Chapter 10: Flowers

A week off work would usually be something to celebrate, but it tasted different when as a result of a suspension. Nevertheless, I synced my calendar with Gabby's shifts, determined to make the most of it.

When we met for breakfast on Tuesday morning, I brought her up to speed on the latest development with Ed. She hung onto every word as she munched on her Eggs Benedict. Rather than mirroring my own optimism, though, uncertainty clouded her heart-shaped face.

"I don't know, Soph..." She put down her cutlery and reached for her mug. "Sounds like a recipe for disaster. I thought you'd already agreed on boundaries?"

Lowering my eyes, I scraped marmalade over a fresh slice of toast, then cut it into two perfectly triangular halves, all to delay answering. I could always rely on honesty from Gabby—and this time it was intentional rather than just a lack of tact.

"Maybe I've been kidding myself these past few months," I said. "We told each other we wouldn't be friends, but I felt like they were just hollow words for the sake of my job."

Gabby peered at me over her the rim of her mug as she took a sip of tea. Setting it back down on the table, she nodded.

"I thought it was a bit weird, to be honest," she said. "You were so close before, and the time and effort you both invested into repairing your friendship after... Well, you know. That kind of history doesn't just disappear, despite your best intentions."

"Hence the revised arrangement. We're not pretending to ignore it now. We're just keeping it out of work."

"And that'll be easy, will it?" She quirked a pointy blonde eyebrow.

"Nothing about his life is easy, but I knew what I was signing up for. He's worth it, anyway."

Somehow that eyebrow seemed to arch even higher. It was too late to backtrack, though. And besides, I meant it. Not a day had gone by where I regretted taking the job. For the first time in years, I wasn't stressing over money or dreading Monday mornings, but how much of that was due to a subconscious desire to be closer to Ed?

"Enough about me." I plastered on a smile and pushed the thought away. "Do you have plans for Charlotte's birthday?"

Gabby's face fell. "I was hoping to get tickets to Hattie Steele's tour, but she's not performing at the stadium and everywhere else sold out in seconds."

"Charlotte a big fan?"

"Obsessed. But I've had to abandon that idea. I'm thinking a weekend away instead. Spa break in Durham with a mad night out in Newcastle. She has school friends up there, so I'm secretly trying to co-ordinate dates where they can surprise her. That'd be fun, right?"

My heart warmed at her thoughtfulness. The pair of them had fallen in love almost instantly after meeting in a club, and while Becca and I had initially warned Gabby about succumbing to the honeymoon phase, they had enjoyed eighteen months together so far without any major bumps. Even better, they both seemed equally enamoured with each other and just as devoted to making one another happy.

"Sounds perfect. Make the most of the mad nights out before you outgrow them."

Gabby scoffed, and her cherry-red lips scrunched into a smirk. "Like you're outgrowing them, you mean?"

"Touché. But I'm getting sex out of mine."

"So am I. And I guarantee the relationship sex I'm getting is much better than your two-minute stands with guys who don't know where a clitoris is."

I hid my laugh within my mug as the elderly couple at the next table shifted in their seats, shooting us polite-yet-uncomfortable smiles.

"I actually love that you both still enjoy a night out," I said to Gabby, lowering my voice. "I can't imagine quiet nights in permanently."

"You can't even imagine a boyfriend at the moment, so that's hardly a benchmark."

Although I humoured her with a playful wink, my mind drifted back to Ed. He'd been the closest thing to a boyfriend recently, and it had only reinforced my aversion to the concept. A relationship with a famous pop star would not be a normal relationship. A normal relationship wouldn't compare to what I'd shared with him. Better to stay single.

Yet thinking about Ed had triggered another train of thought. And formal agreements aside, favours could still be exchanged between friends.

*

The following day, I reached out with restrained optimism. As much as his ties to a glamorous otherworld overwhelmed me at times, they did come in useful.

Me: Do you know Hattie Steele?

Given that I was texting him during business hours—despite not currently working myself, Ed still had a full schedule—I'd expected him to wait longer than ten seconds before replying. But the three dots began to bounce almost immediately.

Ed: Know of her. Why?

I rolled my eyes, unable to tell if he was being deliberately obtuse or just playing it cool with me.

Me: Gabby wanted to get Charlotte tickets to her tour. All sold out. Don't suppose you could hook them up?

This time his response took longer to land. I ran a bath as I waited—because if you can't have a midday bath during a week-long suspension, then when can you?

The warm water coaxed my tense muscles as I sunk into the tub, drawing the bubbles over my chest and shoulders. What would Zola be doing right now? We'd planned to scope out a PR opportunity at a local restaurant this afternoon; would she go ahead without me? Probably. I'd managed all the comms with the owner and front-of-house staff, but it wouldn't reflect well on us if we rescheduled last minute.

Fuck. This suspension sucked. No amount of bubble baths could change that.

I closed my eyes and switched to daydreaming about a certain dark-haired, broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed singer instead. Just as the early embers of heat began to flicker between my thighs, my phone buzzed again.

