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“There’s a guest here who would like to meet you.”
Jessica gestured for Alexandra to join her as she marched toward a man dressed in a navy polo shirt and tan slacks. As Alexandra passed Grant, she overheard part of his conversation.
“...not sure our fund would be the best fit in that case, Mr. Friedman. Next year might be a better time to look at your finances and whether we would be a good fit.”
Alexandra nearly dropped her water glass. Never had David Waldsworth done anything but push when it came to getting his clients to invest. But then so had many other of her father’s cronies. They hadn’t cared about their clients’ personal goals or well-being. Their only interest had been the bottom line.
Yes, Grant had changed. But the qualities she’d admired and loved about him all those years ago, especially his sense of honor and his honesty, hadn’t. A frustrated sigh escaped her lips. It would be so much easier to keep her heart distant if he had turned into a monstrous ogre.
She pasted a smile on her face as she stopped next to Jessica.
“Alexandra, this is Dan Perri. He and his wife were asking about the flower arrangements.”
Dan gave her a quick smile. With silver threads streaking through his dark hair, and round glasses perched on the edge of a beak-like nose, he struck her as an administrative type and not someone who noticed flowers often.
“Kimberly wanted to walk off with the arrangement at the greeting table at brunch yesterday. It was striking.”
Alexandra’s lips relaxed into a genuine smile. “Thank you, Mr. Perri. That’s very kind.”
“I haven’t heard of The Flower Bell. Do you do other events like this?”
A frisson of excitement leaped inside her belly. “I do. We’ve been open officially for six months and are just now getting the word out.”
Dan cast an appreciative eye over the tables. “This is certainly a good way to do it. Our company is looking for a new florist for the holiday season. We usually host three or four events between Halloween and New Year’s. Would you be available for something like that?”
Ten minutes later she’d handed out three business cards and tentatively booked an anniversary dinner for July. Riding an emotional high, she nearly ran into a woman barreling out of the house.
“I’m sorry, I...” Alexandra’s voice trailed off as she took in the woman’s red-rimmed eyes and mascara-streaked cheeks.
“Are you all right?”
The woman sniffed and rubbed her nose. Dressed in a flowing blue-and-white-striped dress, she wore her brown hair wound into a chignon that could have passed for a work of art with its intricate curls and twists. She couldn’t have been more than three or four years older than Alexandra.
“I will be as soon as I leave this damned house.”
The woman’s voice rose to a high pitch at the end. Alexandra glanced around. A couple of guests at the nearest table were watching the scene play out with undisguised curiosity. One of the investment managers Jessica had introduced her to just before the guests had arrived—Steve something—glanced at the woman with a look of petrified horror. Apparently, he could face down stock markets, but not a crying woman. Neither Laura nor Jessica were anywhere to be seen, and Grant was still talking with the Friedmans.
“How about I take you inside?” Alexandra suggested gently.
The woman took a step back.
“Who are you? I don’t even know you.”
The smell of alcohol hit Alexandra square in the face. Whatever had been happening the past hour, the woman had been using wine to deal with it.
“My name is Alexandra and I’m the florist for the Pearson Group.” Even though the woman was glaring at her, something in her manner told Alexandra there was more going on than just a guest who had had too much to drink. “I always feel better being away from a crowd when I’m upset.”
The woman blinked, her eyes sliding over Alexandra’s shoulder to take in the crowded deck. Red suffused her cheeks as she ducked her head and mumbled, “Okay.”
Alexandra gently but firmly grasped the woman by the elbow and led her through the kitchen. Her friend Pamela glanced up from one of the stoves and frowned. Her short brown hair had been pinned beneath her chef’s cap, her hands moving with lightning speed even as she mouthed, “Are you okay?” Alexandra nodded and Pamela returned to her work, barking orders at her three chefs, their cooking and plating creating background noise that covered up the woman bursting into sobs as Alexandra maneuvered her into the breakfast nook just off the kitchen. Alexandra sat her down at the table, where she buried her face in her hands.
“I’m sorry. You must think the worst of me.”
Alexandra eased into a chair across from her.
“Not really. More curious and worried.”
The woman looked up and swiped her cheeks, smearing her mascara farther.
