“Sorry. That was an overshare.” I sighed, staring at the arrangement. In days of yore there’d been a language to flowers. Meanings for each bloom. Though I’m certain there wasn’t a bloom that meant sorry I cheated on you and it got posted on You Tube. Forget-me-nots, maybe. “They’re pretty though, don’t you think? They smell divine. Would you like them for your mom perhaps? Or your girlfriend or significant other, of course. I just assumed, I never asked if…”
He just blinked.
“Not that it’s any of my business.”
“Mom’s in San Francisco and I’m not seeing anyone currently. Though I appreciate the offer.”
I popped the card in the bin. An incinerator would have been preferable, but I could make do. Leave it to the creep of an ex to go so overboard. There weren’t enough flowers in all of Oregon to convince me to make that mistake again. Like I’d ever be open to the idea after being so publicly cheated on and humiliated by the man. Not that he was a man. An amoeba, maybe. A dollop of slime on the collective shoe of humanity. Something along those lines. And unfortunately, every time I saw the flowers I’d just be reminded of his existence. Not that I wished him ill. So long as he stayed the hell away from me and didn’t attempt contact again, all would be fine and dandy.
“You really don’t like him, huh?” asked Ziggy in a low voice.
“Bad break-up. And that’s putting it mildly.”
“I can get rid of them for you if you like.”
“Actually, that would be great.”
Ziggy nodded and picked up the Godzilla-sized arrangement. I opened the door for him. “Back in a moment, Miss Cooper.”
“I’ll have the coffee ready and waiting.” Much better. Someone else could enjoy their bright loveliness and gorgeous scent minus the taint of he-who-is-in-the-past-and-shall-not-be-named.
Alone for a minute, I took the opportunity to brush my teeth, run a comb through my hair, and put on some deodorant. My clothes were crumpled. But they could wait for me to be post coffee before I showered and changed.
When he returned, he carried a black duffle in one hand and a suit bag in the other. Guess he’d fetched them from his vehicle. “Would it be all right if I used your bathroom? Otherwise I could use the one down in the building’s gym if you’d prefer?”
“No. Please. Make yourself at home.”
A nod and he was gone.
Probably shouldn’t have said that. As if he’d make himself at home. The man was a professional. And he had the blank face and hard eyes look straight back in business this morning. Which was right and good. Just because you spent the night in my room (not bed) didn’t mean there would be any change in our professional relationship or business arrangement. I needed to get this man’s position in my life straight and stop overthinking everything. The bodyguard was making me a neurotic wreck.
Coffee would fix everything. Then time for some more unpacking and a little work.
I reached for the mug, overshot, and knocked it straight off the counter. It crashed at my feet, splattering hot liquid everywhere.
“Shit.”
Down the hall, the bathroom door dramatically flew open. Next Ziggy stepped out with a gun in one hand. The other hand, meanwhile, kept the towel around his waist held together. So. Much. Skin. Like seriously.
His assessing eyes immediately took in the scene. “Are you okay, Miss Cooper?”
“Yeah. I just…um.”
My brain basically melted. Holy hell he was ripped. Long, lean, and built in all the ways. I mean, his suit hinted at it, but it was a little startling to see how fit the man actually was. Bet he could snap me in half with one hand. Though he’d also look delightful with a dad or a bear bod. The man carried himself so well. Also, I just enjoyed looking at him that much. Which (again) was wrong. Were I not a lapsed Catholic, I’d have been doing Hail Marys for days, thanks to the lustful thoughts this man inspired.
What was wrong with me?
I needed a moment to pull myself together, and I closed my eyes. Yes, much better. Without all of his hotness in my face my brain could actually function. “I’m fine. Just clumsy.”
“Your skin is red,” he commented.
“Oh, I’m blushing? That’s because it’s embarrassing being such a klutz,” my lying tongue lied.
“No, your foot.”
Then came a soft clink amongst other muted sounds. A cloth dabbed carefully at my foot. I opened my eyelids to see what was happening. Ziggy Thayer was on bended knee in front of me. His dark hair, wide shoulders, and even the long line of his spine were on display. With tea towel in hand, he wiped the hot coffee off my skin.
“I don’t think you’re burnt.” He gazed up at me with those oh so serious eyes. He had beautiful olive skin with a couple of white scars on his back. “Does it feel okay?”