by Devney Perry
“This is your business,” he reminded me for the third time today. “You can do whatever you want.”
Meaning I was free to let Marty go if we didn’t get along.
But I wanted us to get along. I’d need an experienced manager when this baby came. And from what Brody had told me, Marty was not only experienced, he was affordable. This meeting had to go well.
I hummed and walked away, letting those words sink in as I touched the tip of an Easter lily.
This was my business.
My business.
My training was geared toward landscaping and growing stock in a greenhouse. In Oregon. Now I was the owner of a floral shop in a desert. Clueless was the word that popped into mind.
My business needed a Marty.
I needed an ally.
Because so far, my few interactions with Brody had been . . . strained.
Even after our conversation by the pool, Brody had avoided me most of the day yesterday. I’d had plenty to keep busy. All of the boxes I’d brought from Oregon had been unpacked. I’d spent a nice chunk of time with Clara and August. The only time I’d seen him had been at dinner.
Brody had been seated alone at the dining room table, his meal before him, his attention on his phone. We’d exchanged a glance. I’d smiled. He’d nodded and asked me how I was feeling. Then I’d retreated to my room to sleep.
This morning I’d woken up at five. With nothing to do and my anxiety about today’s visit to the shop going at full steam, I wandered around the house, trying to rid myself of nervous energy while getting oriented with the different hallways and rooms.
The noise of leather smacking leather and a few sharp breaths had stopped my feet. I’d entered Brody’s part of the house. He’d been in his home gym, a space twice as large as my Oregon condo.
He’d been at a punching bag, beating the hell out of the swinging cylinder, wearing only a pair of shorts. His back and shoulders had glistened with sweat. His tennis-shoe-clad feet had skipped, light and fast like grasshoppers, over the red cushioned mat.
I’d stayed at the doorway, watching him until he’d finally dropped his gloved hands. Before he could catch me spying, I’d ducked out of sight. But not before catching a glimpse of those washboard abs in the wall of mirrors.
The man’s body was a work of art. Chiseled and powerful. Graceful and strong. Brody was incredible in a suit. Truly mouthwatering. But this morning, barely clothed, I’d nearly orgasmed from the sight alone.
Pregnancy hormones were going to be a bitch.
An hour later, he’d found me in the kitchen, eating at the island. Ron, who doubled as butler and chef, had cooked me a feast. Spinach and egg white omelet. Fruit and yogurt parfait. Fresh squeezed orange juice and a homemade bran muffin.
Brody had shown up—protein shake in hand—with a set of keys and a folder full of codes and passwords. The garage, the internet, the security system. After giving me the rundown, he’d disappeared.
An hour ago, he’d summoned me to his office via text, where he’d had the official buy-sell agreement for the floral shop waiting. Clara had been there, smiling on, as I’d signed on the bottom line.
Then she’d stayed home to wait for August to get done with school for the day, while Brody had brought me here.
Welcome Floral was closed on Mondays, something I’d be changing soon enough. But today, I was glad for it. I didn’t need a customer coming in during my initial meet and greet with Marty.
The door chimed behind us, and a man in his fifties with a bald head and tortoiseshell glasses perched on his freckled nose walked inside. His green, short-sleeved button-down was undone nearly to his sternum. Whatever hair he lacked on his head he made up for with curly grays peeking out from above his heart.
“Marty.” Brody extended his hand. “Good afternoon.”
“Afternoon.” Marty’s gaze traveled my way. He looked me up and down, taking in my black skinny jeans and white Adidas shoes.
The pants I couldn’t button anymore, but I’d secured the button to its hole with an elastic hair tie. My flowy white tee was covered with a thick cream cardigan because Welcome was cold today. To my delight, my winter wardrobe, sans snow boots, wouldn’t be completely pointless in Arizona.
“Hi.” I crossed the space for the door, my hand outstretched for Marty. “I’m Aria Saint-James.”
