of that—and she doesn’t settle for less—again, Miller.

And me.

And rightfully fucking so.

I just don’t know what this feeling is or what to do with it. Rational thought gets thrown out the window when we talk.

I know it will be playing on her mind.

Everything plays on her mind.

“Fuck it.”

Elliot: If you knew this would happen when you begged me to touch you in that restroom would you have stopped it?

Princess: Knew what would happen?

Elliot: Not in the mood Princess

Princess: ELLIOT

Princess: I’m at work!!

Princess: What do you want me to say?

Elliot: I want the truth

Princess: Can I call?

Elliot: NO. You’ll give me those come fuck me eyes and I’ll be fucked for it again Princess: Come fuck me eyes – howling Elliot: Luce

Princess: I’d never take a thing back with you Elliot. NOT A THING. Okay? You wanna chat later? I’m at work still. Might be late today xxx I start to type and then stop before typing again and stopping.

Princess: Outta your head Handsome

My phone knocks on the hardwood of my desk, and then my head follows.

“Well, shit.”

I give myself ten minutes, then I go to my meeting, my head jumbled and my laptop tucked under my arm with a list of florists in my pocket.





12





Lucy





I stroll down the quietening pavement at a snail’s pace. I’m shattered. Beyond tired with aching feet and my head mentally drained.

Working at Venty’s wasn’t easy. We’d be on our feet from open till close, with fittings around London and delivering garments to clients, but never have I had a day like the one I’ve just endured. My boss, Monica, was off sick today, so I’m putting the shittyness down to that.

It’ll get easier—that’s what I told myself on the fifth hour. No one else told me that. No one asked me how I was settling in or if I needed to be shown around.

They weren’t mean, but they weren’t nice either.

Just busy.

Luckily, I knew what I was doing with most of the jobs they gave me, and the schedule helped, but that didn’t stop the worry from creeping in. What if I screwed something up? It isn’t Jean anymore. It’s big executive owners that will rub me out quicker than I can apologise.

I push open the door of my hotel, and my feet come to a stop on the etched marble. My eyes drift closed as I inhale the pungent scent of fresh flowers. They smother me, wrapping me up and making me feel weightless. The heady aroma is so unlike the usual clinical smell of the hotel, and it makes a small smile lift my lips as I stand motionless in the middle of the entrance.

“Miss Morgan?”

I open my eyes and start forward without knowing which direction the voice came from, worried I look like a fool standing in the middle of the doorway sniffing the air. I scan from left to right before my eyes land on the young man standing behind the main desk.

Rolling my lips, I move towards him. “Sorry, did you say my name?”

He gives me a huge smile. “I did.”

“Sorry,” I repeat. “I was blindsided by that incredible smell.” I look around but don’t spot any flowers.

“Yes, your flowers,” he tells me, pulling a rose out from under the desk. It’s not wrapped in anything. Just a single rose with all the thorns and velvety crimson petals.

“Oh. Thank you.” I frown, taken aback. “Sorry, do you know who this is from?”

“You’re most welcome, and yes, I do.” He nods, still smiling.

When he doesn’t elaborate, I ask, “Who?”

“I’m afraid that would go against our confidentiality policy, Miss Morgan. I hope you enjoy your evening. If we can help with anything at all, please let us know.” He busies himself at the computer, and I stand with an awkward smile on my face. I can feel my cheeks burning, but I don’t even care.

I turn and walk to the elevators, feeling like the world is watching me with my rose clutched in my hand.

How strange.

Dipping my head, I sniff the rose as the elevator carries me to my floor, and as the doors slide open, I’m assaulted by the liquefying, heady smell all over again.

It’s not this rose. It’s beautiful, but it’s not this rose.

I go to my door and swipe my card, wondering who could have sent it to me.

Maxwell maybe?

Or does the guy at reception have a thing for me? I chuckle at that, but it dies on my lips as I push open my hotel room door.

My jaw drops.

“Oh my god.” I cover my mouth with my hand, my eyes wide as I try to fix my gaze on one spot in the room.

“What the hell?”

Bouquets of flowers fill my room.

On the sideboard, the dressing table, coffee table, and even the floor. So many colours of every flower you can think of littered around the small space. The smell of lavender and lilies is overpowering, and it warms me from the inside out, making my shitty day a whole lot lighter.