Chapter Five
Payton
I’m losing my mind. I’ve been running around like a chicken with my head cut off for the last two days, and today isn’t any better. As enthralled as I am that my business took off, it’s days like these that I wonder if I’ll ever be able to catch up and breathe.
The shop is a mess, the workstation’s covered in greenery, and the display case empty. All a good sign, right?
Right.
Rachel has been busy, working more than her normal hours. She’s been taking orders and helping the walk-in customers, while I make the arrangements and deliver them, if required. I wish I could say it’s just the peak busy season, but it’s mid-January, so that’s not it. Maybe my business is finally taking off, full steam ahead.
It’s quite possibly time for me to look into hiring more help. My first order of business will be to find out if Rachel is interested in working full-time. If she is, then I could probably get away with hiring another part-time employee to help with deliveries and extra floor coverage. If she’s not interested, then I’m looking for a full-time employee.
Either way, the extra help is necessary for my business, and my sanity.
Believe it or not, Grandma has been coming in and helping lately. When she gets bored watching General Hospital on the Soap Opera Network, she meanders on up to Blossoms and Blooms and helps out. Mostly she just talks to the customers and gets in the way. She can’t use the cash register, can’t make arrangements, and is a little crazy behind the wheel. So really she’s just there to take orders and gossip with my customers. (Like she is now.) But for some crazy reason, they all love her, so I don’t complain.
“Remember that trade show I registered for last year?” I ask when I see the note written on the calendar by the register.
“That flower show in Richmond? You signed up last fall, right?”
“Yeah, well, it’s supposed to be in a week and a half. I think I’m going to see if I can get my registration back.”
Grandma stops in her tracks and stares at me. “Why?”
I exhale deeply. “Because we’re so busy and it’s not fair to Rachel to have to cover for three days by herself.”
“I’ll be here to help her,” she says, “We’ll be fine.” She sounds so confident, like it’s a no brainer for me to leave the business I built over the last three years to my part-time employee and my eighty-year-old grandma. No worries at all.
“It might not be the right time,” I tell her, my words holding no conviction. Honestly, I really want to go to this show, but I just don’t see how when the shop has been as busy as it has been.
“If not now, then when? This show is every January, right? Well, your next opportunity is next year. Go, Payton. It’s a great opportunity for you to learn new things and incorporate them into your business.” She walks up and stands directly in front of me. “I want you to go. We’ll make sure your business is still standing while you’re gone.”
Swallowing hard, I look down at the little spitfire woman. “God, I hope so. You really think it would be alright?”
“I know it will be. Go. You deserve this. You deserve a little time away, even if it is work related.”
I offer her a watery smile, which she returns with her own wrinkly grin. There are huge advantages in attending this show. I was lucky to even get tickets. Florists from New York and Chicago always attend, display their latest creations, and teach a few tricks during expert how-to sessions. It’s an amazing opportunity to talk shop with fellow florists and pitch new ideas over coffee. Honestly, I can’t wait. “Okay. I’ll go.”
We silently get back to work, me closing down the shop while Grandma straightens up. “You know what they say about tulips, don’t you, Payters?”
“What’s that, Grandma?”
“Two lips. Like the female flower. Or as your Grandpa likes to call it, the vajayjay.”
“Grandma,” I chastise, thankful that we’re alone at this particular moment. She’s busy sweeping up flower stems and greenery snips, or at least I thought she was.
“Delicate, soft, and fragrant as a flower.”
“Please stop talking,” I beg as I close out the register and the credit card machine.
“If you don’t want to talk about the female anatomy, then what can I help with, Pay?”
“Nothing. Thanks for helping me catch up,” I reply, grabbing an empty moneybag and inserting today’s deposit.
“You’re all done for the night?” she asks, returning the broom to the small closet in the back storage room.
“I wish,” I snort. “I’ve got about an hour’s worth of work ordering supplies. Then I need to drop off the quarterly income and employment tax documents to Corbin and Denton.” Glancing down at my watch, I realize how late it is. The last customer didn’t leave until five thirty since they were finalizing flowers for a loved one’s funeral. “Shit, I’ll never make it.”
“What’s the matter?”
“They close at six. I’ll never get over there in time. I’ll have to drop it all off in the morning and pray my accountant has enough time to get it taken care of.”
