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He stood up and stalked across the room, throwing himself into the chair by the bookshelf. He would stay until dawn in case she needed him during the night.
It was a hell of his own making, he realized ten minutes later as she sighed in her sleep and rolled over again, leaving a tempting empty space next to her. He had been the one to insist on accompanying her home, to carry her upstairs, to put himself in the role of hero when it was becoming clear that the last thing Alexandra needed was someone to take care of her. She had grown into an independent, determined young woman.
Or, he wondered as he dropped his head back against the chair frame, had she always been this way? She’d certainly appeared strong the night she’d broken his heart. Had this thread of steel always existed beneath her beauty and he’d just been so intoxicated with their summer romance that he’d missed who she really was?
The never-ending question rotated around and around in his mind as sleep finally overtook him. His last image was of Alexandra curled up in her bed, her face peaceful and a small smile playing about her lips.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ALEXANDRAPLACEDTHElast bouquet in the refrigerator and surveyed the white cymbidium orchids framed by red roses with a critical eye. Tomorrow Grant’s exclusive guests would arrive between noon and five to fresh flowers in their rooms, followed by a cocktail reception and a dinner on the patio. It would be a nonstop whirlwind, but a welcome one. The hectic schedule meant less time to think about everything that had transpired the past few days.
Saturday morning she’d woken to a splitting headache, pain pills on her nightstand and a glass of water. Grant had left no sign that he’d even been in her apartment, save for the lingering scents of cedar and amber that clung to her body no matter how hard she’d scrubbed in the shower. She’d been torn between embarrassment that she’d been so far gone after her trip to the hospital that she’d allowed him to care for her like that, and savoring the brief flashes of memory she had of him carrying her in his arms and laying her on the bed.
She’d somehow hauled herself to the shop Saturday afternoon. She’d managed the few orders that had trickled in for dates, graduations and nearly forgotten anniversaries as she had worked on the arrangements for the Monday morning brunch. Sunday had been busy, too, with finalizing everything for the week ahead and posting two part-time positions made possible by her initial payment from the Pearson Group. She would have loved to have Sylvia back, but her former employee had already found a new role. The wholesaler who provided her biweekly flower order for the shop had set her up with a floral company in East Hampton that would make daily deliveries to Grant’s mansion for her week away. It was a lot of details flying around at once, more than she’d ever had to coordinate in her six months of operating The Flower Bell.
But it had been worth it. She’d arrived at sunrise to the library, a staff member’s grumpy face softening into a smile when she’d handed her a small bouquet of daisies. She’d learned over the years that having extra arrangements, even something as simple as daisies, could make all the difference when working with the often overlooked employees who made magic happen behind the scenes of events like weddings and graduations. The employee had clutched the daisies in her hand as she’d escorted Alexandra to Astor Hall, a white marble hall with soaring archways and a grand staircase that swept up to the second floor. The tables and chairs had already been arranged, leaving it to Alexandra to adorn the tables with the hyssop and rose design she’d first showed Grant in his office two weeks ago.
As she’d left, she’d deposited one last arrangement on the welcome table at the base of the stairs: burgundy roses, violet-hued dahlias, seeded eucalyptus and purple cymbidium in a silver vase she’d picked up at an estate sale last summer. Lush, vibrant but still elegant. It also drew the eye to the table Jessica had set out with materials on the Pearson Group’s offerings, as well as framed biographies of Grant and the other executives he’d brought on board.
Alexandra had glanced around the hall to make sure she was alone before she’d peeked at Grant’s biography. Jessica had asked her opinion on Friday about three different photos. Two had been professional headshots, both featuring an unsmiling Grant. In one he’d looked directly at the camera, eyes slightly narrowed, lips set in a firm line. The other had him looking at something off camera. It had illustrated his incredibly handsome profile. But both had looked posed and insincere.
The last one, the one Alexandra had recommended and Jessica had gone with, had been of Grant caught in midlaugh, his eyes crinkled as he’d chatted with a group of investors at some event at his old job in California. He’d been surrounded by people of all different ages and backgrounds who were also smiling, their attention fixed on him. She’d traced a finger over his smile. It had been so long since she’d seen him smile like that.
She’d walked out of the library just as the caterers were arriving to set up and immediately departed for the Hamptons, grudgingly accepting the helicopter ride Grant had offered so she skipped traffic and had as much time as possible to work on her flowers. The afternoon had then been spent putting together the guest room arrangements and the Juliet garden roses that would be featured throughout the house. The sun had been setting as she’d finished placing red and pink zinnias into round glass bowls with tangles of ivy cascading from the rims that would take center stage during dinner on the deck that overlooked the pool and the endless expanse of ocean just beyond.
She was exhausted. And proud. This was what she had envisioned when she’d opened The Flower Bell. Long days and sometimes even longer nights full of blooms, greenery and endless opportunities to take an event from nice to extraordinary.
With a smile on her face, she closed the door to one of the four floral refrigerators Laura Jones had rented to house the flowers in the finished basement. She walked up the stairs, past the walk-in pantry that was the size of her suite upstairs and into the massive kitchen. Beyond the picture-perfect deck, infinity pool and white picket fence, the waves of the Atlantic rolled up onto the private beach.
Perhaps she would make herself a sandwich and eat it out on the deck, soak up the brief moment of aloneness before the chaos of tomorrow...
She uttered a shriek as a shadow detached itself from the wall.
“Grant!”Damn it. She mentally kicked herself. “Mr. Santos. You startled me.”
“My apologies.”
The hint of a grin lurking about his lips punched through her defenses.
Be professional.Don’t give in.
“No apology needed. It’s your house. I just didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”
Grant advanced into the kitchen, his broad frame and commanding presence filling the space.
“I wanted to be on site in case anything required my attention before the guests arrive.”
“Ah.”
“Still working?”
“Just finished. I’ll have all the guest room flowers out by eleven, and the cocktail tables ready by five.” She pulled out her phone and started to pull up the schedule. “I’d prefer to wait until as close to seven as possible to put out the dinner flowers. It’s going to be warm tomorrow and—”
“I trust you, Alexandra.”
Her fingers tightened around her phone. She had never expected to hear those words from his lips again. Apparently, he hadn’t, either, because he looked mildly surprised at contradicting himself so quickly after telling her he wanted her to report directly to him so he could keep her in line.
Although, she realized, he had seemed...softer toward her since the attempted theft at The Flower Bell. Part of her wanted to think that maybe they were finally moving beyond the hurdles of the past. Or perhaps he just felt sorry for her. Whatever the reason, having him look at her with something akin to friendliness instead of cold derision had been a welcome change.
