Page 2 of Say My Name

I almost put it back in the closet… almost. But in the end, I wear the blouse.

My driver says happy birthday when I get in and I thank him and mean it, and I'm on a call before we're out of the neighborhood. Out the window the lake's doing that flat pewter thing it does in April, making it look like a sea of diamonds against the morning sun.

“Morning,” I say when the voices connect. “Let's start with the revised numbers.”

By the second call Daniel's buried under the agenda, the clinic's a task I promise myself I'll handle by Friday, and Dominic is securely placed in the boss category inside my head. Morning: handled.

That lasts until I get to my office.

By ten I've got two meetings, a call with legal, and a corrected projection model behind me, and the world's back in a shape I recognize.

I’m about to pick up the phone when my petite assistant Maya comes through my door behind a flower arrangement that’s about as big as she is.

“Okay so.” She's steering by tilting her head around the vase, pink and ivory roses shoved up through white hydrangeas. “These were sitting in the lobby and Reception was going to just leave them there, which, no. Absolutely not! Do you have any idea how heavy—” She clips the doorframe with a hydrangea but keeps walking toward my desk. “Anyway, I'm invested now! Who sends this many flowers?”

She gets the vase onto my credenza, blows out a breath, and steps back to look at it.

I lean back in my chair. “I’m sure they're from a client.”

“Or.” She holds up a finger. “And hear me out. A sexy secret admirer.”

“I don't have one.” The words come out clipped, sharper than I intend. The last thing I need today is a fantasy man when I'm one circled name away from a clinical one. I hold my hand out for the card.

“That's exactly what a woman with a secret admirer says, that's the whole deal with them; they're secret.” She holds up the envelope and presses it flat against her chest. “Although honestly, for his sake, I hope it's a client, because you'd have him identified and background-checked and in a spreadsheet before the second bouquet.”

“Card.” I snap my fingers at her.

“You're no fun.”

“Ask finance.”

“Finance is scared of you.”

“That's a kind of fun.” The smile doesn't quite reach my eyes. It's a reputation I've cultivated, a shield made of competence. Most days it works. I take the envelope from her hand.

Happy birthday, Ellie.

You taught me girls rule and boys drool. Guess I can forgive you for spending thirty years proving it.

Love, Cliff

Oh, that jerk.

I wipe at the few stray tears that have already tumbled over my waterline and smile at the card, reading it again.

“Oh, that's disgusting,” Maya says over my shoulder. “That's so sweet! Now I can't make a single joke about overcompensating.”

“It's from my brother.”

“I know. I read it. I'm grieving that it’s not a secret admirer.” She flops into the chair across from me, her usual sign that she’s about to launch into some reason as to why I need to get on the dating apps or let her set me up on a blind date.

I prop the card against the vase. My guess is Cliff let his wife Rachel handle the actual order and pretended he didn't, guaranteed.

“What are you doing tonight?” Maya asks.

“Going home.”

“You know what I mean.” She props a foot against the leg of my desk.