“Marty Mathers.” He shook my hand, then straightened his shoulders. “I’ve worked here for seven years. I specialize in floral design, but I also take care of the ordering. I’m willing to do delivery if necessary, though there’s a young lady who’s been doing it for the past year and she’d like to keep her job. So would I.”
“This isn’t an interview.” I gave Marty my warmest smile. “Well, maybe it is. I guess I assumed today you’d interview me and decide if you wanted to stick around and help me get my feet wet.”
Marty blinked. “Oh.”
Time would tell if Marty was the right fit for my long-term vision. But I’d be stupid to let him go. If the previous owners had trusted him and he’d run this place for Brody since the business had shifted hands, that was good enough for me.
“I’d like that,” Marty said, relief washing over his face.
“Good.”
“Water?” He pointed toward the far wall. “My throat is a little dry.”
“Please and thank you.”
He smiled, revealing a little gap between his front teeth, then he moved past me and disappeared into the shop.
“Phew.” I blew out a long breath and pressed a hand to my heart. “That went okay.”
“Marty’s a good guy. At least, that’s what my business manager said. She’s been working with him, checking in and such, during the transition. Marty pretty much does it all around here. I think you two will get along.”
“I hope so.”
“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Brody said, taking his phone from his pocket. “I’ll be in the car. Take your time.”
“Thanks.” I nodded as he walked out the door, giving his backside a thorough inspection.
Broad shoulders. Long, powerful legs. His suit jacket covered his ass. Damn. But at least I had this morning’s mental image to call up and appreciate.
“He’s something, isn’t he?”
I jumped at Marty’s voice. While I’d been ogling Brody, he’d returned with two mugs. Both brimmed with water. “Pardon?”
“Here.” Marty handed me my cup. It was white and hand painted with small, bright flowers. I’d noticed the same on a display table, each selling for fifteen dollars. “He’s something. Brody.”
“Oh.” Busted. “He’s . . . handsome enough.”
“You were undressing him with your eyes, my darling. I get it.” Marty laughed. “My husband and I both have him on our cheat list.”
“You have a cheat list?”
“Of course. Why would you not have a cheat list? We know Brody’s straight but my mother always said I had a penchant for grand delusions.”
I giggled. “Good to know.”
“Now come on back to the table so we can sit down. Then you’re going to tell me all about yourself, Aria Saint-James.”
“I’d like that.”
Two hours later, I walked out of the floral shop with a beaming smile.
The moment he spotted me, Brody hopped out of his car and rounded the hood, meeting me at the passenger door. “How’d it go?”
“Great.” I was so happy I could cry. “I love Marty.”
Time had flown talking to him. Hilarious and honest and dedicated to the shop and our customers, Marty was exactly the kind of person I needed by my side. When I’d told him I was pregnant, he’d immediately assured me I could count on him to run the shop during my maternity leave. Then he’d listened intently and followed me around the shop as I’d rambled ideas.
“And the shop?” Brody asked. “Do you like it?”
“I must be insane. I bought a flower shop without ever setting foot insid
e.”
“We can rip up the paperwork.”
I shook my head. “It’s perfect. I want to put my own mark on it. Change the style a bit. But I want it.”
“Then it’s yours.” He opened the car door for me, something he’d done earlier today when we’d left the house.
“You wouldn’t open the door for me before the wedding, when I was in death heels, but now that I’m in tennis shoes, you do.”
“Forgive me.” He feigned a dramatic bow as I took my seat. “I hadn’t appreciated the precious cargo.”
My cheeks flushed as he shut the door and walked to the driver’s seat, getting behind the wheel. He’d been teasing too, but the comment still tasted sweet.
“You didn’t need to drive me. I could have come down myself.”
“In what car?” Brody asked, driving us through downtown Welcome.
“The Cadillac.” It was currently parked in Clara’s garage, collecting dust.
