Legend (Cerberus MC)

There’s no mention of last night or seeing me again. He doesn’t even try flirty banter.

Is this my doing? Is he keeping his distance because of the way I treated him before he helped me the night I was drugged?

Disgust settles in my stomach at the thought that maybe he slept with me just to prove that he could, that I was a challenge that he’s conquered and now he’s no longer interested. It’s possible the good man in him—the part that works for Cerberus—won’t allow him to fully extract himself from my life because he feels obligated.

When there’s a break in the court hearing, I make my escape to head back to the office. Fuck being an obligation. The sooner I find out who is harassing me, the sooner Ethan Packwood can go back to worrying about anyone else but me.

***

My bravado lasts all the way back to the office, and then it falters the second I see Sylvie sitting in the waiting room.

“Hey,” I say suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

My friend isn’t a stranger to the office, but I normally don’t see her until after her own workday is over.

She shrugs. “I left work early. Wanted to see if you’d like to grab lunch.”

I light up my phone to check the time—and yeah to make sure I haven’t missed a text while walking from the car. Sure enough, it’s close enough to lunch to leave for a while, but Sylvie also has a suspicious look in her eye.

Did she spend more time with Spade already and find out about what happened between Ethan and me? Jesus, did he lie when he said he only talks to his friends about sex with random women, and then claimed I wasn’t a random woman?

How am I just now remembering that he ever said that?

Were those words another manipulation? A way to make me let my guard down?

Jesus, I still would’ve slept with him even if he was up front about it, but now I’m starting to feel manipulated.

“Yeah,” I tell Sylvie. “Let’s grab lunch.”

She stops me before I can exit the office.

“Don’t you need to go to your office first?”

I look down at the phone in my hand and the purse strap on my shoulder. “I have everything I need to head to lunch.”

“Did she see the flowers yet?” Pauline asks as she walks into the lobby area from the back where the copier is.

“Flowers?”

Sylvie smiles at me, nodding enthusiastically.

“You got me flowers?”

“I didn’t get you flowers,” Sylvie answers.

“You have a secret admirer,” Pauline says with a bright, wide smile.

My gut turns. The only secret admirer I can think of is whoever is so lovingly destroying my things and terrorizing me.

Both Pauline and Sylvie follow me into my office. I don’t know how long the flowers have been on my desk, but the room is already fragrant from them being there.

The bouquet consists of more than half a dozen different types of flowers. It’s positively gorgeous, but I’m filled with trepidation as I approach it, my hand shaking when I reach for the card.

“Who are they from?”

I jolt at Sylvie’s question, making it obvious that I’ve managed to allow fear to creep in at just the sight of them.

The masculine scrawl on the front of the envelope sets off alarm bells, but I pull the small card from inside.

Had a great time last night. Can’t wait to see you again.

I swallow, both with relief and excitement.

I don’t know that I’d consider Ethan Packwood a secret admirer, but knowing these flowers are from him makes my day ten times better already.

My fear of them being from the person harassing me is instantly alleviated, leaving me feeling a little overwhelmed. I circle my desk and fall into my office chair, my eyes darting between the card in my hand and the beautiful gift the man has sent me.

“Who?” Sylvie prods once again.

“Ethan,” I tell her with a wide grin.

The front door chimes, pulling Pauline from the room as Sylvie settles into the chair across from my desk. “Legend sent you flowers? That man has it bad for you. They’re absolutely gorgeous.”

Is there a hint of jealousy or irritation in her tone? I can’t decide. Maybe she’s upset that she spent the night with Spade and wasn’t met with the same type of energy from him.

“They’re ‘thanks for the sex’ flowers,” I say, attempting to put us on the same playing field.

I can’t get my hopes up about what they mean, but I’m also not upset that he’s grateful for our time together and interested in it happening again.

“You seem happy. The sex must’ve been amazing.”

Amazing? I guess that’s a good word for it. If I were athletic, I’d be doing backflips right now. I smile down at the card again, appreciating it even more that it seems to have been written in his own hand rather than him just placing a call and having the salesclerk at the florist fill it out for him.