Mad About You (4 page)

“Let me know how that goes for you,” she said, her tone dripping in skepticism.

“You don’t think I’m going to be successful,” he stated.

“It depends. Are you going to invite her out to dinner a couple times before you pull out the corset?”

He made a face. “My Josephine Belle wouldn’t appreciate that. She’s a direct woman.”

“You’ve got that part right,” Nicole conceded. “But there are two flaws with your declaration.”

“What?”

“That any woman wouldn’t be freaked out by having some guy she doesn’t know giving her lingerie, and that she’s yours.”

“She’s not mine yet, but she will be.”

“And the part about her being freaked out?”

“I’m giving her lingerie, not herpes.”

Nicole didn’t look convinced. “To some women, it’d be the same thing.”

“Josephine Belle isn’t the usual woman.” He grinned and kissed his friend’s cheek. He waved over his shoulder as he started to leave. “I’ve got high hopes. Wait and see.”

Chapter Six

Julie heard the door to her flower shop ring. “Be right out,” she shouted from the back storeroom, juggling the bunches of Leonida roses she needed to prep for Mr. Raskin’s weekly order to his wife. He sent her two dozen of the rust-tipped ivory roses every Monday since before Julie had started working in the flower shop as a teenager. It touched even Julie’s sarcastic heart.

Was Scott a flower sender? She frowned as she kicked the refrigerator door shut. She had plenty of flowers—she didn’t need more. All of those romantic trappings were lost on her. Sure, she encouraged other people to indulge in them—it was good for business—but she didn’t believe in them for herself.

She was seeing him tonight.

A shiver of anticipation ran through her. She didn’t need or want any props—she just wanted him.

Shifting the flowers in her arms, she hurried out onto the floor. “Sorry about tha—”

She stopped suddenly, stunned.

Dr. Hyacinth Gardner looked up, just as startled, from the front counter—the front counter where Julie had the San Francisco Flower Competition entry form.

“What the hell?” Glaring, Julie hurried forward and used the roses to cover up the papers. Her design plans weren’t laid out—she’d only been filling out the form—but no way was she taking a chance.

“Hello, Julie.” Hyacinth hitched her purse higher on her shoulder and gave her a sticky sweet smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”

“I
was
doing great.” She crossed her arms. “Now I’m suddenly feeling sick to my stomach.”

“I probably have something in my purse to help that.”

“Like a poison apple?”

Hyacinth shook her head and tried to look mournful. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve your enmity, but I’d like to bury the hatchet.”

“I’m sure you would.” Right in her back. Julie narrowed her eyes. “Are you done? Because I actually work for a living.”

The woman sighed, like she was so misunderstood. She waved to the counter. “The offer still stands. If you need help with your design, let me know. You know I studied design in college. And since I’ve won so many years in a row, it’s safe to say I’m dialed in to what the judges like.”

Or that she’s sleeping with them all. Julie shook her head. “I’ll do this on my own.”

Hyacinth shrugged. “If you change your mind, let me know. Good luck, Julie.”

She watched until the woman was out the door, to make sure she actually left. Then she looked down at the counter. Maybe she should disinfect.

The door jingled open again. Her head snapped up, ready to tell Hyacinth to get out. But it was Sophie.

“As promised,” Sophie announced, entering the flower shop like it was a scene and she was the leading lady.

For the first time, Julie noticed the piles of clothes in her arms. “Are you headed to make a donation at Goodwill?”

“These are outfit choices for your date tonight. We’re going to play dress-me-up-Julie.” She plopped them down on the worktable and then hopped up on the counter. “Take your clothes off.”

Julie rolled her eyes as she picked up the roses for Mrs. Raskin. “If I had a dollar for every time someone walked into my shop and ordered me to strip.”

“Come on.” Sophie flashed her famous pout. “Are you going to deny me this pleasure? Close up the shop. I brought my makeup. We’ll do a makeover.”

“
No
.” She shook her head as she stuck the roses in a bucket of water. “No way. I’m not letting you anywhere near my face. He’s going out with me, not a clown.”

Sophie wilted like a week-old tulip.

