Page 162 of Trust Me
He did ask me to work for him and said he’d hire her as well. He probably thinks she’ll put in a good word for him or something.
“I would bet the twenty bucks I keep in my wallet for emergencies that he’d be out of a job before the close of business if those flowers didn’t get delivered. And the shop would be shut down,” my assistant continues.
“Did you need something?” I ask.
She shrugs. “It’s my lunch break so I thought I’d come in and disturb you. Hey,” she snaps her fingers, “you know I looked up what pink roses and purple hyacinths mean.”
“And?”
“They mean forgiveness or regret. Basically, ‘I’m sorry’ with flowers.”
I glance over at the other bouquets. Both of them are a mix of pink roses, blue and purple hyacinths. At the center of every one of the bouquets is a singular red rose. I hate the way my heart speeds up slightly just by looking at them. Yet, I can’t throw them out.
“Don’t you need to go pick up whatever you ordered for lunch?”
“It’s not ready yet. Anyway, how long are you going to take to forgive him for whatever he did?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
We both look up toward the door to find Kyle standing there looking like some sort of Adonis—his body taking up most of the space of the doorway, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit.
Despite how well he’s put together, I see the bags under his eyes and the redness within them. He hasn’t slept well in days since he’s back on the couch.
Good.
“You can’t keep showing up to my office, Mr. Townsend.” This is the third time this week.
You can hear a pin drop.
I dare to steal a look his way to find his jaw rigid, facial expression a storm cloud.
“Kyle, or better yet, your husband.” He moves closer and slams his hands on my desk, leaning over me. “Never,Mr. Townsend, Riley,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Would you look at the time? I think my food’s ready.” Charlotte all but bolts out of the door, leaving me alone with my husband.
“How long are you going to keep this shit up?” he asks.
“How dare you come in here asking me that like I did something wrong!”
“You have done something wrong. You’re still contractually obligated to Townsend Industries for the next week and a half,” he declares.
“Unbelievable,” I murmur. “Are you here to threaten to sue me for not fulfilling my contractual obligations, simply because I’m not at your beck and call?” I stand from my chair and glare across my desk at him.
“Any and all reports that I have been requested of me from Townsend have been delivered on time.”
“Dropped off by Charlotte. Not you.”
“I’ve delivered my major reports, had my end of contract meetings with all of the department heads, and am ready to turn in my final files by the end of next week when this contract ends. I’ve done my job.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. He knows I’m telling the truth. There’s no real reason for me to continue showing up at Townsend Industries.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to prepare for a business meeting later on today with a potential client.”
“No,” he growls with a shake of his head. “You’re still obligated to Townsend Industries for another week and a half. I won’t allow you to meet with another potential client. That could be considered a breach of your contract.”
“You are seriously disturbed. Do you know that?”
“Yes. Because my wife won’t fucking talk to me.” His voice starts to rise. “Even at home you barely say two words to me.”