I offered an easy smile. “I cut those flowers myself, picked the best stock from our Gigi mums, just like you asked.”

“Then why were they the wrong color? Do you have any idea the tantrum Johanna Berkshire threw over those flowers? She tried to get me fired.”

A chuckle through my nose. “Sounds like she needs to get some real problems.”

She eyed me as she drew a breath to fuel her furnace. “For years, my sister has begged me to bring Longbourne business, and I refused for exactly this reason. If it wasn’t for all the press you’ve gotten, I never would have put my ass on the line. But if I say coral, I expect coral. Not pink. Not fuchsia. Not goddamn watermelon or flamingo or anything but coral.”

“Sorry, Ms. Parker,” I answered lazily. “Won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t.”

“How about we issue the Berkshires a partial refund for the trouble?”

Suspicion sparked in her gaze. “I’m sure that would help.”

“Then consider it done.”

Those cool eyes narrowed even more, but she changed the subject. “I need someone to come to a venue in Midtown to measure for arbors and garlands. They’ve requested an archway, and one of you needs to come take the measurements.”

Dad cast me a glance that said not it. The way Tess glared at the back of Lila’s head, I figured she’d just as soon claw Lila in the back with a hand rake than help her measure anything. Lila’s sister, Ivy—another florist at Longbourne—was entirely too pregnant to measure anything but her uterus, and Wendy, our newest addition, just wasn’t experienced enough.

My brother Luke might have done it, but something told me I wanted to be the one to handle Lila Parker.

“Sure. When and where?”

“Tomorrow, if you can manage it. I can meet you at three, Forty-Ninth and Fifth. I’m going to need an archway long enough for the wedding party to stand inside, and the arbor will need a special design built in the shape of a triangle. It’s at the—” She paused, lips flattening. “Shouldn’t you be taking notes?”

I tapped my temple. “Got it all right here.”

Color rose in her cheeks as she drew a slow breath through her nose. “I really think you should write it down.”

“What, don’t trust me?”

“I don’t know what instills more faith—that you can’t tell the difference between shades of pink or that your shirt says Can You Dig It? on the front.”

I glanced down at my chest, flicking at a streak of dirt like I gave a shit what she thought. “Listen, Priss. I’ll be where you say, when you say, ready and at your service.”