Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“Want me to add a sandwich for you when I order?” Zara calls out. “I’ve pretty much got him over the barrel with bike intel. He loves those custom bikes almost as much as he loves Trudy.”
There’s a story there, but I don’t want to pry. Except, I do want to pry. “Why’s that?” I ask casually as I tie on my apron.
“He thinks it’s what makes the shop stand out. He wasn’t sure if he should get into them, though, since it’s a lot of work and time, but I think someone gave him the kick in the pants a year ago and he’s been loving it ever since. Good thing. His bikes and his dog are all he needs,” she says, then dips behind the counter to hoist up another box.
Yup. His wheels and his wags.
That’s crystal clear.
“Thanks for the lunch offer, Zara. But I brought a salad,” I say, then I put my phone on silent.
For the next eight hours, I’ll focus on the job I have. Tonight at my apartment, I’ll pour all my attention into the jobs I want.
Men? Forget about them for now.
Work comes before coming.
All morning, I am lasered in on flowers and only flowers. Then, on the regal-looking blonde who strides into the shop, hair coiffed perfectly in her signature French twist.
“Blanche!” I call out, even though she’s heading straight for me.
I’m surprised at how excited I am to see my former boss. But I guess if you ever have to be fired, Blanche is the one you want firing you.
“Hi, Veronica,” she says warmly when she reaches the counter. One glance and I can tell there’s something different about her. I’m trying to put my finger on it, but there’s a looseness in her limbs, a comfort in her body.
Ohhh.
She’s getting some on the reg. Good for her. I’m tempted to say Life is better with Os, isn’t it?
Instead, I say, “So good to see you, Blanche.”
I’m also chomping at the bit to ask for all the tea. Like . . . has anyone breathed my name as the perpetrator, because I haven’t caught so much as a whiff of trouble online or around my column about my other identity? And please tell me it’s safe to swim in the publishing waters soon?
But best to ease into that too.
“I’m great, and I might be in the market for flowers. Any idea where I can get some?” she asks playfully, gesturing to the cases upon cases of gorgeous blooms we have.
“Gee, I have no idea. But thanks for coming to Bikes and Blooms. What are you looking for?”
“I need about a dozen bouquets. I’m hosting a big brunch this weekend for my She Lifts group. It’s for female executives in various industries who mentor other women,” she says.
“Ooh, that sounds like a great group.”
“It is. I’d be happy to connect you if you’d like,” she says.
I blink, surprised. I thought she’d try to distance herself from me. But then, that’s a matchstick reaction. And she’s never shown any indication that I’m persona non grata.
“Thanks. I’m all for networking,” I say, a perfect lead-in to asking for details. But I also want to do my actual job. “Let me help you with the flowers first. What would you like? Or can I recommend some?”
She shoots me a we’ve-got-a-secret smile. “I do love your recommendations. As for flowers, what about snapdragons? They’re so pretty.”
“I love snapdragons, but they aren’t a great summer flower. Maybe we could do some arrangements of dahlias and hydrangeas? They love the heat.”
“Mmm. I do too,” she says, purring. My, my, Blanche is like a whole new woman. Her skin is glowing too. I should market sex toys with its own day. Like Every Day. National Make Your Skin Glow Every Damn Day.
After I enter the details about the flowers and the delivery into the computer, I segue back to publishing. “So, did Darius get the promotion? He was a decent editor,” I say, though the cloying way he spoke to me the day I was fired rankles me still.
Blanche scoffs. “Oh no, honey. He wasn’t right for that job.”
My lips twitch but I rein in a grin. “Really?”
“Truly,” she confirms. “You were the best editor I’ve ever worked with. We haven’t filled the position yet since Darius left.”
My ears prick. “Where did he go?”
She waves a hand airily. “He went to Dunbar Loraine and took a job there working in non-fiction.”
I shudder. “I love all books, but I’m a fiction gal.”
“Same here,” she says conspiratorially. Then she scans the store, and with the coast evidently clear, she leans in. “And I wanted you to know, everyone seems to have moved on from the incident. No one’s talking about it, or you.” She taps the counter. “Knock on wood.”
My shoulders relax, and I let out a long exhale. “Do you think I can get a job in publishing again?”