“Let me help. I’m heading home now to help Grandpa with a little problem he sent me a text about a few minutes ago.” She looks down and gapes at her phone.
“Is Grandpa okay?”
“Oh, he’s fine, dear.” She smirks. “At least he will be when I get home and can give him some tender loving care. It happens every time he takes one of those little blue pills.”
Please don’t say any more. Please don’t.
“Can I drop that off before I head home?”
Glancing down at the folder that needs to be at the accountant’s office by six, I concede to let her help once more today. Even if I leave right now and run over there, I still have to come back and get more work done. If I can stay here and get to it, I might be able to make it home before reruns of Full House start on Nick.
“Fine. Take this envelope to Corbin and Denton. One of the secretaries or assistants is usually there. Just hand them the envelope.”
“Who do I leave it for?” she asks, reaching for the packet of papers.
My heart speeds up and tap dances in my chest just thinking about him. The way he looks sitting behind his large mahogany desk. His perfect hair the color of smooth caramel, his eyes hidden behind glasses so deep brown that they almost look black. Until you’re close–close enough to feel his breath on your face–where you can see the brown ring around his iris. The way his lips feel against mine, a dance so slow and sweet that I’m left breathless and yearning.
“Earth to Payton,” Grandma says, waving her hands in front of my face.
“Oh, sorry.”
“You feeling all right? You’re all flush and panting.” She places the back of her wrinkled hand on my forehead.
“I’m fine. Just getting tired already,” I reply, taking a step back and busying my hands with the remaining paperwork. “His name is Dean McIntire, and he should be there.”
“I better get going so I make it before they close.” She quickly gathers up her jacket and the paperwork and heads towards the back door. “Oh, and Payton?” I stop in my tracks as she glances over her boney shoulder. “The occasional orgasm might help alleviate that blush.”
Before I can even react, she’s out the door, whistling a tune that sounds like Justin Timberlake.
***
My cell phone rings as I’m locking the back door. With the deposit bag tucked beneath my arm, I dig into my purse for the phone. Once I grab it, I start to walk towards my car, which is parked in a small lot used by a few businesses on my block. The name on the screen causes me to stop in my tracks.
Dean.
Part of me wants to ignore the call, knowing that I’m not strong enough to say no if he were calling for personal reasons. I should have said no the first time we met up, and definitely shouldn’t have agreed to the three meetings that followed over the course of two months. We both realized that a relationship wasn’t in our best interest, and even though the chemistry is plausible and visible, it just isn’t meant to be.
“Hello?” I ask, worried he’ll hear the nervousness in that one word.
“Hi, Payton. It’s Dean. Do you have a minute?” he asks. Something in his own voice catches my attention. Apprehension.
Slipping into my car and dropping my bags on the passenger seat, I work the key into the ignition and start up the car. “Yeah, I’m just leaving the shop. What’s up?”
“Is this a joke?” he asks, completely catching me off guard.
“A joke? What are you talking about?” I ask, cranking the heater up to warm my vehicle.
“There are some…discrepancies in your statements that you dropped off this evening. I was glancing over it before I headed home so that I was prepared to get it all filed tomorrow morning, but some of the numbers are definitely…off.”
“Off? What does that mean?”
“Well, if I were to submit it the way it is, you’d probably be audited for tax fraud.”
My heart jumps and hammers in my chest. “What?” I whisper.
“Yeah, I’ll be honest, it looks like someone added a bunch of zeros to some of the income and expense lines. None of the totals add up.”
“That can’t be right. They were fine when I printed them off this afternoon.” My brain is working overtime to try to figure out exactly what I did wrong. Could I have accidentally hit extra numbers when I was inputting the data? No, there’s no way. QuickBooks figures all of those out for me.
“Well, I’m looking at a quarterly income of fourteen million dollars, and an expense of eight hundred thousand.”
Holy. Shit. “What? That’s not right!”
“I figured as much,” he says with a chuckle. “We need to figure this out sooner rather than later, Payton.”
“I’ve got my laptop with me that has my accounting software on it. Are you at the office?”
“Yeah, I’ll be here.”
“I’m on my way.” I don’t say anymore before signing off.
