Page 14 of Forget me Knot
She gives me a warm smile. “You alright there, love?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit of a wobble, you know,” I reply, trying to sound casual.
She nods knowingly. “We all have those days. You take care now.”
“Thank you,” I say sincerely.
As she shuffles off down the pavement, I finally feel ready to tackle the drive. I start the car and pull out onto the road, focusing on my breathing and the rhythm of the tyres on the tarmac. I’m running later now than I’d have liked, but mercifully, the roads are quiet, allowing me to maintain a steady pace. Max’s fancy bank, Forshaw’s, is on the main street in Noletown. It’s one of those where you need a certain amount to even open an account. Way more than I make in a year, so it’s not a place I’ve ever gone to.
Luckily, fate throws me a bone after my panic-induced incident, and I find a parking space right outside that would only fit my Smart car and nothing else—maybe a motorbike. I take a few precious seconds to compose myself further. Having never met Max Hamilton, I don’t want to roll in there looking like something the cat dragged in. I have no idea why I want to impress him so much, but I have a very strong suspicion it might have to do with Jack and Sam.
I smooth out my wild hair and check my reflection in the rear-view mirror, making sure I at least look somewhat presentable. God, why do I feel like I’m about to face some sort of court hearing? It’s just a flower delivery.
Grabbing the bouquet of roses, I step out of the car and make my way towards the entrance of Forshaw’s.
Stepping inside, I’m immediately enveloped by the scent of polished wood and leather. The place is posh; even the plants look expensive. No plastic pot plants here or ginormous cacti that would put your eye out.
The receptionist, a young beta with a sleek bob and sharp eyes, gives me a quick once-over as I approach the desk.
“Good morning,” she greets with a professional smile, eyes flicking to the roses. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, good morning,” I reply, trying to sound less like a nervous wreck. “I have a delivery for Max Hamilton.”
Her smile widens slightly. “Oh?” She checks her computer and comes up empty, judging by her frown. But duh. This is a surprise delivery. Aren’t flowers usually? “I don’t have you down for today?”
Plastering a smile on my face, I try not to sound too condescending when I say, “They’re a surprise delivery.”
“Oh,” she exclaims, as if that thought hadn’t even occurred to her. “I’ll sign for them.”
“I’d like to hand them to Mr Hamilton myself. That was the instruction, and I won’t let my client down.”
Jeez, she’s being a real pain in my arse right now.
“Hand them to him yourself?” she repeats. “I’m not sure that’s possible.”
“Call him down here,” I grit out, still smiling so hard my cheeks are hurting. “It won’t take a minute.”
She glares at me, her attitude going frosty.
Despite my panic attack earlier, I’m going all guns blazing for my mysterious client who asked me to hand deliver these to Max. Whoever she is, she deserves for me to do what she paid me for. Handsomely, I might add.
The receptionist lets out a huff that could have blown away my bouquet if it wasn’t for my tight grip. She picks up the phone, jabs at a few buttons, and mutters something indecipherable into the receiver before slamming it down.
“Mr Hamilton will be here in a minute,” she says through gritted teeth before she looks away, going back to her work.
I think she rolled her eyes so hard they almost got stuck in the back of her head.
“Thank you,” I state and silently add,that wasn’t so hard now, was it?
While I wait, I take in the grandeur of Forshaw’s Bank. The air suddenly shifts, and the scent of bergamot and old books hits the back of my nose. The blend sends a tingle creeping over the back of my neck in a deliciously good way.
Turning, I spot a tall alpha approaching from the back of the bank, his presence commanding as he strides towards me. He’s impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that probably costs more than my annual profit. His blue-eyed gaze is sharp, his dark hair neatly styled, and there’s an air of sophistication around him that’s almost tangible.
“Good morning,” he greets me, his voice smooth as velvet but with an underlying curiosity. “I understand you have a delivery for me?”
I try to hide my nervousness as I step forward, extending the roses towards him. “Yes, Mr Hamilton. These are for you.”
He takes the bouquet, his fingers brushing against mine for the briefest moment. There’s something electric about his touch that makes me swallow hard. His eyes flicker with surprise and amusement as he examines the flowers.
