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She nodded. “Please.”
“I’m in the process of trying to rehabilitate my image.” He gave her half a smile, and she tried not to laugh at how adorable he looked now.
“From playboy to the future brother-in-law of a princess?”
He shifted his weight to his other leg. “Yeah, something like that.”
“So to stop people seeing you as a playboy, you auctioned yourself off to the highest bidder?” She jumped up to sit on the bench, enjoying his discomfort more than she would have expected, but also enjoying seeing this private side of him.
He coughed out a laugh. “Yeah, when you put it like that, it sounds crazy.”
Suddenly she was more than intrigued. This man was a mass of contradictions and she wanted to know more. To understand him. “Then how would you put it?”
“I’m throwing myself into our new charity. The auction was only the first step, but I’ll be involved every step of the way.”
“A respectable, upstanding member of the community.” She could see him pulling it off, too. Going from a playboy to a pillar of the community.
“So you can see that the very last thing I need is a scandal involving a staff member, especially given that we have a policy about management being involved with staff.”
A scandal? She frowned. What, exactly, did he think she wanted from those other two dates? “Dylan, I’m not expecting romance on the other dates any more than I expected it on this one.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “But image is everything.”
That was true. She cast her mind around for a solution. There was no way she was giving up her remaining dates without a fight. “What if no one knows? We could do them in secret.”
“That boat pretty much sailed when the auction was covered by the media,” he said and chuckled. Then he sobered and let out a long breath. “But it’s more than that.”
Understanding dawned. “Our kiss changed things.” She said the words softly, as if acknowledging the truth too loudly would make a difference.
He nodded, his gaze not wavering from her eyes. “And it’s very important that I see you only as an employee, and you see me only as a boss.”
“I won’t have any trouble with that. Are you saying you will?” She arched her eyebrow in challenge, guessing Dylan Hawke was a man who didn’t shrink from a challenge.
One corner of his mouth kicked up. “If you can do it, I can.”
“Then it looks like we don’t have a problem, do we?” Knowing he was trapped in the logic of it, she jumped down from the bench and grabbed the trash.
She felt him behind her, not moving, probably assessing his options. Then finally he took the trash can from her and began to sweep stem cuttings together with his free hand.
“It appears you’ve won this round, Faith Sixty-Three,” he said from beside her.
She flashed him a wry smile. “Dylan, if I’d won this round, my design would soon be featured in the catalog. All I’ve done is kept the door open for another round.”
“You know what?” he said, his voice amused. “Even though I know I shouldn’t be, I’m already looking forward to the next round.”
She turned and caught his gaze, finding a potent mix of humor and heat there—something closer to the real man she’d glimpsed earlier. Quickly she turned away. This was going to be hard enough without seeing him as anything more than the head of the Hawke’s Blooms stores. And she had a sinking feeling it might already be too late for that anyway...
* * *
Two days later, Dylan pulled into the parking lot of the Santa Monica store. He hadn’t done an all-day inspection for a while. It used to be part of his management style—show up in the morning unannounced, hang around in the background and help out where he could. Nothing beat it for getting a good feel for how a store was working and what needed improvement.
He’d been meaning to start doing a couple of these a month, so his office staff hadn’t thought there was anything strange when he’d told them to clear his schedule for today. Of course, they weren’t to know what he was trying to deny to himself—that he hadn’t stopped thinking about one of the Santa Monica store’s employees since the moment he’d dropped her home that first night.
Under different circumstances, there was no question he’d ask her out. That kiss had been beyond amazing and had been on an automatic replay loop in his mind ever since, but he’d also enjoyed her company. He never knew what she was going to say or do next, and that made her fun to be around.
He sighed and stepped from his car. No use wasting energy wanting what he couldn’t have. She worked for him. End of story.
But that didn’t stop him from wondering how this particular store was doing. Despite rejecting Faith’s arrangement himself, he’d been left wondering if her manager was doing all she could for the advancement of her staff if Faith had put in twenty applications to the catalog of standard arrangements and not one had made it through to the head office.
Sure, he’d rejected the one he’d seen last night, but given Faith’s enthusiasm and skill, a good, supportive manager should have found a way to guide her toward a more appropriate arrangement by now. Perhaps even submitted one or two just to encourage her. Yes, it was definitely time he had a closer look at how this store—and the other stores—were doing.
As he stepped through the front door and removed his aviator sunglasses, the manager, Mary O’Donnell, looked up and waved enthusiastically.
“Mr. Hawke!” she called, her voice obsequious. “So good to see you. Here, Faith, take over this arrangement. I need to talk to Mr. Hawke.”
At the mention of his name, Faith froze, then looked up like a deer caught in headlights. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and he was assailed by memories of her mouth. Of how incredible it had felt under his. Of how it had opened to allow his tongue entry. Before he could forget all the reasons not to kiss her again, he determinedly drew his gaze to Mary O’Donnell.
“No need,” he said. “I’m here for the day. Don’t stop what you’re doing—I just want to get a feel for the store.”
“You haven’t done an all-day inspection for quite a while.” Mary shot a suspicious glance around the room. “Is there a problem?”
