shelf. “‘Any Hawke’s Blooms florist may submit an original floral design to his or her manager, accompanied by a completed, signed application form. If the manager believes the design has merit, she or he will pass it to the head office to be considered for inclusion in the catalog of standard floral designs used for customer orders.’”
Dylan smiled. She’d recited the procedure word for word. “And,” he added, “that process doesn’t cost a single penny. Why didn’t you go that route?”
“I did.” She clipped the bottoms from a bunch of peony stems. “About twenty times, in fact. After my manager rejected number sixteen, I began to think that way might not work for me.” She smiled and her dimples showed.
He thought about her manager, Mary O’Donnell. Mary was simpering to management, which was annoying, but he knew she ran a tight ship. Was it possible she was blocking her own staff from advancement? “Are you making a complaint about your manager?” he asked, serious.
She shook her head, and her hands slowed to a stop as she met his gaze. “I’m a good florist, Mr. Hawke. I take pride in my work, and take direction from my manager. I do my best by our customers and have a good group of regulars who ask for me by name. So I don’t think it’s too much to ask to have just one of my designs considered so I can move my career forward.”
Dylan knew he was lucky—he’d grown up in the family business, where his input had been not only listened to but also encouraged. But what if he’d been in Faith’s shoes? An employee of a large company who was struggling to have her voice heard. He watched her place flowers in the foam, turning the arrangement with the other hand as she went. He’d like to think he’d have gone the extra mile, the way Faith was doing tonight.
“So you decided to get creative,” he said, hearing the trace of admiration in his own voice.
“Seeing you were auctioning off a night of your time seemed like a sign.” She glanced up at him, her long-lashed eyes earnest. “Do you believe in destiny, Mr. Hawke?”
“Can’t say it’s something I’ve ever paid much attention to,” he said. Unlike, say, the way the side of her jaw sloped down to her neck, or the sprinkling of pale ginger freckles across her nose.
“Well, I do, and I’d just been thinking ‘If only I could speak to someone in the head office myself’ when the posters for the auction went up in the window. The very window where I work.” She paused, moistening her lips. “You can see it was too strong a sign to ignore, can’t you?”
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to chuckle or to kiss those full lips her tongue had darted over. Instead, he murmured, “I suppose so.”
“So I attended the auction, used a good portion of my savings, and here we are.” She splayed her free hand to emphasize her point, and then picked up a roll of ribbon and went back to what she was doing.
Dylan shifted his weight. Something about this situation and her confidence was beginning to make him uncomfortable. After she’d spent that amount of money—which he’d reimburse now that he knew she was an employee trying to get a meeting with him—and she’d gone to this much effort, how would she react if he agreed with her manager?
“Tell me, Faith,” he said carefully. “What happens if, after all this effort and expense, I don’t like your design enough to put it in the catalog?”
She looked him in the eye again. There was no artifice, no game playing in her deep brown gaze. “Then I’ll know I’ve given it my best shot, and I’ll work harder to create an even better design.”
Dylan nodded. She believed in herself but didn’t have a sense of entitlement and was prepared to put in the work to improve her situation. He liked her attitude. In fact, there were a number of things he liked about Faith Crawford—including things he shouldn’t allow himself to like now that he knew she worked for him. Such as the crazy hair that his fingers were itching to explore, and the way her sweet-shaped mouth moved as she spoke.
There was also a vibrancy about her that dragged his gaze back every time he looked away. How would it feel to hold all that vibrancy in his arms? Her kisses would be filled with passion, he just knew it, and in his bed... Dylan held back a groan and determinedly refocused on Faith’s floristry skills.
Her movements were quick and economical but still flowed, almost as if her hands were dancing. He’d had a stab at displaying flowers in the past but hadn’t pulled off more than rudimentary arrangements. It had been enough for the roadside stall his family had started the business with but hadn’t come close to what a florist with training and flair could create. Yet having been around professional florists for his entire adult life, he was good at spotting skill in someone else.
He could already tell that Faith didn’t just have the training all florists employed by Hawke’s Blooms stores required. She also had that indefinable, creative something that differentiated the great from the good. Whether she’d harnessed that talent, and was able to use it to create designs of the standard needed to be included in the catalog, was yet to be seen.
But if nothing else, tonight Faith Crawford had achieved one thing she’d set out to achieve—she definitely had his full attention.
In fact, he was having trouble looking anywhere but at her.
* * *
Faith added another peony to the arrangement and tried to ignore the prickles on the back of her neck that told her Dylan was watching her again. Of course, that’s what the whole night had been engineered to achieve, but he was only sometimes following what her hands were doing. At other times...
Heat rose in her belly as she thought about the way he’d been staring at her mouth a few minutes ago. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at her with that much hunger. Especially a man she’d been wanting to wrap herself around and kiss as if there was no tomorrow ever since he’d stepped out of his sex-on-wheels car.
And that it had to be Dylan Hawke, the CEO of the company? Well, that was fate playing a cruel joke on her. So she pretended that she wasn’t wildly attracted to the man in front of her and that he wasn’t sending her the same signals. She focused on the flowers. Which was working out fairly well, except for the prickles on the back of her neck.
But she needed to concentrate, to stop letting herself be distracted. Ruthlessly she reminded herself of what was at stake: getting this right could mean a fantastic boost to her career. She turned the arrangement with quick flicks of her wrist, checking for symmetry. Just a few stray leaves to trim. She snipped them away carefully. It looked good, balanced in color and form...but was it special enough to go into the catalog? She’d controlled her wilder artistic urges and gone for a safer conservative arrangement to impress. Butterflies fluttered mercilessly in her stomach. For the first time, she realized how much Mary’s criticism had dented her confidence in her creativity.
She reached out to touch a crisp green leaf. This arrangement was finished—but still she hesitated.
“All done?”
She jolted at the sound of Dylan’s voice so close to her ear. Last time she’d been aware of him, he’d been on the other side of the bench. She tried to move to the side. Her foot caught on something and she felt herself begin to fall. A hand closed around her arm, and her almost certain tumble was averted. She closed her eyes, and then opened them to find Dylan staring at her. The picture of him on the company website was nothing like the living, breathing man before her.
With
