There has been a bouquet of flowers at the clinic every day for the rest of the week. On Thursday, a note comes along with a bunch of red and white lisianthus. In a pretty cursive hand, it says, "My beautiful angel, please accept my apologies for being an imbecile." I roll my eyes. This is clearly written by Levi. "Given the chance, I'll make it up to you. Do you think you'd like to be my date this Saturday for the birthday party for one of our young soldiers? Yours wholly, Erwin."

Wholly? As in, the whole secret? I don't even know one percent of the secret so this means nothing to me. But it proves that Erwin had some contribution in writing this note. Unless he voraciously spilled everything about that night to his assistant. I mean, I spilled to Roz too but a man should be more careful about what he divulges regarding his lady friends.

"These are gorgeous, Ms. Castillo." Ricky, the receptionist smiles at me, touching the petals of the flowers delicately. "Secret admirer, or not so secret?"

I laugh it off, not answering. "Will you please put it in a vase? They'd look lovely at the front desk."

"Oh, you don't want them?"

"The flowers are not healthy for my cat, and I already have the roses from yesterday. Why hog them in the chamber when they can brighten up this space for the clients, right? Or, the waiting area. It would go lovely with the wallpaper there."

"Another bouquet, Niji?" A familiar voice catches me off-guard. I turn to spot Dr. Khan, renowned oncologist and author of several books and research articles, walking my way with a chipped-toothed smile on his face. "Don't tell me this is the reason you're leaving us."

"Oh no, no." I look away to find my shoes, his shoes, anybody's shoes. Panic boils in my sympathetic nervous system any time I'm in the presence of an authority figure. "Botany can't sweep me away from human genetics. How are you doing, Sir?"

"I'm great." He is. Hence, the panic. "I'll be sending two patient parties to you shortly. Parents of a 12-year old with CML. They wanted to know about the genetic testing options. They have done some research so be careful. And then, one 30-something dude with thyroid cancer. He said, no family history but maybe you can bring it out of him. Talk to him, okay? Otherwise, we'll just do a somatic panel."

"Will do, Sir." I clear my throat.

"Great." He touches the side of my arm politely and I die immediately. "I'll see you at the Missionary Children's Hospital conference on Saturday?"

"Absolutely."

"I know you're leaving us but if you want, I can introduce you to clinicians and geneticists from other hospitals. That might help you find your next job." He pauses when he senses my discomfort. "Whenever that is. No pressure. You're good, Niji. You're a good counselor to have around. Don't sell yourself short, okay? Not even to yourself."

I wish somebody had said that to me when I was younger. After he leaves, I rush to my chamber to shed a quick tear before composing myself for the clients.

Friday morning brings me no more notes, only flowers. A single bouquet for me and many more for all the vases in all the waiting areas in the building. When I ask Ricky about them, he shrugs, informing me that they were there by the time he had arrived at the hospital for his shift. Snitches? Or, am I being stalked? Ugh! I forget the whole mafia deal sometimes. The gang could totally have connections here for all I know. I carry the orchids with me all day for any prying eyes to see and report to whomever they want to - I want them to note how cumbersome this whole ordeal is and how uncomfortable it is for me when everyone stares, smiles and asks me who the sender is.

But all the discomfort, anger, and frustration evaporate as soon as I step out of the clinic in the evening. My eyes lock with the man's standing outside the exit, leaning against a black Bentley, smoking. He drops his cigarette and stares at me as I walk toward him. His arms are open, expectant. Whether to slap him across his gorgeous face or run into his big arms - that's the real question. But I don't have to decide. He meets me halfway, pulling me into his hold. The smell of nicotine surrounds him like air. Squeezing me tight, he presses his nose into my neck and inhales deeply.

"Fuck, I missed you so much." He mumbles into my hair. I feel small in his grasp. That's new!

"Erwin, I work here." I don't know what to do with my hands. Shall I give in to the desires of holding him to me like I want to? Or is it smarter to be angry with him like I have been for a week?

"Just a moment, angel." His hands are on my back, in my hair, rubbing my shoulders. It actually feels good. It feels good to be wanted. Does he really want me?

