She reads the front of the card out loud. “Make it stop.”

Holy shit.

She stares at it for a moment, repeating the phrase. “Make it stop? What in the hell does that even mean?” she asks.

I can’t take it another second. I grab the card from her and flip it over. She leans over and reads the back of it with me.

“He is such an idiot,” she says with a laugh. “He wrote the address to our floral shop on the back.” She takes the card out of my hands.

Wow.

Ryle just bought me flowers. Not just any flower. He bought me a bouquet of lilies.

Allysa picks up her phone. “I’ll text him and tell him he screwed up.” She shoots him a text and then laughs as she stares at the flowers. “How can a neurosurgeon be such an idiot?”

I can’t stop grinning. I’m relieved she’s staring at the flowers and not at me or she may put two and two together. “I’ll keep them in my office until we figure out where he intended for them to go.” I scoop up the vase and whisk away my flowers.

Chapter Seven

“Stop fidgeting,” Devin says.

“I’m not fidgeting.”

He loops his arm through mine as he walks me toward the elevator. “Yes, you are. And if you pull that top up over your cleavage one more time, it’ll defeat the whole purpose of your little black dress.” He grabs my top and yanks it back down, and then proceeds to reach inside to adjust my bra.

“Devin!” I slap his hand away and he laughs.

“Relax, Lily. I’ve touched way better boobs than yours and I’m still gay.”

“Yeah, but I bet those boobs were attached to people you probably hang out with more than once every six months.”

Devin laughs. “True, but that’s half your fault. You’re the one who left us high and dry to play with flowers.”

Devin was one of my favorite people at the marketing firm I worked at, but we weren’t close enough to where we actively became friends outside of work. He stopped by the floral shop this afternoon and Allysa took to him almost immediately. She begged him to come to the party with me and since I didn’t really want to show up alone, I ended up begging him to come, too.

I smooth my hands over my hair and try to catch a glimpse of my reflection in the elevator walls.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asks.

“I’m not nervous. I just hate showing up to places where I don’t know anyone.”

Devin smirks knowingly and then says, “What’s his name?”

I release a pent-up breath. Am I that transparent? “Ryle. He’s a neurosurgeon. And he wants to have sex with me really, really bad.”

“How do you know he wants to have sex with you?”

“Because he literally got down on his knees and said, ‘Please, Lily. Please have sex with me.’ ”