Page 7 of The Florist and Her Alphas

“No,” I say. “I think I want to open this one alone.”

Mira squeezes my arm. She goes back to the bakery, her slippers whispering against the concrete.

I carry the buckets of flowers and the envelope back inside Marsh Florals. Flip the Back in 10 sign back to OPEN.

I set the buckets down by the cooler. The garden roses need conditioning. The anemones are still tight. I should get to work, but first I open the envelope.

The paper inside is the same heavy cream stock. Frostwood Holdings letterhead debossed in dark green at the top. The text is crisp, black, merciless:

Dear Ms. Marsh,

On behalf of Frostwood Holdings, LLC, I am writing to inform you that Frostwood Holdings has acquired the property located at 247 Hicks Street, Brooklyn, New York, as part of a planned redevelopment for the Cobble Hill block.

Your current lease, as transferred from the previous ownership, is set to expire 90 days from the date of this letter.

Frostwood Holdings will not be renewing your lease in its current form.

However, in good faith, we would like to offer you a one-time relocation buyout of $75,000 in exchange for the early voluntary termination of your existing tenancy and the full release of any future claims against the property. This offer is generous and exceeds the market rate for a business of your scale.

I would appreciate the opportunity to meet with you in person to discuss the terms of this offer. Please contact my assistant at the number below to schedule a meeting at your earliest convenience. I would prefer to resolve this matter promptly.

I look forward to a productive conversation.

Sincerely,

Ezra Frostwood

Chief Executive Officer

Frostwood Holdings, LLC

I read it again. Then a third time.

Ninety days.

I am going to lose it all in ninety days. Marsh Florals is the only thing I have in this entire world after my family was murdered. It’s my only safe space built from money I stole from Magnus during his funeral.

I was safe enough. But only for a little while.

My hands shake as I move automatically. I close the shop. Lock the door. Flip the sign to CLOSED. Walk up the narrow stairs to my little apartment above the shop, each step heavier than the last.

In my bedroom, I curl into my bed onto my side, tears falling down my face. Pressing my forehead into the pillow, I listen to the silence of the shop below me.

I feel alone.

Two

EZRA

Hmm, where is she? She’s taking too long.

I tap my foot against the table leg as my brothers and I wait for Liana Marsh to arrive. The bakery is warm as we sit at a table closest to the window, waiting for our scheduled meeting. It smells like butter and cinnamon in here.

I chose the table by the window deliberately. Glass on two sides gives me sightlines to both the front door and the street, where the brick storefront of Marsh Florals sits two doors down, its sage-green door closed, the CLOSED sign turned toward the glass.

Seventy-five thousand dollars. More than generous. More than fair.

I want this clean and fast. I don’t want the bad press of evicting a small business owner from a property she’s clearly poured her life into.