“Just continuing a procedure that worked well for us in the past. I’ve let it slip a bit as we’ve grown, but I’ll be working my way around to all the stores in the coming months.”
“And we’re first?” she asked, pride beaming from her features.
“Yes, you are.” He’d let her think it was a compliment. Plus, it was a much more professional reason than the fact that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about one of her employees.
“Well, in that case, let me introduce you to the team.” She grabbed a middle-aged blonde woman by the wrist and dragged her over. “This is Courtney. She’s our senior florist. If you want any bouquets made to take home at the end of the day, Courtney’s your woman.”
“Good to meet you, Courtney,” he said, shaking her hand.
Courtney smiled openly. “Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Hawke. Though, if you don’t mind, I need to finish this order before the courier arrives in a few minutes?”
“Of course,” he said and watched her go back to work on one of the long benches. She seemed efficient and nice enough, and the arrangement she was working on was good.
“And this is our other florist, Faith Crawford,” the manager said, pointing in Faith’s direction. He watched the reactions of the other two women closely, checking to see if they knew Faith was the person who’d won the bid at the auction, but neither gave anything away. Interesting. Faith obviously hadn’t told them, and the company grapevine hadn’t caught up with the news yet. Most of the staff from the head office had been at the auction the other night, but even if they’d managed to get a good look at Faith in the dim light, it seemed none had recognized her.
He glanced over at her now. She had a bright yellow Hawke’s Blooms apron covering the halter top he could see peeking out from underneath. Her curly red hair was caught up in a clip on the top of her head. She looked up and he paused, waiting to see her reaction. Her eyes flicked to her manager, then back to him. He wasn’t comfortable with an outright lie to his employees—it was probable that the information would circulate around the company at some point, and he didn’t want to be caught in a lie—but that didn’t mean he had to share all the details of their short history.
“Ms. Crawford and I have met before,” he said as a compromise.
The manager’s eyes darted between them, looking for snippets of information, so he cut her off at the pass. “Do you have an apprentice in this store?”
“Oh, yes. Sharon. But she’s not in until lunchtime on Mondays.”
He nodded and took off his sport coat. Instead of his usual work attire of a business suit, today he’d worn a polo shirt and casual trousers—closer to the clothes the staff in-store wore. “Before she gets here, I’ll do the sweeping and answering the phone. Wherever you need an extra pair of hands.”
Unbidden, his gaze tracked to where Faith worked at her bench, and he found that she’d looked up at him at the same time. Wherever you need an extra pair of hands... He could still feel his hands in her hair, cupping her cheek, under her chin.
A pink flush crept up Faith’s neck to her cheeks, and he knew she was remembering the same thing. He cleared his throat and looked away.
If he was going to make it through the day without letting everyone know he’d kissed his employee, he would have to do better at keeping his thoughts firmly under control.
* * *
It had been two hours since Dylan had appeared in the doorway, looking as if he’d just stepped off a photo shoot for a story entitled “What the Suave CEOs Are Wearing This Season.” She’d spent those two hours trying to pretend he wasn’t in the room, just so she could get her work done.
But every time he swept up the clippings from where she was working, or he handed her a slip of paper with an order that had come in over the phone, she lost the battle and was plunged back into those moments when they’d been in this very spot, at night, alone.
And occasionally, when their eyes met, she thought she saw the same memory lurking in his.
But she couldn’t let herself be sidetracked. She needed to impress the businessman, Mr. Hawke, not the red-blooded Dylan who’d kissed her senseless. Men came and went, but this particular man could help her career. It was Mr. Hawke she needed to impress with what she could do.
They’d had a steady stream of orders in person, over the phone and on their website, and she was glad. It gave her an excuse not to talk to Dylan—no, Mr. Hawke—just yet. He’d sat with Courtney earlier and had a cup of coffee, asking her about her job and ideas for the store, and said he’d be doing the same with all the staff members.
The bell above the door dinged, and she looked up, smiling to see one of her favorite customers.
“Hi, Tom,” she said, heading for the fridge. “How was your weekend?”
“Not long enough,” he said ruefully. “Yours?”
Her eyes flicked to Dylan, who was thumbing through their order book, his dark reddish-brown hair rumpled, his sport coat gone and his tie loosened. His hand hesitated and his chest expanded as if he’d taken a deep breath.
“How about I go with interesting,” she said, turning back to her customer.
Tom laughed. “Sounds as if there’s a story there.”
“My life is never dull.” She reached into the fridge and drew out the assorted foliage she’d put to the side earlier. “I found some fresh mint at the markets this morning, as well as these cute little branches of crab apples. How does that sound?”
“Like a winner. Emmie loved the daisy and rosemary bouquet last week.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dylan watching the conversation and then moving to her elbow. He put his hand out to Tom. “Hi, I’m Dylan Hawke, CEO of the Hawke’s Blooms retail chain.”
“Wow, the big boss,” Tom said, winking at Faith.
Dylan turned to her. “You bought crab apples and mint yourself for this bouquet?” His tone was mild, but his focus had narrowed in on her like a laser pointer. “This sounds interesting. Can you talk me through the thinking behind your plan?”
