The last place Luke Cinder ever thought he would be was a flower shop. He’d never gotten a girl flowers in his life. Even his mom, who he’d loved right up until the day that the cancer took her, had never been on the receiving end of a bouquet from Luke. He’d favored practical gifts instead. He often got his mom good cuts of meat. It was a strange present, but that woman had appreciated good cooking and fine food. If he showed up with a lamb shank, she was guaranteed to be pleased with it.
But this situation with Shayla...it seemed like it required a different approach. He tried to think what someone else would do in his position. Someone who wasn’t a big scary biker. He supposed they would probably get the girl they hurt flowers.
It wasn’t like Luke was opposed to getting flowers normally because he thought it didn’t suit his image. He’d ridden around with a kitten in his jacket for a day, for fuck’s sake. He just didn’t think they were very useful. But he would do it if it meant hopefully getting Shayla back on his side.
The shop assistant gave him a bemused grin as he made his purchase. Shit, flowers were expensive. How could anyone afford them in this economy?
The next problem was that he was on his bike. He doubted a bouquet would hold up well against the wind. He asked the shopkeeper to wrap the whole arrangement in plastic, which only served to amuse her further. Whatever. He wasn't going to show up at the news station with a handful of goddamn stems.
After tucking the flowers as far into his saddlebag as they would go, Luke hopped back on his bike and buckled his helmet. The station wasn’t far away, and he was beginning to feel a little nervous.
Luke Cinder was not a man who felt nervous. He was the person who made other people feel nervous. But something about Shayla… He needed her to know that he wanted her. And that his marriage wasn’t real. Not in any way that counted.
He roared up to the front of the KTMA building and parked his bike, retrieving the flowers from the bag and settling his helmet on the handlebar. Then, with a grim yet determined expression, he stepped toward battle.
The receptionist eyed him up, seeing first him and then the flowers. “You’re back,” she said brightly. “Are those for me?”
Luke’s only response was a bark of laughter before he breezed past her desk, bursting straight through the back doors and into the hallway. It was quiet, as it seemed to always be, in the office section of the station. Luke supposed that more people would be around during the day, but his girl was on night duty for some reason. He hoped that he’d be able to help her get a better slot.
He hoped that she would let him.
His boots smacked across the floor, and with a great bang he burst into the newsroom. While it had been busy prior to his entry, the room seemed to explode with life once its occupants caught sight of Luke and his giant bouquet.
Shit. Was Shayla going to be too distracted by the flowers? He needed her full attention. He needed her eyes. The last time he’d seen them, full of rage and hurt, haunted him. He needed to fix that. It would be better to pass the flowers off on someone else.
Luke scanned the room and saw Shayla in the makeup chair in the corner. She saw him only seconds after he saw her. Her expression hardened, turned sour. She clearly did not want to talk to him.
Too bad.
Luke paced toward her and thrust the flowers into the makeup girl’s hands, even though she had a sponge in one of them. “Please put these in Shayla’s office.”
She stammered something about Shayla not having an office, and he replied, but Luke barely even recognized what was happening outside of the staring contest he and Shayla were having.
Her eyes spoke rage.
He journeyed back to the moment when he’d had her pinned against his door, her eyes telling him something very different. God it had been good. There was more to this girl than there appeared to be. She might seem all sunshine and easy to ruffle, but she was as cold and hard as ice, with just as much complexity as a snowflake. And god, did he want her.
She stood up, as if squaring up with him for a fight. She was full of surprises. “I think the custom is to give them to the recipient directly.”
“The recipient and I need to talk.”
Only then did Luke notice that that snake of a man, Anthony Blake, was standing nearby. He was too close for anyone’s comfort, especially Luke’s. Anthony needed to be as far away from Luke’s girl as his feet could take him. And now.
Luke directed his stare over to the smaller man, adding a little sneer in to get his point across. He was glad that Anthony got the message without Luke having to snap at him for real. He was feeling on edge about the situation with raven, and how it had possibly cost him a great girl. Frankly, he was raring for a fight.
Anthony skulked away, though he attempted to make it seem as if something interesting on the other side of the room had caught his attention. As if anyone there would believe that. Still, he was gone. The makeup artist had disappeared with the flowers. It was just him and Shayla.
“I don’t want your flowers,” she spat. “You can take them home with you. Maybe you could give them to your wife.”
Anthony scowled. “I can explain.”
She scoffed. “That’s like the line of the century, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “I don’t want your explanation. I want you out of my newsroom and out of my life. It was a mistake ever getting involved with you in the first place.”
Luke took a step closer. He towered over her small frame. “You’re going to want to hear this.”
“Just because you say I’m going to want to hear it, doesn’t make it true.” She thrust forward and brushed past him. The contact set Luke’s hairs on edge.
“What about a story then?” Luke called after her, swinging around to face her retreating form. “A big one.”
Shayla stiffened and Luke smirked. He knew she was a slave to duty. She’d have to hear him out now.
Shayla craned her neck and regarded him with narrow eyes. “What kind of story?”
Luke shrugged. “The usual. Gangs. Drugs. An arranged marriage.”
Shayla’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
Luke gave her a slow nod. He saw her deliberating with herself, but she didn’t do so for long. When she turned to face him next, she had made a decision.
“Tell me.”
“On one condition.”
“What’s that?”