you are.” He’d let her think it was a compliment. Plus, it was a much more professional reason than the fact that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about one of her employees.
“Well, in that case, let me introduce you to the team.” She grabbed a middle-aged blonde woman by the wrist and dragged her over. “This is Courtney. She’s our senior florist. If you want any bouquets made to take home at the end of the day, Courtney’s your woman.”
“Good to meet you, Courtney,” he said, shaking her hand.
Courtney smiled openly. “Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Hawke. Though, if you don’t mind, I need to finish this order before the courier arrives in a few minutes?”
“Of course,” he said and watched her go back to work on one of the long benches. She seemed efficient and nice enough, and the arrangement she was working on was good.
“And this is our other florist, Faith Crawford,” the manager said, pointing in Faith’s direction. He watched the reactions of the other two women closely, checking to see if they knew Faith was the person who’d won the bid at the auction, but neither gave anything away. Interesting. Faith obviously hadn’t told them, and the company grapevine hadn’t caught up with the news yet. Most of the staff from the head office had been at the auction the other night, but even if they’d managed to get a good look at Faith in the dim light, it seemed none had recognized her.
He glanced over at her now. She had a bright yellow Hawke’s Blooms apron covering the halter top he could see peeking out from underneath. Her curly red hair was caught up in a clip on the top of her head. She looked up and he paused, waiting to see her reaction. Her eyes flicked to her manager, then back to him. He wasn’t comfortable with an outright lie to his employees—it was probable that the information would circulate around the company at some point, and he didn’t want to be caught in a lie—but that didn’t mean he had to share all the details of their short history.
“Ms. Crawford and I have met before,” he said as a compromise.
The manager’s eyes darted between them, looking for snippets of information, so he cut her off at the pass. “Do you have an apprentice in this store?”
“Oh, yes. Sharon. But she’s not in until lunchtime on Mondays.”
He nodded and took off his sport coat. Instead of his usual work attire of a business suit, today he’d worn a polo shirt and casual trousers—closer to the clothes the staff in-store wore. “Before she gets here, I’ll do the sweeping and answering the phone. Wherever you need an extra pair of hands.”
Unbidden, his gaze tracked to where Faith worked at her bench, and he found that she’d looked up at him at the same time. Wherever you need an extra pair of hands... He could still feel his hands in her hair, cupping her cheek, under her chin.
A pink flush crept up Faith’s neck to her cheeks, and he knew she was remembering the same thing. He cleared his throat and looked away.
If he was going to make it through the day without letting everyone know he’d kissed his employee, he would have to do better at keeping his thoughts firmly under control.
* * *
It had been two hours since Dylan had appeared in the doorway, looking as if he’d just stepped off a photo shoot for a story entitled “What the Suave CEOs Are Wearing This Season.” She’d spent those two hours trying to pretend he wasn’t in the room, just so she could get her work done.
But every time he swept up the clippings from where she was working, or he handed her a slip of paper with an order that had come in over the phone, she lost the battle and was plunged back into those moments when they’d been in this very spot, at night, alone.
And occasionally, when their eyes met, she thought she saw the same memory lurking in his.
But she couldn’t let herself be sidetracked. She needed to impress the businessman, Mr. Hawke, not the red-blooded Dylan who’d kissed her senseless. Men came and went, but this particular man could help her career. It was Mr. Hawke she needed to impress with what she could do.
They’d had a steady stream of orders in person, over the phone and on their website, and she was glad. It gave her an excuse not to talk to Dylan—no, Mr. Hawke—just yet. He’d sat with Courtney earlier and had a cup of coffee, asking her about her job and ideas for the store, and said he’d be doing the same with all the staff members.
The bell above the door dinged, and she looked up, smiling to see one of her favorite customers.
“Hi, Tom,” she said, heading for the fridge. “How was your weekend?”
“Not long enough,” he said ruefully. “Yours?”
Her eyes flicked to Dylan, who was thumbing through their order book, his dark reddish-brown hair rumpled, his sport coat gone and his tie loosened. His hand hesitated and his chest expanded as if he’d taken a deep breath.
“How about I go with interesting,” she said, turning back to her customer.
Tom laughed. “Sounds as if there’s a story there.”
“My life is never dull.” She reached into the fridge and drew out the assorted foliage she’d put to the side earlier. “I found some fresh mint at the markets this morning, as well as these cute little branches of crab apples. How does that sound?”
“Like a winner. Emmie loved the daisy and rosemary bouquet last week.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dylan watching the conversation and then moving to her elbow. He put his hand out to Tom. “Hi, I’m Dylan Hawke, CEO of the Hawke’s Blooms retail chain.”
“Wow, the big boss,” Tom said, winking at Faith.
Dylan turned to her. “You bought crab apples and mint yourself for this bouquet?” His tone was mild, but his focus had narrowed in on her like a laser pointer. “This sounds interesting. Can you talk me through the thinking behind your plan?”
Her stomach clenched tight. She’d wanted the attention of the businessman side of him, and now she had it, which was great. But if he thought what she was doing was too bizarre, then she might have lost her chance to win his approval. A second strike against her in a row might be too much to overcome.
All she could do was paste on a smile and do her job.
“Tom comes in each Monday to pick up some flowers for his wife,” she said, her gaze on the work her hands were doing. “Emmie is blind, so I always put some thought into combinations that she can enjoy.”
“You picked up the mint on your way in?” Dylan asked, his tone not giving anything away.
She nodded. “Monday mornings I leave home a bit earlier and drop in at the flower markets, looking for some inspiration. We usually go outside the standard range of flowers that the store stocks to get the right elements for Emmie’s bouquet. I like something fragrant—” she picked up the mint “—and something tactile—” she pointed to the crab apple branch “—along with the usual assortment of flowers.”
She cast a glance at the buckets bursting with bright blooms around them, looking for inspiration. Something white, perhaps?
Dylan
