Dirty Playboy - Alex Wolf Page 0,15

falling out over something petty, which apparently has happened here at the firm, more than once.

I walk back toward my cube, feeling pretty good about my new assignment. Just as I stroll around to my desk, I go stiff, totally frozen on the spot.

What. The. Heck.

There’s a giant bouquet of orchids sitting right where my keyboard should be. It’s a gorgeous arrangement. Orchids are my favorite flower. My first response is a spiked heartrate and healthy shot of adrenaline that floods my veins. Then, reality sets in, and I realize what this means. Rick came back. He’s the only person on earth who would leave flowers on my desk. How the heck did he get them that fast?

I want to be mad. I want to march them over and toss them in his trash can right in front of him, and tell him to stop obsessing over me, tell him to be himself. I would actually enjoy getting to know him. Not this pretend Christian good-guy he morphs into every time I walk around the corner. That’s the problem I’ve noticed when people know you’re religious. They change around you. They think you’re constantly judging them or something.

I’m just a normal person who believes in God and volunteers at her church. If people want to hear about my beliefs, I tell them, but I don’t go around trying to convert everyone. I want to be treated the same as everyone else. I make mistakes. Sometimes I do things I’m not supposed to. I try not to, but I’m not perfect.

I walk up to the flowers and can’t stop myself from bringing them up to my nose and sniffing them. They look extremely fresh, like he had them on standby in the office refrigerator. I shouldn’t give them any attention at all, because knowing Rick, he’s probably hiding somewhere watching me. Or he has some hidden video camera somewhere. He’s a private investigator after all. How creepy would that be if he has the building bugged? I try not to think about it, because it’s too much.

When I open my eyes after smelling the flowers, I notice a card underneath where they were on my desk. Carefully, I set the bouquet on the other side of my cubicle next to my file tray, and I pick it up.

It says my name and nothing else on the envelope. I glance around the office to verify nobody is watching. I even stare back into the shadows across the bullpen.

The coast is clear.

My heart speeds up in my chest, and my stomach does backflips as I slide my finger through to open it. When I pull it out, it’s not really a card. Just a thick piece of white card stock. No design or border on it—nothing.

I turn it over slowly and every muscle in my body tightens at once and my breath hitches.

Tonight.

6 p.m.

It’s happening.

I flip the card over a few more times to make sure there’s nothing else on it. Part of me wants to laugh, because there’s no way I’m going on this date. That’s the logical side of my brain talking. The other part, the very human part, with physical desires and needs is screaming I am absolutely going on this date.

I just don’t understand. It will never work between us. We are night and day different. I will never give him what he wants or needs, and he would never really be what I want or need. It would be silly to even try.

But I look over at the flowers, and then back at the card. I’ve never had anyone get so frustrated that they demand a date with me. I can’t even remember the last time anyone asked me on a proper date.

I shove the card in the desk and try to get back to work, but something is happening in my body. Something totally foreign. And I can’t decide if I love it or hate it.

I need to reject him, but I think he might be getting to me. I don’t know how, but it’s happening.

Rick Lawrence

I don’t know if I’ve ever been this nervous in my life, but I don’t give a shit. This is happening whether she wants it to or not. Sick of these little games where she acts all wishy washy. I want to bash my horn at the line of lights in front of me during rush hour, but it won’t do any good. I left with plenty of time, but I