Page 18 of Billion Dollar Dispute

He chuckles down the line, which irritates me further, causing me to snap. “Focus, please.”

“Do you want her business or is this to show Dad you can do this?” he probes thoughtfully.

“I have zero desire to run an event business. A failing one, at that,” I assert as my frustration builds.

Jeremy hums, as if he’s thinking. Exiting the elevator, I walk through the lobby, and I tug at my black vest, smoothing my black jacket, before nodding at my waiting driver and slipping into the backseat. “Buy her flowers.”

I raise an eyebrow sceptically. “It’s not a fucking date.”

“Trust me. It’ll work,” he insists.

“Based on what?” I challenge, though a small part of me is entertaining the idea.

“I’ve been around longer…” Jeremy begins, but his voice trails off, hinting at past experiences.A time before Nova.

I let out an audible sigh, as I give in to the idea. “Flowers. Right.”

Pulling my phone away from my ear, I direct my driver to head to a florist before my surprise upcoming meeting with Ms. Recaredo later this afternoon.

Jeremy gives me a list of flower names. I’ve never heard of them. I thank him for the tip and let my brother get back to his day.

We pull up to the curb outside the florist’s... Bloom & Ivy. Noticing my apprehension to get out, my driver offers to buy them. He’d probably buy her a bouquet of roses, giving her the wrong idea. Nope, I need non-romantic flowers, so if I leave it up to other people, not only will it backfire, but she’ll eat me alive.

Climbing out, I enter the flower shop. This is my first time. I’ve never brought flowers for any of my flings, since my focus has always been on building a name for myself.

I’m just as good as my older brothers. I’m the youngest and I feel like I have to prove myself. My parents have never made me feel less than. These are just feelings I struggle with deep inside. Relationships are a distraction. One I can’t afford. My focus needs to stay on the reward my dad will give me at the end of this deal.

As I scan the mountain of flowers my brother suggested, I wonder how I’m supposed to choose the right one for her. My gaze settles on a cluster of purple flowers, their uniqueness drawing me in. I even find the name ranunculi to be odd. After staring at them for a long time, the sales assistant comes over to offer me a hand, and all I want to do is leave. I ask for a large bouquet. She asks what for, and usually, I hate unnecessary small talk, but these flowers need to work. So I explain it’s to impress a woman, but my tone drips sarcasm, leaving the sales assistant looking at me, bewildered.

Grateful to be leaving the shop, I take in the fresh, cool New York air, but at the same time, the buttery floral smell from the bouquet hits me at full force. They smell surprisingly good. Jemima’s thorny. Maybe I should’ve stuck with roses. But with no more time, I settle back into the car.

Ten minutes later, I run my hand through my hair, ready to come head-to-head with the new owner of Recaredo Events.

Stepping out of the car, I take in the glass building and its surroundings. Broadway is prime real estate for a new business. Setting my shoulders back, I stride in, holding the bouquet as if I do this all the time. I need to win her over.

I arrive at the large doors with frosted glass panels with her business name stuck on the front in bold letters. At least it’s not peeling, unlike the paint.

Not bothering to knock, I push the door open with a squeak and follow the soft voices. A familiar voice is mumbling into the phone. It’s Molly, her receptionist. I’ve spoken to her numerous times. She’s always apologizing, but she never puts me through to Jemima. She seems to be around my age, with blonde hair that falls in loose waves just past her shoulders. Pushing her tortoiseshell-framed glasses up her nose, she twists her chair to face me. I stand in front of her wearing a lop-sided grin. My signature one will be sure to win her over.

“Good afternoon.”

Her eyes drift over my outfit but don’t get very far. Her gaze pauses on the enormous bunch of flowers I’m holding.

“Well, good afternoon, Mr...?”

“Harvey Lincoln.”

Her eyes almost bulge out of their sockets before glancing over her shoulder in the direction of another doorway. My guess… Jemima’s office.

“You don’t have an appointment,” she murmurs.

My mouth tugs up a little more. “I don’t need one, do I?” I look around the quiet, empty office space. “Good thing it’s not very busy.”

Her eyes drop to the flowers again. “I’ve never seen flowers like these before.”

I nod, holding back a chuckle when her lips part. Maybe Jeremy is right.

“Ranunculi,” I answer her silent question.