colleagues made sympathetic noises and went back to arguing strategy. No one was the least angry that she was late.
Because she was never late—which meant that of course there had to be a good reason for her tardiness. She was Sydney O’Shea, who graduated college at twenty, passed the bar at twenty-four and had been made partner at thirty—exactly one year before her son was born. Sydney O’Shea, who knew how to make demands and how to return a favor, who had a talent for forging strong professional relationships and who never slacked. She racked up the billable hours with the best of them.
If she’d told them all that she’d been sidetracked in Macy’s housewares by a handsome orange salesman from Montedoro and allowed him to talk her into blowing off half of the Binnelab meeting, they’d have had zero doubt that she was joking.
She knew the case backward and forward. She only had to listen to the discussion for a few minutes to get up to speed on the direction her colleagues were taking.
By the end of the meeting, she’d nudged them in a slightly different direction and everyone seemed pleased with the result. She returned to her corner office to find her so-capable assistant, the usually unflappable Magda, standing in the middle of the room holding an orchid in a gorgeous purple pot. Magda stared in dismay at the credenza along the side wall where no less than twelve spectacular flower arrangements sprouted from a variety of crystal vases.
The credenza was not the only surface in the room overflowing with flowers. There were two vases on the coffee table and one each on the end tables in the sitting area.
Her desk had six of them. And the windowsill was likewise overrun with exotic blooms. Each arrangement had a small white card attached. The room smelled like a greenhouse.
Rule. She knew instantly. Who else could it be? And a quick glance at one of the cards confirmed it.
Please share dinner with me tonight. The Mansion at Turtle Creek. Eight o’clock. Yours, Rule
She’d never told him the name of her firm. But then again, it wouldn’t have been that hard to find out. Just her name typed into a search engine would have done it.
“Smothered in flowers. Literally,” she said to her nonplussed assistant. She felt that delicious glow again, that sense of wonder and limitless possibility. She was crushing on him, big-time. He made her feel innocent and free.
And beautiful. And desired …
Was there anything wrong with that? If there was, she was having trouble remembering what.
“They started arriving about half an hour ago,” said Magda. “I think this orchid is the last of them. But I have nowhere left to put it.”
“It would look great on your desk,” Sydney suggested. “In fact, take the cards off and leave them with me. And then let’s share the wealth.”
Magda arched a brow. “Give them away, you mean?”
“Start with the data entry crew. Just leave me the two vases of yellow roses.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” She didn’t think Rule would mind at all if she shared. And she wanted to share. This feeling of hope and wonder and beauty, well, it was too fabulous to keep to herself. “Tell everyone to enjoy them. And to take them home, if they want to—and hurry. We have Calista’s party at four.”
“I really like this orchid,” said Magda, holding out the pot, admiring the deep purple lips suspended from the velvety pale pink petals. “It looks rare.”
“Good. Enjoy. A nice start to the weekend, don’t you think? Flowers for everyone. And then we send Calista happily off to her tropical honeymoon.”
“Someone special must be wild for you,” Magda said with a grin.
Sydney couldn’t resist grinning right back at her. “Deliver the flowers and let’s break out the champagne.”
Calista loved the heart-shaped casserole. She laughed when she pulled it from the gift bag. “I guess now I’ll just have to learn how to cook.”
“Wait until after the honeymoon,” Sydney suggested and then proposed a toast. “To you, Calista. And to a long and happy marriage.”
After the two glasses of wine at lunch, Sydney allowed herself only a half glass of champagne during the shower. But the shortage of bubbly didn’t matter in the least. It was still the most fun Sydney had ever had at a bridal shower. Funny how meeting a wonderful man can put a whole different light on the day.
After the party, she returned to her office just long enough to grab her briefcase, her bag and one of the vases full of yellow roses. Yes, as a rule she would have stayed to bill a couple more hours, at least.
But hey. It was Friday. She wanted to see her little boy before he went to bed. And she really needed to talk to Lani, who was not only her dearest friend, but also Trevor’s live-in nanny. She needed Lani’s excellent advice as to whether she should go for it and take Rule up on his invitation to dinner.
At home in Highland Park, she found Trevor in the kitchen, sitting up at the breakfast nook table in his booster chair, eating his dinner of spaghetti and meatballs. “Mama home! Hug, hug!” he crowed, and held out his chubby arms.
She dropped her briefcase and bag, set the flowers on the counter and went to him. He wrapped those strong little arms around her neck, smearing spaghetti sauce on her cheek when he gave her a big smacker of a kiss. “How’s my boy?”
“I fine, thank you.”
“Me, too.” She hugged him harder. “Now that I’m home with you.” He smelled of tomatoes and meatballs and baby shampoo—of everything that mattered.
At two, he was quite the talker. As he picked up his spoon again, he launched into a description of his day. “We swim. We play trucks. I shout loud when we crash.”
“Sounds like fun.” She whipped a tissue from the box on the counter and wiped the red sauce off her cheek.
“Oh, yes! Fun, Mama. I happy.” He shoved a meatball in his mouth with one hand and waved his spoon with the other.
“Use your spoon for eating,” Lani said from over by the sink.
“Yes, Lani. I do!” He switched the spoon to the other hand and scooped up a mound of pasta. Most of it fell off before he got it to his mouth, but he only gamely scooped up some more.
“You’re early,” said Lani, turning to glance at her over the tops of her black-rimmed glasses. “And those roses are gorgeous.”
“They are, aren’t they? And as to being early, hey, it’s almost the weekend.”
“That never stopped you from working late before.” Lani grabbed a towel and turned to lean against the sink as she dried her hands.
Her full name was Yolanda Ynez Vasquez and she was small and curvy with acres of thick almost-black hair. She’d been working for Sydney for five years, starting as Sydney’s housekeeper. The plan was that Lani would cook and clean house and live in, thus saving money while she finished college. But then, even after
