The Wrong Right Man - Aurora Rose Reynolds Page 0,16

just beyond the kitchen.

“Do you want to eat dinner with me tonight before my show? I could get Chinese and bring it to you.” My stomach turns as I shove my sheets into the washer.

“I have some work I need to do before Monday.” It’s not a lie. One of the products I will be selling Monday on air is making me nervous, since it’s a product that hasn’t been on the market long and how much I sell could determine if I get more well-known brands. “How about breakfast tomorrow?”

“Breakfast?” he asks like he’s never heard of it before as I dump detergent into the machine.

I smile, knowing he is never up before noon after a show. “Okay, brunch—a late brunch.”

“All right,” he gives in, and I hear him let out a breath. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I close the lid on the washer, listening to it start. “I’m sure. Call me when you’re up tomorrow, and let me know where you want to meet.”

“All right, love you.”

I smile at that and head to the kitchen, seeing the cup of coffee there. “Love you too.” I hang up then dump what’s left in the cup in the sink, grabbing a spoon from the drawer and my ice cream from the freezer. I take it with me to the couch and look over the back to the city just outside the window as I flip off the top. I scoop out one bite after another, letting the cold chocolate melt against my tongue and knowing it’s time for me to give up on the idea of the white picket fence and Mr. Right.

Chapter 4

Dakota

AN ANNOYING RINGING wakes me, and I fumble for my phone on my side table and force one eye open, trying to figure out how to shut it off. When I see the screen is black and realize the ringing isn’t coming from my cell, I groan then roll out of bed. I stumble to the kitchen and press the green light that is flashing on the wall near the door, and my voice comes out raspy as I say, “Hello.”

“Ms. Newton, are you available to receive a delivery?” a man asks, and I frown, glancing at the clock. A delivery at ten till eight on a Sunday?

“Can I ask what it is?”

“Flowers.” He pauses then adds, “Lots of flowers.”

Braxton. I close my eyes and sigh. “I’m available.”

“We’ll be right up.” The line goes dead.

Figuring I have a few minutes, I head for my closet and change into a pair of high-waisted leggings and a sports bra then grab a hoodie. I put it on before grabbing my running shoes. Just as I finish tying them, there is a knock on the door, and as soon as I pull it open, my eyes widen.

There’s not just one person carrying a single bouquet of roses, but six men and women, each holding two large vases. “Where should we put these?” the older man in front of the group asks.

“I guess anywhere you can find a free space.” I step back out of his way and wave my hand out to encompass the room.

“Someone must really like you.” One of the girls smiles as she walks past me, heading into the living room, since the kitchen island and counters have already been covered. I want to tell her she’s wrong, but I keep my mouth shut, mumbling a quiet “thank you” as they start to leave.

Once they’re gone, I close the door then lean back against it, taking in the multitude of different-colored roses now littering every free surface in my apartment. A card attached around one of the vases on the counter catches my attention, so I walk toward it and slowly detach it from the ribbon holding it secure. The small white card fits in the palm of my hand and is light as a feather, but it still feels like it weighs hundreds of pounds as I read the rough writing scrawled across the surface.

You were mine.

You’ll be mine again. BA

I bite my lip and look around the room, unsure how to feel. Part of me is elated that Braxton didn’t forget me the minute he left; another part of me is holding on to the anger of his deception. Needing to clear my head and figuring some fresh air might do me some good, I grab my key pass and leave my apartment, heading to the elevator and taking it down to the first floor.