Protect Me Not ((Un)Professionally Yours 2)

“So, you know who they’re from?” Jazz asked, his voice speculative. “How?”

Oh, yeeeah…she wasn’t about to go into the particulars of her lip and nipple colors with Jazz.

“I just do. Can you focus, please? Where were they delivered from?”

“That’s an odd thing to fixate on when, y’know, flowers?” he pointed out.

He was right, of course, but it was easier to obsess over the minor details than try to guess what had motivated this gesture.

Jazz gestured toward the flowers. “Aren’t you going to read the card?”

“There’s a card?”

“Yep.”

“Wait, you know who they’re from, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Vicki, you’re focusing on all the wrong things,” Jazz said, not quite able to hide his grin.

“Jazz,” Vicki snapped from between clenched teeth. “Tell me what you know!”

He sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes like a sulky teen. “Fine. He dropped them off a few minutes ago.”

“He?” Vicki repeated, her eyes wide. “Ty? You’re saying Ty was just here?”

“He told us not to disturb you. He also brought some art supplies for Yuko, a new shawl for Mama N, and a toy for Jake.”

“What the hell is he up to?”

“Well, just guessing here, but I think he misses you.”

Don’t ask…Don’t ask…

Do!

Not!

ASK!

“Why would you think that?”

Bollocks!

“His questions. They were all, how is she? Is she overworking? Is she staying too late? Coming in too early.” He gruffed up his voice, in a poor attempt to imitate Ty, as he rapid fired the questions. “And then there were the super cazh questions that he kind of dropped in all nonchalantly like, is she seeing anyone? Oh, and really random, what is she wearing today? Although he seemed to realize that one was a bit out there and immediately followed it with a never mind. Oh, and he kept staring at your office door, like he was half-hoping you would come out, but also really dreading it.”

He watched her for a moment before rolling his eyes and waving at the flowers on the desk. “Well? Card?”

Still mulling over everything he had said, Vicki absently tugged on her lower lip before tearing her eyes away from the beautiful flowers. They must have cost him a pretty penny. More than that, he would have had to go to a lot of effort to find them.

“Thanks, Jazz. That will be all,” she dismissed her curious employee. “Shut the door behind you.”

“Seriously?” he protested. When she gave him her no-nonsense stare, he made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat before turning away with a dramatic flounce. He usually saved that for only the most irritating customers. “Oh, and not to make you jealous or anything, but Ty told me that this jumper really makes the blue in my eyes pop.”

With that parting zinger, he opened the door abruptly, and wrong-footed Josh and Linda, who were eavesdropping at the door.

Vicki sighed and shooed them all away before staring at the envelope nestled among the pink flowers.

She drummed her fingertips on the desktop for a few moments while she stared at the envelope. She was seriously considering not opening it.

“It’s not a big deal, it’s just a card,” she said, and jumped slightly when she heard her own voice. Lovely, now she was talking to herself.

She was blowing this out of proportion, it was probably Ty’s way of thanking her for the gift.

She plucked the envelope from the plastic holder and tugged the card out before she could change her mind. His nonchalant scrawl—so at odds with the quiet, controlled man—always took her by surprise.

She glared at the note before crumpling it in her fist and tossing it into the wastepaper basket.

“Shit.” She instantly regretted the gesture and fished it back out less than ten seconds later. She flattened the crumpled bit of paper on her desk and tried to smooth out the wrinkles with the flat of her hand.

“What are you doing to me?” she whispered furiously.

She slid the card into her bilum and tried not to think about it for the rest of the day. But the words were seared onto her brain.

What did he mean he never needed an excuse to think of her? He wasn’t supposed to be thinking of her. He was supposed to be not missing her, and—as a result—not sparing her a single thought. But he had sent her those pictures. And these flowers. And that damned card.

What kind of twisted game was he playing? He knew how she felt about him. She had stupidly made that very clear to him. Was he doing this out of some misguided sense of guilt? Because she had fallen in love with him?

Concentration shot, she gave up on getting any more bookkeeping done for the rest of the day and buried her face in her hands.

She was such a mess.

“You’re a fucking mess,” Chance told Ty the following evening, while they were playing a TV game at Chance and Colby’s place. “That’s the fifth time you’ve missed a shot. In three minutes. I thought you were supposed to be a big-time expert marksman.”