Late Saturday night, to halt the relentless barrage of phone calls and texts, Maddy blocked George's number. She lay in bed, her body fighting a battle for dominance between anger and heartbreak. Shortly after 4 AM, exhausted and emotionally drained, she fell into a restless slumber.

Four hours later, she was awakened by an annoying buzzing. She stumbled, drunk with sleep to the intercom. "You got the wrong apartment," she said.

"Madison Taylor?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Carmine's Floral Shop."

"Are you serious?"

"Please unlock the door. It's freezing out here."

She buzzed the delivery guy into her apartment building, opened her door, then leaned against the doorframe waiting for him to climb the eight flights.

Ten minutes later, a breathless voice from the staircase wheezed, "Holy shit." A red-faced young man in a flannel shirt appeared, climbing the final flight. "No eleva..." He sucked air. "No elevator in this building?"

She shook her head. "Obviously. It's a walk-up."

"Obviously." He nodded, clutching his chest.

"Pretty early in the morning for deliveries isn't it?" she said, arms crossed tightly. "Especially on a Sunday."

He wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve. "Special delivery." He handed her three long white boxes wrapped in red and gold bows.

"Thanks," she replied insincerely and withdrew into her apartment, slamming the door. She tossed the boxes onto her couch, then pulled the ribbon from the first box.

Inside, two dozen long stem red roses were wrapped in holiday tissue. She ripped open the card. Inside was penned:

Hold these petals to your lips and think of me. All my love, George.

Infuriated, she gathered the boxes and dropped them loudly into the trash can in her kitchen.

There was no point in going back to bed. She was too upset to sleep. In fact, she was pissed off. She wriggled into a pair of sweatpants, pulled a hoodie over her head, then stuffed her arms into her parka.

........

Thirty minutes later, she stood at the register inside Michelangelo's Floral. An elderly woman with permed, gray hair carried a withered, brown potted cactus to the counter. Her name tag read: Imelda.

"We don't get much call for tropical plants or cacti during the holidays," Imelda said apologetically. "This one's actually pretty dried out and not the most attractive potted plant–"

"I'll take it," Maddy said sharply.

"It's not much to look at," Imelda slowly turned the pot. "In fact, it might be dead."

"You said you could deliver it today, right?" Maddy drummed her fingernails on the counter.

"Sure, we could do that. Why don't you look around at some of the other things we have on display? We have some absolutely lovely fresh wreaths, holiday bouquets, and poinsettias."

Maddy shook her head. "Do you have a card?"

"A card?"

"A card to go with the plant."

"Sure, sure. We got cards," said Imelda. She made one last sales pitch. "We have so many pretty potted plants here to choose from. Are you sure you don't want–"

"Nope. This one's perfect."

Imelda sighed. "Okey-dokey. So what would you like me to write in the card?"

Maddy produced the card that came with her roses and read aloud, "Hold these petals to your lips and think of me."

"That's sweet," Imelda smiled.

"So, I'd like the card to say, Shove this cactus up your butt and think of me."

Imelda recoiled as though she were bitten by a snake. "My goodness. I really don't feel comfortable writing something like that."

"Give me the pen," said Maddy. "I'll write it."

"Maybe you want to think this over, dear," Imelda said.

"I need this delivered today." Maddy wrote with a vengeance. " I don't care what it costs."

........

Monday morning, Maddy logged into the Pitman Strategies & Solutions portal. Had she noticed a meeting with the Davenport group on the calendar she would have definitely called off sick. But fortunately, Davenport was not on the schedule.

As she stood at the bathroom sink brushing her teeth, she considered the day ahead. The usual Pitman Monday meeting would occupy most of the morning. Afterward, she'd isolate in her cubicle and grind through as much Davenport Pharmaceutical copy as possible. Tuesday was Christmas Eve and of course, Wednesday was Christmas Day.

She thought, "So what if everyone else is living their best Christmas and my life is a dumpster fire?" She just needed to get through her Monday, do some grocery shopping after work, then prepare for her parents' arrival tomorrow afternoon.

She checked her pale face in the mirror. Cold compresses had done little to soothe her puffy eyes. "Suck it up, Maddy," she pumped herself up. "You got this. You're in control. You made it to Monday without shaving off your eyebrows or giving yourself bangs. Win, win."

........

Just before 8 AM Maddy flashed a quick smile at Desiree as she entered the reception area. Desiree cleared her throat then, after a moment of hesitation, she said, "She wants to see you in her office the minute you arrive."

"Awesome," Maddy groaned.

She entered Kendall's office, eyes and nose swollen from crying.

Kendall closed her office door. "Sit," she said, then stood, hands-on-hips, with pursed lips.

Maddy dropped down into a blond Scandinavian wooden chair set against the exposed red brick office wall.

Kendall's eyes bulged like her pupils were painted on eggshells. "So you caught your boyfriend kissing another girl! Boo-freakin'-hoo."

"He told you?!"

"George didn't get into specifics. Only that you won't return his calls."

"So he called my boss? What a–"

Kendall crossed to her desk then perched on the corner. "It's time to put on your big girl panties, Madison. He's wealthy. He's successful. He's hot. You think a man like that doesn't have women fighting to get into his bed?"

Maddy huffed. "Maybe he should call one of them."

"You're lucky he even gives you the time of day. For some insane reason, he wants to spend Christmas Eve with you."

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Christmas Eve is tomorrow. My parents are coming to stay with me."

"I'll book them a room at the Ritz-Carlton."

"They don't care about the accommodations. They're coming to see me."

"I'll throw in tickets to a Broadway show."

"That's a hard no."

Unaccustomed to hearing "No," Kendall bristled, rage detonating across her face. "I am not going to lose this account because your precious little feelings got hurt. So, here's what you're going to do."

"Let me stop you right there. I know exactly what I'm going to do."

"I warned you not to disappoint me, Madison. If you're going to sulk like a spoiled brat and refuse George's invitation, consider yourself off the team."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means you're fired."

Maddy rose from her chair, getting into her boss's face. "Pucker up, Kendall and kiss the Davenport account goodbye."

Kendall jumped to her feet. "What did you say to me?"

"You know, it was George who stopped Shira from pulling the account. She hates you. Kind of a lot."

Kendall rocked back on her heels.

"George would be happy to bring the Davenport business to whatever agency that hires me."

"No one will hire you. Not after what I tell them. I've built quite a reputation, you know."

"You sure have. You know, they call you "The Pitbull."

With a haughty grin, Pitman replied, "Yes, I'm rather proud of that."

"It's not intended as a compliment."

"Kendall Pitman is one of the most respected names in the industry."

Maddy rolled her eyes. "According to Kendall Pitman. Ask someone else and see what they say."

"You insolent little brat. You haven't the first clue what it takes to build a company like I did. You're a nobody. A pathetic small town second-rate writer."

"Watch your step, Kendall. One of these days someone's gonna drop a house on you."

Maddy threw open the door, leaving her ex-boss fuming.