As much as she loved the idea of the handoffs, she’d stalled planning her trip to California. I hadn’t asked her why. I didn’t need to.
Returning to California would bring back a barrage of emotions, and she was psyching herself up for it.
“Tomorrow you’ll be on your own,” Brody said. “Today, I wanted to come along and make the introductions.”
“Thank you.” It had been nice to have him at my side, to not do this alone. And though we were still adjusting to sharing a roof, I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else at my side, not even Clara. Brody’s confidence was contagious, and it had given me that extra boost to dive in. “I think this is a record, Carmichael. We’ve managed to get along for nearly two days.”
“Give it time. I’m sure you’ll do something soon to piss me off.”
I fought a smile. “Count on it.”
Brody rolled down the road, taking every block deliberately, like he was giving me time to inspect each and every storefront.
The coffee shop three doors down from Welcome Floral had green metal tables on the sidewalk and a chalk sandwich board that boasted the daily latte special. An attorney’s office had silver letters stenciled on a large plate-glass window. Brian’s Pub had an orange neon sign that glowed even in broad daylight.
The black streetlamps stood tall, hoisting their clear glass globes. The brick storefronts alternated in shades of classic burnt red and limestone cream. They reminded me of the desert rocks along Route 66, faded and worn but unique.
“It’s real here,” I said. “Every street.”
“Refreshing, isn’t it?”
“In Heron Beach, the local neighborhoods were real. You could count on your neighbor for more than just a cup of sugar. But everyone catered to the tourists. You wore a smile at all times. You put on your best show. I never minded because I genuinely enjoyed what I was doing. It’s easy to smile when you like your job. But I always made sure to wash my hands before going inside the hotel and clean dirt from my cuticles. I’d tuck in my T-shirt and wipe clean my shoes. I won’t have to do that here.”
“No. What matters here is who you are.”
“Then why do you dress in a suit every day?” I shifted in my seat for a better view of his face. I’d always wanted to know why he dressed so impeccably, especially after seeing him in jeans on Saturday. The image of those long legs in denim was as fresh as the mental picture of him at the gym this morning.
They’d been nice jeans, more expensive than any pair I’d owned in my lifetime, but they’d fit Brody so perfectly. Loose, but not baggy. Fitted, but not tight. They’d showcased his strong thighs and narrow waist.
Unbuttoned, the man was irresistible. If he had leaned in the other night at the pool, I probably would have kissed him.
“I have a meeting with my grandmother,” he said.
“Oh, is she here? Because if she is, I’m going to hide at Clara’s.”
Brody chuckled. “No, she’s in Vegas. The meeting is virtual.”
“Oh. Do you have meetings with her every day?” It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Coreen required he be in a suit.
“Not daily, but often enough.”
“But you still wear a suit every day.”
“This is really bugging you, isn’t it?” The corner of his mouth turned up. “My suits?”
Yes, it was. Because when it came to Brody Carmichael, my curiosity was piqued. “Humor me.”
“It’s something I started doing years ago. Any day that I’m working, I wear a suit. And I work every day. People expect a certain image from their leader.”
“Not Clara. You don’t need to dress up for her.”
“Yes, I do. She deserves me at my best. All of my employees do. It was something my grandfather always did. He wore a suit every day. He showed up for his company every day.”
“And you’re showing up too.” I took in his handsome profile and the strong cut of his jaw. “You wore jeans on Saturday.”
“That was different.”
“Why?” Because we were hauling boxes?
“Because that was for you.”
One sentence. One answer.
And the world fell away from my feet.
Did he realize what he’d just confessed? Did he realize how special he’d just made me feel?
I was the exception to his rules.
One sentence, one answer, and we were back to that night. He was in a tux. I was in a green gown. And electricity sparked between us.
Brody’s hands tightened on the wheel as he picked up speed, racing down the highway toward his house.
Maybe he hadn’t meant to let it slip, but it was too late. It was out there, living and breathing and changing everything.
