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She says his name like it has eight syllables and several different tones.
I can tell I’m already blushing, though not for the reason Martinique thinks.
“It’s really not like that,” I say, wondering how I’m going to make it through even one day of this. “We haven’t been dating that long.”
“Wait…” Martinique tilts her head to the side so her glossy dark bob almost touches one shoulder. “Are you saying you haven’t slept with him yet?”
“Uh…”Why in the hell didn’t I practice answering these questions before I came into work?“Not exactly.”
“WHAT?”Martinique shrieks.
I press my finger into my ear.
“How is that possible?” she demands. “I wouldn’t have made it past the first date. Like, if he swiped right on me on Tinder, I’d show up to dinner in lingerie and heels.”
“That’s because you’ve had more boyfriends than Taylor Swift.” I chew the edge of my lip. “Sullivan intimidates me.”
“Even though he’s obviously crazy about you?” Martinique nudges her elbow into my ribs. “Come on…I saw the way he was looking at you on the yacht.”
I know Sullivan was faking, but a hot little coal ignites in my chest all the same. Martinique is as sharp-eyed as a hawk. She notices things.
“And he tried to drown Angus for you,” she reminds me. “I would have fucked his brains out for that alone.”
“I was tempted.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
Martinique smiles at me, her dark eyes bright and expectant.
I wish, I wish, I wish I could just tell her the truth. Then I could get her real advice. But Sullivan made me promise that, above all, I wouldn’t spill the beans to Martinique.
For good reason—she’s about as contained as a sieve. Martinique is speak first, think later
So all I say is, “I want everything to be right.”
“Take your time, then, but remember…,” she raises a warning finger, “a guy like that isn’t used to waiting.”
“Theo!” Angus pounds on my office door. “Shake a leg! I’ve got the car pulled up out front!”
I stuff my shoes into my purse.
“Gotta go,” I say to Martinique.
But when I open the door, instead of Angus’ impatient face, I’m met with a delivery driver holding a double armful of lavender roses.
“Theo Mahoney?” he says.
The scent of fresh blooms fills my office. The bouquet takes up almost my entire desk as he sets the vase down next to my computer.
The card is a scrap of folded paper, nestled in the stems?—
Missing you already
—S
“See?” Martinique says triumphantly. “Completely obsessed.”
I don’t think these flowers have anything to do with me. But as I look across the office, I can see they’re having a hell of an effect on Angus. He’s pacing near the exit, agitated, glancing back at the outrageously oversized bouquet at least three times.