Her stomach clenched tight. She’d wanted the attention of the businessman side of him, and now she had it, which was great. But if he thought what she was doing was too bizarre, then she might have lost her chance to win his approval. A second strike against her in a row might be too much to overcome.
All she could do was paste on a smile and do her job.
“Tom comes in each Monday to pick up some flowers for his wife,” she said, her gaze on the work her hands were doing. “Emmie is blind, so I always put some thought into combinations that she can enjoy.”
“You picked up the mint on your way in?” Dylan asked, his tone not giving anything away.
She nodded. “Monday mornings I leave home a bit earlier and drop in at the flower markets, looking for some inspiration. We usually go outside the standard range of flowers that the store stocks to get the right elements for Emmie’s bouquet. I like something fragrant—” she picked up the mint “—and something tactile—” she pointed to the crab apple branch “—along with the usual assortment of flowers.”
She cast a glance at the buckets bursting with bright blooms around them, looking for inspiration. Something white, perhaps?
Dylan raised an eyebrow and she hesitated. Maybe he didn’t like florists going this far off the beaten track? Her manager hadn’t been particularly supportive and always complained if she tried to get reimbursement for the extras from petty cash, but Faith loved the challenge of something new each week, and the fact that Tom wanted to do this for his wife always melted her heart. Were there other men like Tom in the world? Men who were so dedicated to bringing a smile to the faces of the women they loved that they’d go the extra mile every single week? That sort of constancy was a beautiful thing to be a part of.
Perhaps Dylan Hawke didn’t see the situation the same way. She held a sprig of mint out to him. “If that’s okay, Mr. Hawke?”
“More than okay,” he said, taking the mint and lifting it to his nose. “I think it’s a great example of customer service.”
Dylan’s approving gaze rested on her, and her shoulders relaxed as relief flowed through her veins. But she was also aware that his approval was having more of an effect than it should...
As she worked, he blended into the background, but she felt his eyes on her the entire time she was making the crab apple, mint and white carnation arrangement. After Tom left, pleased with the results, Dylan cornered her near the cash register.
“Please tell me you get reimbursed for those extras you purchase on Monday mornings,” he said, his voice low.
She maintained a poker face. Getting her manager into trouble was a quick route to reduced hours, but she couldn’t lie, either. He could check the store’s accounting books and find that she hadn’t asked for reimbursement after the first few times, not since Mary had finally put her foot down and said she should use stock that was already in the store. And being caught in a lie by the CEO would be even less healthy for her career than not covering for her immediate manager.
“Sure, but sometimes I forget to hand the receipts in,” she said in what she hoped was a casual, believable tone.
“I see,” he said, and she had a feeling he really did see.
“I don’t mind paying for those extras,” she said quickly. “I know I should only use what we have in stock, but I get such a kick out of Tom’s expression when he knows he’s taking home something Emmie will love. It’s like a present I can give them.”
“It’s your job, Faith. You shouldn’t have to pay money to do your job.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you have the receipt from this morning?”
She picked up her handbag from under the counter and dug around until she found the crumpled bit of paper. “Here,” she said, passing it to him.
Their hands brushed, and she couldn’t help the slight gasp that escaped at the contact. Tingles radiated from the place they’d touched, and she yearned to reach out and touch him again. On his hand, or his forearm. Or—she looked up to his face—the cheek she’d stroked with her fingertips when they’d kissed. His eyes darkened.
“Faith,” he said, his voice a rasp, “we can’t.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“Then don’t—”
“Anything I can help you with, Mr. Hawke?” Mary asked from behind them.
Without missing a beat, Dylan turned, his charming smile firmly in place, where only seconds before she’d seen something real, something raw.
“I was just chastising your florist about not submitting her receipts for the extras she’s been buying for that customer’s weekly order.” He handed over the receipt. “Ms. Crawford has promised she’ll turn them in to you from now on, haven’t you, Ms. Crawford?”
“Ah, yes,” Faith said, not meeting her manager’s eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another order to make up.”
She slipped away and left them to their discussion, finally able to take a full breath again only when she was immersed in her next arrangement. This day couldn’t end soon enough. He was too close here. In her space. Making her want him.
Yet even if he weren’t the owner of the company, the last man she could give her heart to was a man whose love life had no stability. She’d heard the rumors about Dylan, that he changed female companions regularly, never seeming to form attachments. She couldn’t fall for someone like that—she wouldn’t do it to herself. She’d spend the entire time waiting for the moment he’d move on. Better to stay independent and create stability by relying on herself.
She repeated the words to herself over and over while she worked, the whole time trying to ignore her body’s awareness of where he was in the room. And resisting the urge to walk over and touch him again.
Three (#ulink_967e22b3-164f-5da5-80b6-6d539c15c117)
By late afternoon, Dylan was back in his office, staring out the window at the LA skyline. He had achieved what he’d set out to that morning—a detailed understanding of how the Santa Monica store was operating. He’d managed to sit down with all four employees during the day and chat about their perceptions and ideas, and had seen for himself that the customers were pleased with the floral arrangements being produced.