Erwin lets me go and looks at me. He wants to kiss me, I can tell. But I can't let him. Stand your ground, Niji. He's not that hot.

He takes the flowers from my hands and the tote bag from my shoulder before sliding it onto his. It's heavy with my laptop, charger, notebook, water bottle, lunch box, and all other every day necessities, but he doesn't complain. He looks so pretty with my things, I want to take a picture. I want to eat him up. "Can I kiss you?" He finally asks.

On a whim, I shake my head.

Erwin nods, taking a step back. He's still looking at my lips and I'm looking at his.

"I mean, not here," I correct myself.

"Can I take you home then?"

He takes my hand to guide me to the car. As he shuts the passenger side door, I notice a thick manila envelope on the dashboard. I immediately get a trauma flashback of the time I read and considered Fifty Shades of Grey to be my favourite romance. Erwin unlocks the door to the back seat to drop my bag and the flowers there before coming up front.

"Work stuff?" I point to the envelope as Erwin pulls the seatbelt across his massive DILF chest.

"No, angel." He starts the car and pulls out of his parking space. "It's a file on you."

Ooohh! Fifty shades of flashbacks.

When he realizes I have been taken aback by his words, he starts to explain. "Levi put it together as is customary for any new member of our family, or anybody associating with us. But..." He turns to me, trying to inspect my facial expressions. "I haven't looked at it. I want to know about you from you, not a file."

I was horny a second ago but now I'm pissed again. "That's pretty thick. I think you'll find everything you need to know in there."

Erwin divides his glances between me and the road ahead. I can tell by the heft in his breath, the grip on his wheel that he's frustrated. He produces his right hand in my direction and I think he's only about to maneuver the gear but he lands it on my thigh. My breath catches in my chest, my skin tenses under his touch. His fingers spread on my beige skirt before bunching together the mild fabric and making his way toward a very dangerous place.

I take his wrist. "Erwin, now?"

"Why not?"

"Umm... The possibility of you losing focus and crashing into another car?"

"All my focus is already on you, angel. Have I hit anybody yet?" Erwin's voice is dripping with lust and a tinge of authority. This is not the sweet, sunshine, golden retriever boy Erwin, it's the mafia boss. Not sure if I'm a big fan! "Did you not get my card, angel?"

I bite my lip. My ears are so hot, it burns my face. Stand your ground. "I did. But I didn't think it was the most appropriate thing to do on your part."

"What would have been the appropriate thing to do?" Erwin's voice lets no room for interpretation of genuineness. I don't know if he's actually unsure of the right thing to do or if he's mocking me. His grip tightens on my thigh, thumb circling shapes of ouroboros into my skin.

"Spending the night, being there when I woke up, actually asking for my number so that we could talk the next day. You could tell me how you helped out one of my neighbours and we could laugh about my poor wine bottle throwing skills."

"We could do that." He chuckles, squeezing my thigh before retracting his hand. His tone softens. "I apologise, angel."

Bravery gushes into my soul like salt air on a beach. "How are you planning on making it up to me?"

Erwin makes a left turn and stops. We're in my neighborhood but still a couple of minutes away from home. The car stands under the thick canopy of a flame tree, obscuring any light from the post nearby. He clicks his seatbelt away, turns and bends toward me. When his lips are mere millimetres from mine, he stops to say, "There is a fine line between what I want to do and what I should do."

"Tread it then." I touch Erwin's face and pull his lips onto mine. He latches on like he's been starving. His fingers find their way to the back of my head, pressing our faces further together. The tips of his nails graze against my scalp. A throaty groan emerges from his mouth as his tongue smoothes his way over mine.

"I've never known want of this magnitude." Erwin's fingers stay in my hair even when he pulls away. With the darkness leaving his face inscrutable to me, I rely on the pace of his breath, the tension in his touch to gauge what is it that he wants. For some reason, my mind and my body scream my name in answer.

I lean forward to touch his thigh and slide my hand up, returning his act of enticement. His breath shudders when I reach the seat of his pants. There he is, heated, swollen, aching to be touched. My instincts tell me to rip his pants and release him from his agony immediately. But a part of me wants him to beg for me to help him, tell me how it's only my cunt that can cause his undoing. So I take my hand away. I can swear I hear him gasp like someone snatched his candy.

