“How out there?”
“Way out there! It’s kind of a long shot. I...I don’t know.”
“Spit it out.”
“Tell you what, you go and talk to Laura and see if you can convince her to date you again. Don’t bring me up, don’t talk about us. Don’t talk about our...you know...relationship.”
“Our threesome.” The men spoke in unison.
“Okay,” Dylan said “Fair enough.”
“Just get the lines of communication open and get her to have a date with you. Not tonight. Tomorrow night.”
Dylan scrunched his face up. “Why?”
Mike smiled “Because I have a plan.”
The idea hit Dylan as the elevator dinged and the doors opened on the thirty-second floor of Stohlman Industries. He was holding a giant vase filled with eighteen red and pink roses sprinkled with baby’s breath and was carrying a double latte with vanilla as well. He could pretend to be the deliveryman—that’s how he’d get access to her.
The receptionist made it easy. “Hey there,” he said, grinning madly. “I’m looking for Laura.” Pretending to fumble with the card to read her name, he shot the woman his conspirator’s grin. She smiled back, leaning forward on her desk.
“Last name?” He paused. Let his smile deepen enough for the dimples to show. Flirting with receptionists was one of his finest arts; helped him with fire investigations. As her face changed from all business to wishful pleasure, Dylan knew that he was about to get access to Laura in two seconds.
“Michaels.”
Her eyes widened. Somewhere in her twenties, she was exactly the kind of woman people assumed were his type. Long, silky brown hair. Big eyes. Great cheekbones. A v-neck top that showed everything but her belly button. If he wanted to, he could take her out for lunch and have a nooner with her in her car. Or a spare office.
Fucking a receptionist, though, wasn’t part of the plan. It also wasn’t part of Dylan’s heart. Dead to the idea, he only had room for Laura right now. The receptionist perked up, tilting her head and brushing her hair forward, over her clavicle. “Oh, yeah, Laura! What beautiful flowers. I’m Debbie.”
He nodded. “Dylan.” Her eyebrows arched as she looked him up and down, appraising him like a piece of meat. Oh, boy. Being hit on like this didn’t surprise him.
Having zero internal response did.
“Yeah, I need to deliver them. You know the drill.” He leaned on the desk, peering into her eyes. Play it up, man, if it could get him what he wanted. “Somebody must really appreciate her.” He eyed the flowers; the spread was gorgeous. The receptionist’s could be, too, and from her body language it was clear he could dabble in it at his discretion. “So, can you tell me where her office is?”
“Oh, oh no, you can just leave those here. She’s...I don’t want to disturb her right now.” A look of fake sympathy washed over her face as she created a reason to wave him closer. He obliged, his nose inches from her as she whispered, “She...she actually...well, I’m kind of glad to see the flowers here because she seemed a little upset this morning and we managed to pry it out of her that she was having some man problems.”
“Oh, gotcha.” He ran a hand through his thick hair, drawing attention to his face, posing just a little. One of his model poses that he knew would show off his biceps. Debbie practically ate him with her eyes. “Oh, man, I hate guys like that.” Dylan shook his head. “Just, you know...it makes me want to be a better man. Flowers don’t solve everything. You can’t be a dick and expect a few roses to fix it all.”
Ding. That seemed to get her, and now all he had to do was go in for the kill. “You know, if she’s had that rough a time, I think it would be better if I just brought these in and delivered them myself and that way, you know, give her a little extra perk up to a crappy day.”
He wasn’t even making any sense at this point, but it didn’t matter; he could have been reciting the Pledge of Allegiance for all Debbie the Receptionist seemed to care. She was practically drooling. “Yeah, sure. Room 311,” she said, pointing vaguely down a hallway.
“Thanks so much, Hon,” he answered. Following her directions, knowing that if he turned back around her eyeballs would be glued to his ass, he sought out room 311. Down a corridor, past the coffee machine, past the bathroom, and then...whoa! Some tiny little interior office. Poor Laura didn’t even have a window. Maybe being a business analyst wasn’t as glamorous as he’d thought. He knocked softly.
“Just a minute,” shouted the voice from the other side. Yup, that was her. This was going to be one wild surprise. Steeling himself, he arranged the latte in one hand and the flowers in the other, trying to decide whether to smile or not. Too cheesy? When she opened the door, her expression was not quite what he expected. He thought he might see surprise. He thought he might even see fear.