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“I have no idea,” I say, blowing out a breath.
“Aquí, espero que esto ayude,” Guadalupe says, pulling a card from one of the bouquets and handing it to me.
“Gracias,” I reply, taking the card from her hand.
I open the little white envelope and pull the card from it. My breath hitches in my throat, and I close it quickly as Carlos tries to look over my shoulder.
Pressing the back of a hand to my forehead, I sigh. “What the hell will I do with this many flowers?”
“Who are they from?” Carlos asks.
“That doesn’t matter. I just need to get them out of here,” I grumble.
“Well, it is the holidays,” he says.
“Meaning?”
“You could give each staff member a bouquet to take home to eliminate all except one. The one that you should take home yourself,” Carlos advises.
“I like your idea, but not the last part. Guadalupe, please advise the staff to come by and take a bouquet. You take one for yourself and Carlos. Please take one home to Julia.”
“What about the last one?” he sasses, lifting an eyebrow.
Shrugging, I say, “I don’t care. Give it to Mrs. Cranston next door.”
“La panadera?” Guadalupe asks.
“Sí, la panadera. Why not the baker? Tell her we said Merry Christmas,” I say before turning on my six-inch stilettos and marching back to my office, but not before I hear Guadalupe ask in Spanish, “Who sent these?” to which Carlos responds, “Someone who has a lot of apologizing to do.”
I slam my office door, lock it behind me, and plop into my chair. Pressing my hands against my temples, I close my eyes. I feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.
I cannot believe he bothered to track me in South Carolina. I mean, I know that it wasn’t hard because he knows where I work. It never occurred to me that he would reach out to me here. I figured I’d left him behind in Utah with my sudden disappearance.
After five minutes, I grab my bag from my bottom desk drawer and find some Excedrin migraine. I cannot finish this day off with my pounding head if I don’t address it now.
***
WHEN I STEP OUT OFthe building, I’m focused on looking for the keys in my purse, and I don’t see the man standing just a few feet away until he calls my name.
“Yesenia Carver?”
I frown and look up from my handbag at the strange man. He’s a tall, white man with a nice amount of bulk on him. He’s more muscle than fat and doesn’t look creepy or anything. I just don’t know him. He’s wearing a black suit and a black hat with a thick patch of white hair sticking out from underneath.
If anything, I’d place him in his fifties, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t pose a threat.
Rather than answering, I stare at him. He’s standing in front of a shiny black Maybach.
“Miss Carver, my employer would like a word with you.”
“Your employer?” I ask, reaching into my bag again for my can of mace.
The man opens the door and says, “Mr. Kincaid Maxwell would like a word with you.”
I lean down to peer inside and see his beautiful face staring back at me. God, how delicious the man looks! Cade is wearing a navy-blue suit with a red handkerchief and tie. His dark-brown hair is waved back from his forehead, and each lock is carefully combed into place. He looks all business, nothing like I recall in Utah.
Gone is the casual, laid-back appearance. In its place is a man used to brokering million-dollar deals and never takes no for an answer.
“No,” I say to Cade directly.
