Page 9 of The Florist and Her Alphas

She looks at each of us in turn. When her eyes land on August, her gaze softens a little before hardening again when she turns to me.

“I came here to tell you that I’m not interested in your deal and that you need to back off…” she starts to say as I push the folder across the table.

“Just take a look,” I say in a steady voice. “It’s the agreement for you to relinquish any and all rights to Marsh Florals, in exchange for a one-time relocation buyout of seventy-five thousand dollars. The terms are clear. The timeline is ninety days.”

She looks at the folder. Doesn’t open it.

“No,” she says.

The word sits between us. Small. Clear. Final.

“Why?”

“No way,” she says. Her voice is still soft, but there’s steel underneath it now, something that makes my skin prickle. “I’m not selling my shop. I worked really hard on it. It’s the only thing I have in this world.”

I’ve heard this before.

A hundred times, from a hundred different people in a hundred different properties. I look at her hands. Still shaking. Still folded on the table like she’s holding herself together by force.

“Liana,” I say, and I reach across the table and place my hand over hers.

Her skin is warm and soft in a way that makes my fingers want to curl around hers. There’s a scent coming off her that isn’t bakery bread or coffee. Her scent underneath smells floral and faintly sweet. Rose, maybe. Something that makes the alpha in me go quiet and alert at the same time.

“Nothing you say will convince me.”

“I understand it’s hard,” I say, my voice dropping lower and gentler. I’ve been too hard on her. “But sometimes life gives you something better than what you’re holding onto. If you don’t sign, the building will be mine anyway in ninety days. The lease expires. The paperwork is already filed. If you sign now, you walk away with $75,000. That’s a fresh start. That’s more than fair.”

She looks down at my hand covering hers. Her lip begins to tremble.

Then the tears come. Her tears track down the fair skin of her cheek and drop onto the table between our hands.

The sight of her crying hits me in my chest. It’s a little harder to breathe right now, and I don’t know why this crying woman is affecting me right now.

My hand tightens around her hand without me knowing it.

Suddenly, she pulls her hand out from under mine and stands up. Her chair scrapes back against the floor.

Julian reaches for her, his hand shooting out, fingers brushing her wrist, the lightest possible contact, skin against skin for maybe half a second.

They both freeze.

Julian’s face goes slack. His hazel eyes widen. His fingers recoil from her wrist like he’s been burned, and he pulls his hand back so fast he knocks his coffee cup. Liquid sloshes over the rim, dark and steaming across the table.

Liana stands perfectly still.

Her eyes are on Julian’s hand, then on his face, and whatever passes between them in that look is something I can’t read. Her expression shifts from shock to fear.

Then she yanks her hand away as she turns away.

And she’s gone, pushing through the bakery door with the bell ringing behind her, her footsteps quick and light on the sidewalk outside before they fade into the morning traffic.

Silence at our table.

Coffee pooling on the wood. Julian staring at his hand like it belongs to someone else.

August leans back in his chair. Raises one eyebrow. “Great job,” he says sarcastically, finally looking up from his fucking notebook.

I push my coffee to the side. The floral scent lingers in the air between us, faint and unsettling.