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“Your dad sent you roses?” Mae’s forehead scrunches. “That’s sweet and… weird.”
“Mae!” I feign offense.
Enzo’s office door is open, and I glance inside to find him at his desk, watching the scene unfold with a smirk, as if all he needs is a bowl of popcorn to fully enjoy my squirming.
Mae turns around and follows my vision. Enzo straightens, burying his head in his phone before Mae notices anything is amiss.
“I’m just saying, roses insinuate romance. I’ve never seen ones like these before.” She inhales their scent again.
“I know, I had to google them. They’re called Juliet Garden roses. They look like peonies, right?”
We admire the bouquet in the clear vase, smelling them and feeling how soft the petals are.
“You sure your dad didn’t mix this up at the florist?”
My gaze shoots to Enzo. Once again, he’s watching. A tingle skitters up my spine.
“Can we forget the flowers for now? My mom was in the delivery room,” I say.
Mae’s lips tip down.
Mission accomplished.
“She didn’t…”
“She did.” I grab my purse and pick up my phone, pressing Enzo’s extension.
“That was entertaining,” he answers.
I ignore his comment. “I’m going to lunch. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“What did you tell her? Who are those beautiful flowers from? An admirer? Your boyfriend?”
“My dad,” I answer.
Mae peers down at the screen of the phone to see who I’m talking to, then she rolls her eyes.
“Interesting.”
“What?” I shouldn’t care what he thinks is interesting.
“That you went with your dad instead of someone you’re romantically linked to.”
My eyes flick to him through his glass door. He’s smiling as if he’s the big cat and I’m the small mouse trapped in a corner.
“Well, I didn’t have a choice.”
“Why is that?”
“I’m going to lunch. I’ll pick up yours on the way back.”
He chuckles. “Are you uncomfortable talking about relationships?”
The longer this conversation with Enzo continues, the more Mae is shaking her head with furrowed brows.
“Can we discuss this when I return?”
He laughs again. “Sure. Don’t forget our meeting this afternoon with Billy.” Click.
I inhale a deep breath. “Let’s go.”
I secure my purse crossways over my body, and I don’t bother looking into his office to see if he’s watching because I shouldn’t care if he is. How did I go in a matter of days from never talking to Enzo Mancini to him sending me flowers and asking me about romantic relationships?
I don’t have an answer, but one thing is for certain. Enzo Mancini is not what I expected.
