The Hunter(12)

Within seconds, the doors opened out into the main entrance lobby. I was pleased to see that it was almost deserted; I didn’t particularly want this conversation to be overhead. I was a grown woman of 25, not a teenager, for goodness sake. Cursing Angel under my breath, I made my way over to the guard’s station.



“Um, hi,” I said, suddenly feeling shy. “I have had some flowers delivered to my office. Did you happen to notice the name of the florist that delivered them?”



“Hello, Miss Prince,” he said as he furrowed his brow. “I don’t know anything about a floral delivery.”



Oh well, it was a long shot anyway. Why should he notice the name of the florist? He had far more important things to do, I was sure.



“When was this?” he asked, looking down at his desk. “I can’t see a record of any deliveries for you or visitors for that matter”.



“Um, yesterday afternoon or early this morning,” I replied, surprised to realize that all deliveries and visitors to the building were logged in a large leather bound book, which the guard was studying intently.



“Then they aren’t from someone outside the building. Nothing and nobody comes in here without being recorded.” he said with conviction, and I thought I caught a slightly amused expression on his face before his professional mask returned.



I thanked him for his assistance and then bolted back to my office. My cheeks were as pink as the flowers. Predictably, the phone was ringing. I picked up the handset and before I could even speak, Angel’s voice squeaked into my ear, “Well?”



“It is a total mystery. Apparently, all visitors and deliveries to the building are logged without fail and there is nothing in the log at all.” I told her. “And thanks to your genius idea, I am sure the guard now thinks that I am sending myself flowers!”



Angel giggled, “Of course he doesn’t. Why would you think that?”



“Because he said, and I quote ‘They aren’t from someone outside the building’,” I hissed at her.



“Oh come on, that doesn’t mean that he thinks that you sent them to yourself,” she said, and I knew that she was rolling her eyes.



“You didn’t see the amusement on his face when he said it! I could have died!” I grumbled.



“You know what this means, don’t you?” Angel said suddenly.



“Yes, it means that you aren’t the best friend in the world and you’re not a genius? No shit, Sherlock.” I said sarcastically but she didn’t appear to hear me.



“It means that they were sent from someone inside the building!” she exclaimed in delight. “Now who have you been chatting up while you are on your man ban?”



I pushed the dark thought from my mind before it could settle and replied, indignantly, “Nobody. I have only met a few people so far. In fact, apart from my meeting yesterday, the only person I speak to is the guard.”



Angel’s squeal forced me to hold the handset away from my ear before my eardrum burst. “No wonder the guard was amused when you asked him! I bet they are from him. Either that or you really do have a secret admirer. Bring the bouquet home tonight - I can‘t wait to see it.”



I pushed the image of midnight blue eyes from my mind before it could fully form. “I think it is more likely that they were delivered to the wrong office,” I said finally. “Now, if you will excuse me, some of us need to earn a living.”



I busied myself with inspecting samples that I had ordered before beginning to draw up designs for my office. In the rush to take up the lease before someone else took it, I hadn’t had time to make any changes to my office. I knew that my office needed to showcase my design skills so I engrossed myself in that. I was surprised to hear my stomach rumble and even more surprised when I realized that I had worked straight through lunch. It was too late for lunch now, I decided. I may as well go home and start dinner. I was idly wondering what to cook when I lifted up the bouquet to take it home. Anything to shut up Angel. My eyes widened when I noticed a small envelope that had been lying underneath the bouquet. My heart lurched and I almost dropped the flowers when I read the neat, bold handwriting. It was addressed to Isobella.



Nobody called me that, not since … I never used my full given name, it was always Issy. The only references to that name were on my birth certificate, driver’s license and passport.



I put down the bouquet and took a deep breath. As I slowly expelled the air from my lungs, I reached forward and picked up the envelope. With shaking hands, I opened it and withdrew the card. It read … Congratulations Isobella. P.S. I enjoyed watching your secret celebration.