The Big Boss

He smirks again. “My flower deliveries also come with consultations on the arrangement for the next day.”

“As in tomorrow?” For some reason I was under the impression that Lila delivered to this guy once a week. If he gets fresh flowers every day, not only do I understand why she didn’t want to lose his business, but why the secretary didn’t want to bring them back. The arrangement I placed on his desk is not cheap. One more tick against him.

I love Lila, but these flowers aren’t something he buys to enjoy. They’re a power move. The fact that he can have flowers delivered fresh every day is a statement about his wealth, and I’m sure it’s gotten around this building.

“Yes,” he says coolly, “as in tomorrow. Is that a problem?”

“Of course not,” I say. “Just unexpected.”

He tilts his head, looking at me. The way he’s taking me in makes me pause, like he’s trying to figure me out like a puzzle. “How so?”

“These flowers are beautiful,” I say. “And a lot of work went into arranging them. They won’t be dead by tomorrow, and it seems a little silly to throw something away like that just because it’s a day old.”

One eyebrow rises in question. “You assume I throw them away? Maybe I take them home.”

I roll my eyes. “You get a new full bouquet of flowers delivered to your office every day and you take them home? I don’t think so. Whatever penthouse you’ve managed to makeover into your steel and glass bachelor pad would be drowning with flowers.”

I bite my lips realizing that I’ve probably said far, far too much. I don’t like this man. I don’t like his wealth or what he does for a living. But I’m not here for me, I’m here for Lila. For her, I can keep my mouth shut.

Mr. Silverman stands and looks around his office with a smile, making his gaze stop on the large glass windows and steel accents. “You’re right,” he says. “I don’t bring them home. But they don’t always go to waste. Sometimes my secretary takes them or they’re moved to other places in the building. But I like something different and…stimulating every day. However, if something is particularly beautiful, I take them home.”

He comes around the desk, eyes dragging down my body when he says that, and suddenly I think that he’s no longer talking about the flowers on his desk. Is he…hitting on me? The very idea is laughable. I still have potting soil on my shirt from tripping in the shop picking up the flowers. There’s a hole in the knee of my jeans, not to mention I’m soaked and my hair is a god-awful mess.

I don’t usually care how I look or what other people think of me. But people like Keenan Silverman? They care about appearances. Clearly. Or day-old flowers wouldn’t bother him. If someone as gorgeous as him is hitting on me, then something is wrong with that picture. But he’s still looking at me with undisguised interest, and I hate the fact that I have butterflies in my stomach that are rapidly turning to heat. I clear my throat. “Maybe you should mix it up,” I say. “Get a cactus or something.”

There’s that smirk again. It lodges itself under my skin where I can’t ignore it. “Something prickly to remember you by?”

“Or to burst your ego,” I mutter under my breath. And then that breath is entirely gone because he’s stepped into my space.

“I happen to like thorny things. Things with edges are exciting. Interesting. Unique. Much more interesting than a daisy, which seems to be very easily ruined.”

When his eyes move to the flowers on the desk, I can suddenly catch my breath, and then I follow his gaze to the half-crushed daisy that he’s referring to. Shit. I was so careful. That was one of the things Lila had told me; Mr. Silverman doesn’t like when things are damaged.

“I apologize for the damage,” I say, utterly resenting how breathless I sound. My body needs to get her shit together.

His eyes lock on mine again, such a peculiar and beautiful shade of blue. “I’ll survive.” Swiftly he turns back to his desk, and I don’t dare move, because it doesn’t feel like I can. A shuffle of papers and the scribble of a pen. When he turns back there’s an envelope in his hand and that stupid, hot as fuck smirk on his face.

“What’s this?”

“Payment.”

“Oh.” It’s the only thing I can say, trapped by his gaze like I am. I thought that Lila had already been paid, but this is fine. “Thank you.”

I need to get the fuck out of here. Being close to him is making my head spin and I’m too hot and too tempted for no goddamn reason. I barely get out the words “have a nice day,” before I’m nearly sprinting out of his office and to the elevator. My heart is pounding and I’m out of breath.