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Today I’m working on an advert for car magazines about their new MaxEngine oil additive. I sit at my desk and get to work, checking the details one of the engineers has provided, and trying to wrestle them into smooth copy.
“The primary benefit is friction reduction within the boundary lubrication regime, where metal-to-metal contact causes component wear. This protection is crucial to the ring zone, turbocharger and camshaft lobe areas in engines, and the pump, cylinder rods and valves in hydraulics.”
I try not to think about the connection between lubrication and a certain young billionaire who screwed me senseless last night.
The phone on my desk rings. I look up, startled, lost in the world of cars, and pick it up.
“It’s me,” Charlie, the receptionist says. “Can you come out here for a sec?”
“Sure.” I hang up and finish off my coffee, then leave the room I share with the marketing director and head through the building to reception.
I can’t help but compare it to Koru Tech’s swish building as I walk to the front desk. This place is very practical—all painted in white with black trim with the Lubricanz logo on the wall, two black plastic chairs for waiting visitors, a water cooler, and a couple of car magazines on the table. The only splash of color comes from a beautiful bouquet of red roses resting on the counter.
“These are lovely,” I say to Charlie, “you lucky thing. Nobody’s ever sent me flowers.”
She smiles. “Until now. They’re for you.”
My eyebrows rise, and my heart bangs. “What?”
“There’s a card on them.”
With a shaking hand, I remove it and open the envelope. It contains a card with a printed photograph of a Cocker Spaniel wearing a tea towel on its head like a shepherd in a Nativity scene. A hand belonging to someone who’s just out of shot holds a plastic gold star above the dog’s head.
I laugh and turn it over. The handwriting says ‘Merry Christmas. M. x”
My heart swelling, I look at the bouquet of roses. They’re all buds that are just beginning to open, and they smell divine.
“There are two dozen,” Charlie states. “I counted them.”
“Wow.” I pick the cellophane-covered bouquet up gently. It has a huge red bow around the bottom. The stems are wrapped neatly in a special wet cloth covered with more cellophane to keep them fresh.
“I’m guessing they’re from someone special,” Charlie teases.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “He’s special all right.”
I walk back to my office, stopping every ten feet as someone comes over to admire the flowers and laugh at the photo of Gus in the tea towel. “They’re from a friend,” I tell them, not sure how else to describe him.
Back at my desk, I stand the flowers carefully on a spare chair, then take out my phone. I nibble my bottom lip as I wonder what message to send.
It was a beautiful thought, but it’s not as if he’s asked me out again. He enjoyed himself, and he’s polite enough to want to say thank you. That’s all the flowers were for.
Me:I’ve just got the flowers. They’re absolutely beautiful. Thank you so much.
Him:I’m glad you like them. <3
Ooh, a heart!
Me:And the photo of Gus! Please give him a kiss from me.
Him:Hey, I’ll be keeping any kisses you’re giving out to myself.
My lips curve up. I think for a moment about what to say next. I don’t want to say anything that makes him think I’m like Felicity.
Me:How’s work today, busy?
Him:Always. I’m finishing off a report on our latest research for Elizabeth.
Me:The Elizabeth I met at Huxley’s?