“Fine. I’ll wear one of the outfits you brought, but I draw the line there.” It wasn’t going to matter what she wore. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to stay clothed long—if she were lucky. Not that she was going to tell Sophie that.

The pout faded instantly, and Sophie shrugged. “Baby steps, I guess. Where are you guys going?”

Julie shrugged, not wanting to admit he was coming over. “I don’t know.”

Sophie crossed her arms and gave her the imperious, queen of the world look she was so good at. “I know you’re a private person and not used to sharing with others, but you’re going to have to get over that, because I’m going to sit on you until you tell me all about your date with this guy. You know that, right?”

“You’re insane. You know that, right?”

“Mad as a hatter. Keep me apprised.” Sophie slipped off the counter and grabbed her in a tight hug. Julie pretended to flail for a moment before she gave in. Sophie gave the best hugs. But out loud, she said, “You do this just to harass me.”

“Of course I do.” Sophie flashed her world-famous smile as she let go. She slid her sunglasses on her face.

As she sashayed out of the shop, another woman walked in.

Laurel Heights was affluent. Part of the success of Back to the Fuchsia was its location. She’d lucked into that. She’d started working there as a teenager, when she’d stumbled upon the flower shop and fallen in love with the blooms. Because she’d had no money for college, she’d started working there full-time after high school. It’d been a no-brainer to buy the shop when the previous owner had decided to retire.

Laurel Heights was a far cry from the low-income neighborhood in San Leandro, where she’d grown up. Still, Julie had been there so long she was used to affluent-looking women walking into her shop.

But this woman was a cut above them all. She had a posh style that reeked breeding and luxury beyond the average Laurel Heights patron. Not a strand of her ash blond hair was out of place, and she had the flawless body of someone who paid to have it maintained. Julie checked to see if the woman was leaving a breadcrumb trail of hundreds in her wake.

When the lady took her sunglasses off, Julie saw that she was older than she’d expected. Her mother’s age, though her mother had years of hard work lining her skin.

“Excuse me,” the rich woman said in a soft, cultured voice. “I’d like to speak to Julie Miller.”

“I’m Julie.” It never boded well when they used your full name. She wiped her hands and stepped forward. “I own this shop.”

The woman looked around, obviously evaluating. Then she nodded like she was satisfied. She turned to Julie, determination in her eyes. “My name is Elise Carrington-Wright.”

Julie stilled, her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to ask if she was the socialite Elise Carrington-Wright, who sat on the judges’ panel for the San Francisco Flower Competition, but she knew she didn’t need to ask. There could only be one Elise Carrington-Wright, and this lady was obviously it.

She frowned. “I don’t understand why you’re here in my shop. You use Nancy Brighton typically.”

The woman eyed her shrewdly. “You know that?”

Julie shrugged. “It’s my business to know who’s interested in flowers.”

“Yet you haven’t tried to woo me away from Nancy.”

“I don’t poach from other florists.” Julie pursed her lips to keep from adding that she’d make an exception for Hyacinth Gardner.

The woman nodded, her expression set. “I knew you had to be good for my son to use your shop.”

“Your son?”

“Prescott Carrington-Wright III,” the woman replied, pride evident in her voice.

She didn’t recall ever sending out flowers for the son, but maybe his assistant ordered them. It wasn’t uncommon, and he sounded arrogant enough not to handle details like that himself.

Whatever. However this woman had found her, Julie wasn’t going to question it. “What can I do for you?”

“My daughter is getting married in three weeks, and I’ve decided not to use Nancy.”

Julie raised her brows. “That means either you’re high maintenance or that Nancy slacked on the job.”

The woman gaped at her for a moment before she laughed a merry tinkle of amusement. “You don’t mince words. No wonder my son likes your work. If he and Nancy are to be trusted, I’m definitely high maintenance. Nancy quit because we weren’t seeing eye-to-eye on the arrangements. I like to think
she
was being difficult. I want what I want, and she wasn’t listening to me. I’d like to hire you to do the job, if you think you can.”

“There’s no question about whether I can do it, and better than anyone.” Julie shrugged. “When’s the wedding?”

