Oh, this is bad.
The breath being syphoned from my lungs. The involuntary grin kissing my lips. The fluttering under my ribs. All signs that Kenan, when he sets his mind to it, has major game.
“Who’re they from?” Yari demands, patience nowhere in her voice. “Are they from who we think they’re from?”
With one hand, I take my vase of doomed petals from her. With the other, I press the card to my chest.
“They’re from a secret admirer,” I say, turning my back on them to place the vase on the edge of my desk.
“You don’t know who they’re from?” Billie asks.
“No, you don’t know who they’re from,” I reply with a grin to rub it in. “That’s the secret.”
They both look like they want to strangle me. I sit back down and slip the envelope into my desk drawer.
“We know they’re from Kenan,” Yari says.
“No, you don’t know.” I return to my laptop. “You’re fishing.”
“Well we think it’s Kenan Ross,” Billie says, han
ds on her slim hips.
“Well you might be right.” I shoo them away with one hand. “We’ll talk about it later. If I tell you now, you’ll have a million questions I don’t have time for. I need to focus.”
“Good luck,” Yari says. “We have guests coming.”
“I heard.” My eyes snap to her face. “I can’t afford disruptions today.”
“I heard Paul talking about it.” Billie shrugs. "They think it’ll be good exposure for the brand.”
Most large fashion houses are barely profitable, if at all, because the sheer cost of production at this level is exorbitant.
“As long as the exposure doesn’t come this way,” I say. “And I can’t imagine why it should.”
“You leaving on time tonight?” Yari asks, already turned to walk away, and studying me over her shoulder. “You on the J with me at five?”
The vibrant spray of color in the vase coaxes a small smile from me, and I shake my head. “Nah. I got plans.”
As soon as they’ve both gone back to their desks, I grab the phone from my purse and text Kenan.
Me: Yes. Six o’clock.
Kenan: See you then.
Me: Am I allowed to text my thanks?
Kenan: No. Thank me later. ;-)
At the start of the day, it seemed to be flying by and too short to get everything done. With six o’clock and Kenan as my finish line, the day is officially taking for freaking ever to end. It’s only three o’clock when I check the time on my laptop and stand to stretch. I grab one of the flowers and press it to my nose, drawing in the sweet scent.
“Some of our team works over here,” I hear JP saying. “But all the sewing happens downstairs, and we keep the clothes for you to view down there, too. Follow me.”
That must be the reality TV cast. Thank God they didn’t make it to my area.
“Oh, here you are.”
I look up, stunned to find Bridget Ross standing at my cubicle.