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CHAPTER ONE
ALEXANDRAMOSSGAZEDout over Central Park, her eyes drinking in the welcome signs that spring had finally arrived: bright green grass, rosy-pink blossoms on the cherry trees, sidewalks crowded with joggers, bikers and families. Winter had held on to New York City with a vicious, icy grip through the end of March. But finally, the sun had started to beat back the gray clouds, and spring had arrived in all her beautiful, colorful glory last week.
Alexandra’s fingers tightened on the black leather sport folio clutched in her hands. Just in time for the final nail to be hammered into her coffin. Her landlord had raised the rent on her little shop in SoHo the same day her biggest client, a bride with a soap opera star for a mother, decided to elope and canceled her entire floral order. It was enough of a financial setback that she’d had to let her part-time employee, Sylvia, go, leaving her working sunup to sundown to make the arrangements, monitor online orders, manage social media and oversee everything else that came with running a floral store in New York City.
Ten thousand dollars, minus a one-thousand-dollar deposit, gone in the blink of an eye. That and a chance to show The Flower Bell was capable of handling the exclusive, high-priced events that would keep her store running.
She turned away from the floor-to-ceiling windows and faced down the empty mahogany conference table. No chairs yet, or any other furniture. The up-and-coming Pearson Group had just moved into the forty-sixth floor of the Carlson, an exclusive building that hosted the offices of public relations firms, ad agencies and financial organizations like Pearson.
When her friend Pamela, a manager with a luxury catering company, had suggested trying to land a corporate contract, Alexandra had hesitated. She’d done some work for businesses in her college internship, but she’d always imagined weddings, baby showers and anniversary parties when she’d thought of the types of events The Flower Bell would service. But the more she’d thought about it, the challenge and the change of pace, she’d decided to go for it. Pamela had snuck her a list of companies with upcoming events.
The first thing Alexandra had done was scour it for any familiar names. It had been seven years since her father, David Waldsworth, had landed in prison after his pyramid scheme had collapsed. The majority of the victims had been blue-collar workers and middle-class families. A point the media had used to hammer her family into the ground, with phrases like, “There’s no way they could have not known,” plaguing her throughout the trial wherever she went. She’d started buying clothes at thrift stores the week after the trial, unable to bear the thought that her silk blouses and sheath dresses had been purchased with a military veteran’s savings or a grandmother’s meager retirement fund. Most of her and the family’s belongings, including the penthouse, the private plane, the house in the Hamptons and the seaside home on Martha’s Vineyard, had been sold to cover her father’s debts and start a victims’ compensation fund. A fund that even now was several hundred million short of the amount her father had stolen.
Her stepmother had cried but Alexandra had breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to have the reminders of what David’s perfidy had bought gone.
Now, after nine years of rebuilding herself, she was once again on the verge of losing everything.
But you won’t, she told herself firmly as she breathed in deeply.You’re going to land another contract and The Flower Bell will be a success.
She’d been nervous about approaching the Pearson Group. It sounded exactly like the kind of firm David had been trying to build his company into, except he’d built it on the backs of hardworking people who had trusted him. All to keep the family name among the elite of New York society after he’d squandered the Waldsworth fortune.
Plenty of people in those upper circles remembered the scandal. However, Pamela had mentioned that the new CEO had recently moved to New York from Los Angeles and so she needed to take the risk. The worst that could happen was that she could get escorted out by security. The best was that she could land a contract large enough to save her business while showing the people of New York what she was capable of before they found out who her father was and wrote her off.
Something that had happened one too many times, including when she’d first tried to find space for The Flower Bell. Her favorite spot, a corner shop close to her future sister-in-law’s bookstore, had been her dream, one she’d scrimped and saved and kept her fingers crossed for, hoping it would come available around the time she was ready to launch.
By some miracle, it had been available. Until the leasing agent had found out who her father was and shared that her own father had lost his life savings investing in the Waldsworth Fund.
Alexandra brushed aside the hot rush of shame that pooled in her belly every time she remembered the agent’s look of utter revulsion as she’d pointed to the door. She focused on the arrangement she’d brought with her and ran a critical eye over the flowers. Pamela’s list of upcoming events for the Pearson Group included a brunch at the New York Public Library, a series of meals at a private address in the Hamptons and a formal reception at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
“They’re wining and dining prospective investors,” Pamela had shared when they’d grabbed coffee last week, a tradition they’d carried on since they’d met in a community college class. “From what I hear, the client targets are the kind you’d see in Forbes. Whoever they are, the company’s not holding back. They’ve gone with a mystery approach, only revealing a couple key contacts before they officially launch. Cloak and dagger, but it’s working. Everyone’s talking about them. The invitations they’ve sent out for their upcoming events are the most coveted in the city right now.”
She’d decided to make a sample arrangement for the first event, the brunch. The low-lying design she’d created featured white roses and anise hyssop, tube-shaped clusters of lavender flowers, combined elegance with the soft color palettes of spring. Not too over-the-top that it would distract from the important business being conducted, but unique enough to generate conversation and show that Pearson could be both traditional and innovative.
She reached out and ran a finger over the velvet petal of a rose. The delicate, silky texture stirred a memory, one filled with the scents of violets and cedar entwined with amber. When she’d opened her eyes, nervous butterflies fluttering through her veins even as her body grew heavy with desire, it had been to see his face inches away, his full lips hovering over hers.
“Do you want this?” he’d asked, the growl in his voice betraying his desire. But still he’d held back, not wanting to hurt her, not wanting to push her.
And she’d loved him for that. She hadn’t thought it possible to love him any more than she already did, but she’d fallen so deep in that moment that she’d given in to the sudden burst of confidence, leaned up and kissed him, her fingers tangling in his thick hair as she’d arched her naked hips against his.
She jerked her hand away from the rose. Eight and a half years. Nine in September. She usually did a better job keeping his memory at bay.
Maybe the roses were a bad idea.
Before she could do something foolish, like try to rearrange the flowers and toss the roses in the trash, the door to the conference room opened. The willow-thin woman in the black pencil skirt and red silk blouse, who had led her into the conference room, stood in the doorway. Silvery blond hair hung down her back, straightened and cut perfectly to frame her face. Alexandra nervously tucked a stray brown curl behind her ear. When the Waldsworths had been the Waldsworths of Lower Manhattan, her father and his third wife, Susan, had pressured her to get her “plain brown hair” touched up with golden highlights to bring out her hazel eyes. Nowadays, getting anything more than a trim was beyond her budget.
But she should have splurged on a little more self-care before coming unannounced to a building like the Carlson and asking to speak with the events manager of the newly-formed Pearson Group. The company website had listed an official launch date two weeks from now, with interested parties encouraged to contact the CEO’s executive assistant, Jessica Elliott. Fortunately, Pamela had been working with the Pearson Group’s events manager, Laura Jones. It was easy to find Laura Jones, corporate event planner to the wealthiest companies in the Big Apple. Her feature inFortunemagazine and glossy images from past events she’d organized for other high-profile companies had shown an impeccably dressed woman with a stylish red bob, a brilliant white smile and a closet full of the latest couture.
Alexandra’s throat tightened. She should have put more effort into her wardrobe, splurged on a name-brand outfit.
“The CEO will see you now.”
Her heart skipped a beat. She swallowed past the baseball-size lump that suddenly rose in her throat.
“CEO?”
“Yes.”
“What about Ms. Jones?”