Sitting in the parking lot, I’m stunned by the crazy phone call. I haven’t heard from Dean in weeks, but my body instantly reacts to his voice the way it did all those months ago last fall. How in the world did my numbers come out so high? Fourteen million in income? I freaking wish! Unless those flowers are tipped in real gold, that would be a hell of a lot of blooms leaving my store in the fourth quarter. Yes, we had a great three months with Thanksgiving and Christmas, but not anywhere near a million dollars, let alone fourteen.
“What in the hell is going on?” I ask, throwing my car in reverse and carefully pulling out of my parking space. Mine’s the only car left in the lot at six-thirty at night.
I drive in silence towards Corbin and Denton. Their office is located at the far north side of Jupiter Bay in a newer complex that houses a dental and a physician’s office. Considering that it’s after five, the lights in the offices are off.
The front door is unlocked as I make my way towards the stairs. The accounting office is located on the second floor of the building, along with one for a small attorney’s practice. I find myself practically sprinting up the stairs, taking them two at a time until I reach the top. The door directly to my right catches my attention. It’s the only one with light filtering through the glass.
Eager to figure out what’s going on, I try the door. It’s unlocked. I’m greeted by the sight of Dean McIntire, casually leaning against the tall receptionist counter. His light brown hair is slightly askew, as if he’s recently ran his hands through it. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark wired glasses, but I can feel them on me nonetheless. My body temperature rises about ten degrees in the span of three seconds. It’s crazy, the way my body reacts to his presence. It was like that the first time he walked into the office and introduced himself as my new accountant.
“Hi,” I croak through a dry throat.
He doesn’t say a word, but I feel his eyes devour me from head to toe, leaving no part of me untouched by his gaze. I’m sure he can see my heart leaping in my chest and the way my body involuntarily sways in his direction. It’s a natural reaction, as normal as breathing.
“Hi.” Dean pushes off the desk where he’s perched and stalks towards me. Yes, stalks. That’s the only way to describe his movement. It’s fluid and dangerous and makes my panties wetter with each step he takes towards me.
Goose bumps rise on my heated flesh as he stands directly before me, close enough that I could wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss. If I wanted to, that is. Which I don’t. (This is where my pants would catch fire.) Dean leans forward, his arm skimming across my upper arm. Even through my coat, I can feel the heat of his flesh. I’m just about to ask what he’s doing when he flips the lock on the door. The sound of it engaging echoes throughout the empty office. It reminds me of the slamming of prison doors, except being locked in a room with Dean McIntire is nothing like prison. It’s more like a fantasy.
“You okay?” he whispers, his warm breath caressing my cheek.
“Yes.” My voice is hoarse and doesn’t even sound like my own.
“Are you sure? I’m not sure you’re breathing right now.” He raises that uber sexy eyebrow and gives me a half smirk. His eyes, hidden behind glasses, are smoldering and his lips plump, perfect for kissing. I’ve thought of that look several times over the last few months, especially when I was alone in my bed.
“Fine.” I croak. Seriously, whose voice is that?
“Good,” he says with the slightest rise of the corner of his lip. “Let’s go to my office and figure this out.”
He steps aside, waiting for me to take the lead. I know where his office is located; I’ve been there a few times since he took over my account last spring. What I wasn’t expecting was the warm hand on my lower back as we walk down the hallway. Since it’s a smaller office with only four accountants, we find ourselves at his open office door before I’m ready. Yet, I’m pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t remove his hand from the small of my back. Wait. No, I want him to remove it. Don’t I?
Aww, hell. I’m so screwed. Figuratively speaking, that is. Because I’m definitely not being screwed right now, as much as I wouldn’t mind feeling the coarseness of his legs rubbing against my thighs.
Pay-ton. Get a grip, geez.
Dean leads me towards a small table and chairs in the corner of his office. I notice the envelope and subsequent paperwork sitting neatly in the middle of the round table. He pulls out a chair, still keeping his hand on my lower back. Shudders of pleasure ripple through my taut body. The sudden desire to hop on the tabletop and spread my legs is overwhelming. Images of our tryst in my own business parade through my mind like some X-rated movie.
“You okay?” he asks, his eyes scanning me, clearly amused by my suddenly flushed face.
“Fine. What did you find?” I ask, clearing my throat as I slip out of my jacket and getting down to business.