“In three weeks, on June 15th. I also need flowers for the bridal shower and rehearsal dinner. The bridal shower is in a week, and the rehearsal dinner is three days before the wedding.”

It’d be a nice chunk of change. Not that Julie needed it—she lived modestly and the flower shop made a decent income. But having the Carrington-Wright wedding in her portfolio would be great.

The only thing was that the wedding fell on the day after the flower competition. Nothing was standing in the way of her winning this year—not even a high-profile wedding. Julia pursed her lips as she considered it. But if she did a couple things ahead of time and turned down other big orders, she could manage all of it.

She faced the socialite. “I should let you know that I’m entering the San Francisco Flower Competition.”

Mrs. Carrington-Wright perked up. “Is that so? If you do the wedding, I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you.”

“
No.
” Julie shook her head vehemently. “That’s exactly what I don’t want.”

The woman frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I want to win on my own merit, not because I worked the system.” She didn’t want there to be any question why she won: because of her talent. When Hyacinth saw her holding up the trophy, Julie wanted the other women to be clear that Julie was the best. “So I don’t want favors.”

“You’re so much like Prescott. Yet another reason he must patronize you.” The socialite held her hand out. “Make me happy with Alexis’s wedding and you can have whatever you want.”

“You’re on.” Julie took it and sealed the deal.

Chapter Seven

Giving up on any productivity, Scott gave his assistant the afternoon off and decided to go for a run, to burn off some of his excess energy before his date with Julie.

When he arrived at the family house, there were several vehicles in the circular drive. Figuring it was wedding hoopla, he pulled around to the back and slipped in from the kitchen entrance. With any luck he could avoid all of it.

Celeste, their cook, looked up as he walked through. He held a finger to his lips and winked at her. Grinning, she shook her head and went back to chopping carrots.

Running up the back stairs to his room, he changed into shorts, a T-shirt, and his favorite running shoes. Strapping his phone to his arm, he snuck out the same way he’d come in.

He was doing his pre-run stretches on a patch of lawn in the back yard when he heard the bushes on the edge of the property rustle. He stopped and looked as a long, jean-clad leg hitched over the side. Before he could say a word, a female form dropped into his yard with a loud “
Oof.
”

A female form he recognized. “Hello, KT,” he said.

She pushed the long cascade of hair from her eyes and glared at him. “Don’t say a frickin’ word.”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t about to.”

Grumbling, she stood up and brushed off her butt. “But you were thinking it.”

“I know better.” When she gave him the stink eye, he shrugged. “I have a sister.”

“Humph.” Frowning, she looked around, as if waiting for guards to come haul her away.

“Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“Good guess, Sherlock. My mom is after me.”

Her mom was Lara, one half of the legendary rock duo, Anson and Lara. It was bad enough having super-rich socialite parents like his—he couldn’t imagine growing up as the eldest daughter of a power couple like Anson and Lara. Her parents weren’t just world famous, they were a force. It wasn’t any wonder she tended to hide in the shadows, even more so because music was her passion. Her sister Bijou, also a performer, was much more outgoing.

“What did you do?” he asked, stretching his quads.

“Nothing, which is why she’s after me.” He must have looked confused, because she sighed and said, “She invited some dude over to meet me. Like, as a date.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “She’s being a mom.”

“Exactly.” She tugged down her jacket and stuck her hands in the pockets. “Well, I don’t want to keep you from your run. I’m going to find a dark hole to hide in for the next twenty years until she decides that I’m a lost cause and gives up trying to find me a mate.”

“I hate to tell you this”—he leaned in—”but they never give up.”

“Damn it,” she said with feeling. “I was afraid of that. Can I take refuge in my usual spot?”

He smiled. “Do you think she’ll give up any time soon, or will I have to keep you for a while?”

“Is that an option?” KT looked at him hopefully.

Laughing, he squeezed her arm. “Celeste is in the kitchen.”

KT perked up. “I love Celeste.”

“You love her cookies.” He swiped his phone to turn his music on and turned on his Bluetooth earphones. “You sure you don’t want to go for a run with me?”

She looked at him, horrified. “And let Celeste down? No, thank you.”