Without another word, he turns the key, pulling the car out of the tree's shade. We reach the apartment in less than a minute.

There's a tightening in my hips as we sit in his car in silence, a mind-numbing nebula of desire crawling up my spine, raising the hair on my arms. Erwin notices the goosebumps. He looks at my arm and then up at me. "Can we go inside, angel? I wanted to make it up to you, remember?"

"Is that the only way you know how to?" I finish saying what I have to say before my breath catches.

Erwin sighs. "It's a start." When I nod but don't reply, he says, "Unless that's not what you want. In that case, I won't let a single finger on you."

"And what about that?" I point to his crotch with my chin. What am I doing? This is how porn starts.

"What do you want, angel?" He turns to me. The discomfort in his pants is evident in the wrinkles on his forehead, the downturn of his lips, the flaring of his nostrils with every expelled breath. "I'm known for being highly perceptive but with you, I can't figure. You have to tell me what you want, angel. Anything. And I'll give it to you."

Anything?

Parting my lips don't bring out the words I want to say so I just meet his eyes. "I want... I don't know what I want."

Erwin nods. Can he stop being so understanding, and be a little toxic at least? "I can leave, angel." His tone is heavy. This is yet another version of him, neither the golden retriever nor the mafia boss.

"I definitely don't want that." I want him here. I've missed him too. Can he not see that? "Umm... You said, you can't figure me out. So... umm... Can't we talk? Inside? I'd like to get to know you too."

He nods. I grab the manila envelope on my way out. When I notice he's not following suit, I round the front of the car to stand by his door. "Everything alright?" I ask, my elbow pressed on the open window.

"Give me a few minutes, angel. I'll be right with you." He looks embarrassed.

Feeling a little playful, now that the tension has dissipated, I slide my head through the window and look down at his crotch, still engorged. I look up, my mind buzzing with impish ideas. I grab the front of his crisp white shirt and pull him to me, grasping his lips with mine. Playing with him is the one and only thought in my head.

Erwin exhales deeply as I let him go. He's grinning, his blue eyes sparkling like the ocean under daylight. "So unpredictable, angel."

I run a hand along his jaw - an act of immense adoration - before collecting my bag and flowers from the backseat. Once inside the apartment, I quickly get out of the tight shaper shorts I've been in the whole day and throw them in the washing machine. Miri spots me from the bedroom and skips toward me to figure-eight around my legs while I set the scene.

I straighten the blanket over the couch but on second thought, fold it away to the side. I place the manila envelope and an ashtray on the coffee table (I might have a smoke), I wonder about scented candles but settle for room freshner to do away with the kitty litter smell. The orchids go in a vase I place in front of the TV and as Miri eyes it, I slowly shake my head at her. She knows it means that she can't push it off the edge.

As I'm pouring my cat's dry food dinner in her bowl in the kitchen, I hear the front door open. My Miri hisses and I stand up, alert. She had liked Erwin the last time she saw him; hissing in his presence is not a likely reaction. So I lean out of the kitchen to inspect the living room but nobody's there. Only the main entrance is slightly ajar and the pungent smell of burning weed seeps into my apartment.

My stomach drops, fearing there might be an intruder. I rush to open the front door. From here, I can see Erwin still sitting in his car, the smoke from his cigarette emerging under the streetlight in puffy clouds. That's a regular cigarette, not a joint. His gaze is fixed to the three small stairs leading up to the porch so if there was an intruder, he would have noticed. He runs a hand through his hair, fixing it in the rearview mirror, his chest firm now, not shaky like it had been when I had touched him. I have an idea.

I shut the door behind me and rush to my bedroom. In the bedside drawer, I find what I'm looking for. The fuckboy repellent. The lanyard is long, the rose quartz settles into my cleavage as I clip it behind me. Unsure of the repelling function of this gemstone, but I'm certain of how alluring it might look on me when I'm otherwise naked in Erwin's arms.

A/N: Points to you if you can correctly guess who it was that left flowers in every vase of the clinic so that Niji won't be able to give hers away. Hint, I'm cooking.

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