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I hardly notice the time passing as I move old vases of dead flowers to the kitchen floor and fill their spaces with the new bouquets and arrangements. And move them to places I wouldn't typically put them on the floor, around my room, hanging on the walls, windowsills...I have to get clever to keep finding spots for them all.
The room smells like heaven, and I open my sliding glass doors to let in some fresh air. I don’t want to suffocate in the sweet smell of flowers. As I work, I try to figure out what this could possibly mean.
The cards are pretty obvious that he feels bad about what he did and wants me to forgive him, but there’s nothing about me taking him back. Just apologies, jokes, and fun callbacks to our times together.
I'm busy trying to decide what to do with some carnations when there's another knock at the door.
More flowers? But I've already almost brought almost all of them in and I’m out of room. Still, I make my way to the door and open up to hyacinths in purple, white, and pink. On the other side of the bouquet, I lock eyes with Clifton.
“Come in,” I say, struggling to stay cool and preparing myself for whatever he’s about to say and do. He follows me inside, closing and dead bolting the door behind him. “Wow, beautiful,” he says, scanning my place.
“Thanks to you,” I say, crossing my arms and sitting down on my couch. He sits beside me, keeping a respectful distance between us.
“Sorry to barge in like this, it's been a crazy week. My dad almost died of sepsis.” I see a flash of fear in his eyes, and something inside me melts.
“But he's okay now?” I ask, hoping he'll confirm.
He nods his head quickly. “Yes, he's doing amazingly now.”
“So why are you here?” I don't feel like beating around the bush or shying away from the important hard questions that I know I need to ask. The way he broke up with me was pretty unforgivable, but it seems like he had a good reason. If I was facing a dying parent I'm not sure that I'd be able to put time into anything or anyone else, even though it was easy for mine to walk away from me.
He raises his eyebrows, as if surprised I'm being so direct. “Well, mostly just to say sorry, partly to let you know what's going on, and to convey some work news.”
I take a deep breath, worried about what he's going to say next. He's already said that he's sorry. I know about what's going on with his father, so the only thing left is the work news. Why am I so afraid? Why do I feel like something big is about to happen? Begging my heart to give me a break, I focus on his handsome face and give him all of my attention.
“I’m listening,” I say.
He takes a deep breath. Looks away from me and shoves his fingers through his hair before speaking. “You’re fired.” He pulls a thick, full-sized envelope from inside his jacket pocket and holds whatever it is with reverence while taking a deep breath.
I don't know what to say or do, I can't even move. He's firing me? “Is this because of your dad or because of us? Why am I losing my job?” At least he came in person to tell me this bad news. “Thanks for not firing me over text,” I say, and his gut flexes as if I’ve punched him in the stomach.
“You’re welcome. It’s the next part I couldn't do over text.”
I don't even know what could be worse than getting fired, but I'm honestly terrified at this point. Unable to say anything, I wait for him to speak. He finally offers me the envelope of paperwork and his incredible eyes meet mine.
“You are the proud new owner of the law firm.”
Silence chases the words as I struggle to comprehend what he just said. “What?” I ask, feeling like an idiot.
“You own the law firm now and you can't turn it down because I had a lawyer outside the company draw up the paperwork and everything is airtight.” His eyes are sparkling with joy and mischief, and I try to contain my excitement. There's no way he's telling me the truth.
“I can't afford to buy the firm.” I'm afraid that I'm misunderstanding what's happening right now.
“But you did.” He seems confused and I try to figure out what the heck is going on. “With your next paycheck. Last paycheck.” He shakes his head like he's confused. “I swear it's all above board.”
“So I own your father's firm?” I still feel like I'm not getting it - I must be hearing him wrong.
“Yes. Free and clear.”
“And what did Anton say about this?” The man wouldn't have given up control of the firm.
Clifton lifts both shoulders. “Actually, it was his idea. Indirectly. He told me to sell the firm.”
I find myself stunned that Anton would say something like that after how hard he worked to build a reputable firm with a solid clientele. “Why did he want you to sell the firm?”
“Because it doesn't make me happy.” His voice softens and he reaches out, his fingertips grazing my jaw and threading into the hair hanging freely on my neck. His eyes tick to mine. “You make me happy. Your job makes you happy. This seemed like the only logical way to handle everything, and now that I'm no longer employed, we're free to behave however we want. Within the law, of course.”
Shocked and still unable to believe the news, I open up the envelope and pull the packet of papers out. Skimming through them quickly, I realize that he isn't lying. The firm is mine now. Anton’s name isn’t on it, and neither is Clifton’s.