Ed: No luck with the tour but she's in town next weekend. Want me to entice her to Escala?

Me: Entice?

Ed: Believe it or not, I can be quite persuasive

I read the message twice, my lips twitching. To an innocent bystander, nothing inappropriate could be drawn from those words, but I knew him better than that, and the temptation to take this conversation in a different direction had my fingers typing out an equally provocative response.

Me: Can you persuade me to get out of this bath then? I've been lying here for so long that the water is getting cold

The temperature was fine, but I sacrificed fact for the chance to turn my daydream into something closer to reality.

As I expected, the three dots appeared instantly, but apparently he was going to make me work for it.

Ed: I can only flirt with one woman at once. Do you want me to take care of you or her?

Me: Hattie please. I am more than capable of taking care of myself

And even if he was supposedly only flirting with one woman at once, he somehow still managed to reply to me within seconds.

Ed: Are you thinking of me while you're doing it?

Me: Certain parts of you, yes

Ed: Bet your fingers don't even come close

Me: Depends how many I'm using

Ed: I'm going to call your bluff and ask for evidence

Me: You're not calling my bluff - you just want material for your wank bank

Ed: And if I do?

Me: You already have enough dirty photos of me - use one of those

Ed: I deleted them all when we stopped talking... Didn't seem right to keep them

Me: How honourable of you

Ed: I'm an honourable guy. I'm also painfully hard right now thinking about you...

Tightness coiled deep in my gut, a heavy ache settling between my thighs. I typed back with one thumb as my other hand dipped beneath the surface of the water to ghost down my stomach.

Me: Sounds like you don't need photos

Ed: I have a great imagination. You on your knees, my hands in your hair, fucking your mouth so hard until you can't take it any longer

I bit my lip to stifle my moan as my fingers circled the throbbing bundle of nerves, his words sparking a deluge of filthy memories in my head.

Me: You really do have a good imagination since we both know you'd shoot your load long before it got to that point...

Ed: Come up to my suite and say that to my face

Five minutes ago I might have agreed to that, but the subtle, erotic threat was enough to tip me over the edge. As the building pressure peaked, my toes curled and my legs tightened until the ripples of pleasure detonated between my thighs. My cry echoed off the tiled bathroom walls, and I promptly clamped my jaw shut.

I panted as I caught my breath, my phone hanging loosely between my fingers. Poor Ed probably thought my slow response was because I'd called his bluff this time and I really was on the way up to his suite. When the post-orgasmic fog had lifted, I sent my final message.

Me: Sorry, too late. Already finished. You were great though – thanks 😊

The three dots began to bounce again, but a loud knock at the door almost elicited a different kind of scream from me. Surely he hadn't come down here?

Me: You at my door?

The dots stopped, then started up again.

Ed: Not me, lucky for you...

I ignored the suggestively dark undertones to that message, too curious about who'd be looking for me while I was suspended. Another knock hammered the wood, this time louder. With a sigh, I dragged myself out of the bath and reached for my robe.

When I glanced through the peephole to see someone from the security team holding a bouquet, my confusion only mounted.

"For me?" I asked as I opened the door.

Danny nodded and passed them over. "Reception just brought them up. I've checked them out. They're safe."

"Oh. Thanks."

Would people really try to hide a weapon in a bunch of flowers? I set them down on my desk and searched for a card, eventually finding it nestled between a rose and eucalyptus.

SOPHIA,
I'M SORRY ABOUT LAST WEEK

No name and no other indication of who'd sent them. Seriously, who bought flowers without leaving a name? Unless they wanted to remain anonymous, but—again—why?

I scooped up my phone and re-opened my conversation with Ed. Out of everyone I knew, he was the main person who'd have a reason to hide his identity from overzealous florists.

Me: Have you sent me flowers?

Ed: Awkward, but no...

Flowers weren't Mac's style, and nothing had happened between us last week that would warrant an apology. If my name hadn't been written on the card, I'd have assumed they'd been delivered to the wrong address.

Ed thought it awkward that I'd incorrectly guessed he'd sent them, but it was more awkward not knowing. How was I supposed to say thank you? And was someone out there worrying that they'd upset me, hoping that flowers would convey their regret?

Me: Shame. They're beautiful

Ed: In that case can I change my answer?

I snapped a photo and sent it across to him. It delivered, but he didn't reply as fast this time, no doubt having lost interest after I'd shifted the conversation from sex to flowers.

Ed: Not the pic I was hoping for

Me: It's all you're getting

Tossing my phone onto the dressing table, I perched on the edge of the bed and drank in the flowers. Lacey? Unlikely. She'd looked ready to slit my throat last week, and that level of anger would take longer than a few days to pass.

I even briefly considered Mark for the mistaken identity incident, but I couldn't imagine him even contacting a florist—never mind choosing a bouquet—so I shut down that theory, too.

I'd likely never find out the sender. After all, if they'd wanted me to know, they'd have left a name.

Still, in the middle of a disheartening week, they brightened my mood. 

***

Thank you for reading :) xx

***

Who do we think sent the flowers? Will Soph ever find out?