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His eyes move over the flowers in my hands. “Making a delivery?”
My brain barely stutters at his question. “Yup.”
He pushes a button, unlocking the door between me and the elevators then goes back to scrolling his phone.
Holy crap, that was easier than I was expecting.
“Thank you.” I hustle to push my way through before he changes his mind or my arms fall off. Both seem equally likely.
After a little juggling, I manage to press the button for the seventh floor. It’s my best guess for where Fynn’s unit will be. Based on the basic size of the footprint—and my assumptions about the kind of square footage a man of Fynn’s means would require—there are probably two units per floor. If I’m wrong, I’ll just try again.
Because I’m not giving up.
Tapping the toe of my pump against the tile, I wait for the world’s slowest elevator. Panic is setting in now that I’ve made it here. That’s how it’s been from the second I left Minnesota. Each step I take I’m almost positive I’m going to fail. Sure I’ll fall back to being the meek, agreeable woman who almost let her father barter her off for his own gain.
But I don’t want to be her anymore, and I will do whatever it takes to make sure they can’t drag me back.
Straightening my shoulders, I step into the elevator Fynn uses every day, ready to tell him he can take the flowers he sent me and cram them up his crapper.
Then somehow convince him to marry and deflower me in exchange for a reputation overhaul. I’m not exactly sure how I’ll get from point A to point B, but honestly I wasn’t sure how I’d get this far. And here I am. Taking control of things. Like I said I was going to.
The elevator moves faster than I expected based on the initial wait, and in only a few deep breaths the doors are opening with a slightly obnoxious squeak. Swallowing hard, I step out into a small hall with two doors, confirming my assumptions about the layout. One is marked #13 and the other is Fynn’s. I march up to it, sucking in one final breath before banging my knuckles against the smooth wood. The sound echoes in the empty hall almost as loud as my heart pounds in my ears.
Nerves bite my insides as the anticipation of seeing Fynn again sends a swarm of butterflies free, wreaking havoc on my already twisted stomach. I know I should be upset with him for leaving the way he did, but my lusty little brain keeps reminding me of all that happened before everything went to shit. The way he held me close. Teased me. Touched me.
Heat flushes my body and I tap my foot again, this time against the carpet of the hall. Impatience has me knocking again. If he’s not home I swear to God—
“Can I help you?”
I turn to find the door to #13 open, and a huge, virtual house of a man looking me up and down with a wary gaze. He’s got to be six-five and every one of those inches is muscle on muscle. His wavy dark hair hangs to his shoulders in damp waves and his full mouth is pressed into a frown. His presence is intimidating and threatens to send me running.
“Um.” I glance at the door in front of me, willing it to open.
Doesn’t happen.
So I have to collect what remains of my determination and turn back to Fynn’s neighbor, praying he doesn’t send me packing. I offer him the same smile that got me this address and access to the elevator, hoping for a third strike of luck. “I’m visiting Fynn.”
His dark eyes narrow. “You’re visiting Fynn? Fynn Hadaway?” He looks about half a second from calling that security guard who didn’t blink an eye at me. It makes me wonder if other women come here looking for Fynn. If they made it just as far as I have. Based on big boy’s reaction, it sure seems like it.
Probably without the same good intentions I have. If you call hoping to convince a man to marry and fuck you so you can’t be used, good intentions.
The thought of Fynn’s body over mine, ruining me in the best way possible has fire rushing through my veins. It’s a distraction I don’t need right now.
Clearing my throat, I attempt to refocus. “He sent me flowers.” I spin to fully face the man so he can get a good look at the evidence. “I wanted to thank him.”
“So you brought the flowers all the way here?” I can’t see his face with the arrangement in the way, but his skepticism is clear. This guy is calling my bluff. Hard.
I blow out a breath and my chin starts to quiver as all my false bravado bleeds away. My arms hurt. My feet hurt. And I’m so freaking close but still so goddamn far away. If Fynn would just open the flipping door and let me freaking help him, we could both get what we want. We could both be happy. I kick the door with the toe of my pump, feeling my handle on this situation slipping away.
“He’s not home.” The neighbor steps into view. “Went to visit his mom.”
Great. Just fucking great. All this damn work for nothing.
And now Fynn will know I was here. On his doorstep. Toting a giant flower arrangement.
The enormous man comes closer. “Why don’t I let you in so you can wait for him?”
I blink at him. He’s the third man to assist me on my quest to force Fynn to let me help him, so he can help me. First the man at the flower shop. Then the security guard.