“This,” he says, taking a seat beside me and reaching for the stack of papers. I notice right away that with him beside me, I catch faint whiffs of his cologne. It’s rich and intoxicating, and I involuntarily find myself leaning towards him. Again.
The papers he slides in front of me pull my attention. Instantly, I see what his phone call was referring to. It wasn’t me accidentally hitting extra buttons when inputting the information. This error is definitely human made, but more particularly, a certain human. I can tell by the way the extra zeros added to a few lines are shaky and hurried. What the hell?
Grandma.
“What did she do?” I wonder aloud.
“You know who did this?” he asks.
Gazing up, I’m drawn to worry evident in his deep brown eyes; so dark, they’re muddied with concern and compassion. The glasses that I’ve only seen him wear when he’s working are perched high up on his nose. A strong jaw frames his tanned face, and his lips are parted, little puffs of breath seeping from his open mouth.
“Yeah, I know who did this. This trickery has my elderly grandma’s signature all over it.”
Dean leans back in his seat, taking in my statement. “Why would she do this? Doesn’t she understand how much trouble you could have gotten into if I hadn’t been paying attention to the numbers?”
“I’m sure she knows you’d be thorough in checking the paperwork. And I haven’t exactly figured out why she did this, but don’t worry, I will. Can we make the changes to this and clear up the mess?”
“Yeah, she actually wrote it in pencil so we could probably just erase it, but I’d prefer to reprint clean copies.”
Reaching into my bag, I pull out my laptop. I set it on the table and boot it up. While I’m waiting for it to start, Dean brings over a USB cord that connects to his printer. He watches as my home screen appears, displaying a picture of my five sisters and me at the beach this past summer.
“I was going to ask if they were your friends, but the resemblance is uncanny,” he says, a small smile plays on his lips.
“Yeah, five sisters.”
“No brothers?”
“Nope. I think Mom and Dad stopped trying after five and six were twin girls,” I reply with a chuckle. Pointing to the screen, I introduce him to my sisters. “Jaime, AJ, Meghan, Lexi, and Abby.”
“I’ve seen a few of them around town. I didn’t realize they were your sisters, though I probably should have noticed the resemblance.”
Absently, I touch the screen before clicking on the accounting program I use. It only takes a few moments before it’s up and I’m able to reprint my report. Dean grabs the papers from the printer and brings them over to me. I watch him work for a few moments, silently observing the way he pushes up his glasses and the way little wrinkles appear between his brows while he’s concentrating.
“I think we’re all set,” he says, dropping his pen on the tabletop.
“Excellent.” Quickly, I shut down my computer and pack it back in my bag.
My original Wednesday night plan was my favorite takeout of Chicago style hotdogs and curly fries, and maybe reruns on television. Now, my vivid imagination is conjuring up other things that I wouldn’t mind doing tonight. Namely Dean McIntire.
But that’s not going to happen. He’s the one who insisted we keep our relationship professional, and I wholly agree. I’m not looking for anything more than a few fun nights, and even though I’m not sure what he’s looking for, I’m sure it doesn’t match my thoughts.
“Thank you for stopping by and helping get this mess straightened out.”
“Oh, no problem. I’m glad it wasn’t something more serious than it was.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I’m not sure her motives for the added digits, so you’ll have to let me know if you find out.”
Throwing my computer bag over my shoulder, I reply, “You can bet your ass I’ll be asking her about it.”
My green eyes clash with his brown ones. An invisible electric current charges through the air. I can see his chest moving, drawing in deep breaths of air, while I’m wondering if I’m even breathing. He’s breathtaking in his crisp white dress shirt and dark blue tie. Black trousers fit to perfection around his trim waist and nice ass. I never really had a type, but if I did, he’d be it. A little bit nerdy mixed with a lot of masculine. He’s like gravity; my body is drawn to him.
He takes a step towards me, then another. Dean stands before me, close enough to touch. My mind is battling between what it should do and what it will do. I should thank him for his time and walk out the door. It’s what I’ve been saying I’ll do if I should ever hear from him again, but now confronted with the situation, I can’t seem to make myself say the words.
Instead, I let my bag slide down my arm and drop on the floor. I take a half step forward until I’m practically plastered to his front. My heart pounds in my chest as lust and desire take over all rational thought. Because no matter what I say or how hard I try to convince myself, I just want him.
And I’m going to have him again.
At least for tonight.