What did this mean? Did he want a relationship? Did I?
I’d been so absorbed in this pregnancy, I hadn’t let myself consider my feelings for Brody. I hadn’t realized until just this moment that there were even feelings there.
Feelings more than the obvious sexual attraction, because Brody was gorgeous, and I wasn’t blind. I liked the man behind the suit. I liked the man who showed up for his people every day. I liked the man who let down his guard just for me.
God, this was so messed up. Any other guy and we’d date. Any other guy and we’d have sex and fun and see if this was the lasting sort of fling.
The baby changed everything.
My mind spun as fast as the Jaguar’s wheels. When Brody slowed to open the gate and ease down the driveway, I still hadn’t figured out what to say, probably because I didn’t know him. I was walking on eggshells around Brody because he was practically a stranger.
And that was a problem we were going to fix.
“Would you make me a deal?” I asked.
“Depends on the deal.” He kept his eyes focused on the road. His spine was ramrod straight. He’d shown me a hint of vulnerability and now he was erecting those walls.
“Have dinner with me. Every night.”
“Why?”
“We should know each other. I’d like to know you, Brody.”
He glanced over, and in those green eyes, I could so easily lose myself. Brody gave me a single nod, then returned his gaze to the road.
“Thank—” My mouth closed at the black SUV parked in front of the house. “Company?”
He shook his head and parked the car in the driveway.
Ron, who I was convinced had magical powers, appeared out of nowhere to open my door. “Miss Aria.”
“Don’t bow.” I got out and shook my head. “Ron, if we’re going to get along, you have to stop bowing like I’m Queen Elizabeth.”
The corner of his mouth turned up. Then the wiseass bowed. “Very well, miss.”
“You’re as insufferable as that one.” I hooked a thumb toward Brody.
Ron retrieved a set of keys from his pocket and took them to Brody. Then with a nod, he disappeared inside the house.
“Here.” Brody walked over and took my hand in his, pressing the cold metal keys into my palm. “For you.”
> “For me what?” I jiggled the keys.
“The car. It’s for you.”
My jaw dropped. “You bought me a car. A BMW. Without asking me about it first.”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
And just like that, our two-day no-fighting streak came to an end.
Chapter Eleven
Brody
Her laughter greeted me when the flower shop’s door chime faded. I followed the musical sound toward the back of the shop, expecting to find her at the long wooden counter that held the cash register and a fresh bundle of blue hydrangeas. The only reason I knew they were hydrangeas was because of the little chalkboard sign beside it.
Hydrangeas $15/Bunch
There was a metal bell beside the mason jar of pens, and I tapped the plunger, then held my breath.
Marty came out first. The smile on his face dropped, something I’d never seen before because the guy always had a smile for me. “If you’re not here to grovel, I’d head to the door before she sees you.”
“I’m here to grovel.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Head on back.”
“Thanks.” I rounded the counter for the door, ducking into the workroom.
Aria’s smile, like Marty’s, dropped when she looked past the arrangement she was making. “Are you here to buy me a pony? An island? An island of ponies?”
“Not today.”
She picked up a rose from the metal table and stabbed it into the vase she was filling. Her hair was braided over one shoulder with wisps loose around her ears. Her brown eyes sparkled—angry, but I did love their fire. Her cheeks held a pink flush.
Aria was more beautiful than any flower in the world. Even mad, she was lovelier than any rose.
This was the first time I’d seen her in three days, other than small glimpses of her coming and going from Clara’s place or this shop. I took her in like a thirsty man standing before a clear mountain stream.
Three days. I’d finally cracked, said to hell with my pride and driven to the flower shop for just one drink.
Aria looked at ease and comfortable here. This was her domain. In just days, she’d made it her own. When I walked into a room, I could usually tell who was in charge. Last month, the shop had been run by Marty. Aria held the power now. And Christ, it was sexy as fuck.