Protect Me Not ((Un)Professionally Yours 2)

Good for him!

She dashed her hand across her eyes—attempting to mop up the tears—and shakily tapped a response and sent it before she could change her mind.

It looks really good there.

Yeah, I agree. I’m considering adding a few more. What do you think of these?

Her phone pinged repetitively as several photos followed that text in rapid succession. She didn’t know what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. She stared blankly at the pictures, not entirely sure what to make of them. Or what they were supposed to mean.

Most of them had been taken that night in South Bank. While the remaining pictures—which he must have taken with his phone—were split between Bloomin’ Paradise and Riversend.

She swiped through them and had difficulty swallowing past the thick lump that had formed in her throat. They were all so beautiful, the South Bank images filled with glittering lights, shimmering reflections, a popcorn vendor having a laugh with Vicki, who had her back to the camera. In fact, she was in most of the pictures, usually in profile, or turned away.

In one of the photos, she was dancing with a broken umbrella she had found on a park bench. In another, Ty had captured the exact instant she’d jumped into what she had believed to be a shallow puddle, only to discover it was deeper than she had anticipated—catching the moment of shocked laughter and horrified delight on her face, as water had fountained up from the pothole.

The pictures from Riversend were even more candid. Vicki playing with Stormy, or trying on a hat at a marketplace stall, or admiring the unique fynbos on that beautiful beach they had visited. While the shop photos didn’t feature her as much, there were pictures of the displays, the different textures and colors of the dried foliage they used as fillers, the rows of bright ribbons, sparkly accessories, the rack of cards for every occasion. He hadn’t missed anything. One of her favorites was a black and white shot of Josh’s dark head bent over Yuko’s, while he helped her with her homework at Vicki’s worktable.

The image that choked her up the most was of a boutonnière she had made for him, held between his thumb and index finger. She found it so damned sweet that he’d removed it to photograph it.

These beautiful, sweet, and joyful photographs bore little resemblance to the desolate images he had shown her before.

She wasn’t sure why she was in so many of them though. She could tell herself it was because it had been his job to watch her…but most of these appeared to have been taken in his downtime.

Minutes had passed since his last message, but she didn’t know what to say, how to react. All she could do was cycle through the images over and over again.

I didn’t take this one, but it’s my favorite. I thought you’d want to see it.

The picture following that text hijacked her breath.

Damn you, Ty!

It was one of the photos she had coerced Chance into taking. She was staring straight into the lens and laughing at something Chance had said. Ty had his arm draped over her shoulder, and he was staring at her. The expression on his face…she shook her head and enlarged the picture until all she could see was Ty. He had a soft, almost bewildered smile on his face as he watched at her, his expression filled with tender reverence, his eyes shining with…

No!

She thrust the phone into a desk drawer.

Just no!

She didn’t know what he was playing at right now, but she was not going to do this to herself. She refused to stare yearningly at a photograph and read deeper meaning into his expression. She was trying to move on with her life, to get over him. How dare he come along and attempt to derail all her progress with cryptic text messages and pretty pictures?

Her lips thinned, and she reached into the drawer for her phone and quickly tapped a reply, before shoving the device out of sight again.

I’m sure that whatever you decide will be fine.

There. Done. That had to be the end of this.

Only, it wasn’t the end of it. The following afternoon, Jazz knocked on her door and, with a flourish, dropped a beautiful arrangement of Amaranthus caudatus and camellias on her desk. Vicki gaped at the very specific shades of pink for a befuddled moment before going bright red when the significance of the blooms hit her.

“What is this?” she asked.

“It’s for you.”

“These flowers aren’t in season.” It was literally all she could think of to say. “Where were they sourced from? Did Linda order them when I was out of the country?”

“Oh, they’re not from here,” Jazz said, and that just pissed Vicki off even more.

“He sent me flowers from a competitor?”