Page 1 of Dirty Little Secret, Baby
Chapter 1
Beth
I want you!
I stare at the three words my phone is displaying on the lock screen and open the messenger app, thinking there has to be more. But there isn't. Just those three words. I'm just about to write something back when the indicator appears:Chris is typing...A moment later, more text shows up:
I want your body under me. I want you to come screaming my name!
I sigh, toss my phone onto the table in front of me, annoyed, and resist the urge to tell Chris what I think of his messages. Chris is my ex. Not even a significant one. The whole thing was over a year ago and lasted... how long again? I think I've forgotten.Was it even six weeks? In any case, it was the biggest mistake of my life, and I wonder why Chris is texting me. He's probably black-out drunk again and looking for a quick fuck. Maybe it was also a message sent toAll Contacts. I wouldn't put it past him. Because, from what I'd found out, Chris had cheated on me with about ten different women during our short relationship. Or maybe his ego just can't stand the fact that I walked out on him.
My phone lands next to the half-finished flower arrangement in front of me, which is surrounded by all sorts of leaves, twigs, and various flowers that I still have to work into it before I can hand over the order.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the plants and blossoms around me in the back room of my little flower shop here in Queens. Normally, this deliberate connection to my passion—which I turned into a career out of necessity, because the job prospects with my university degree in comparative literature unfortunately weren't exactly rosy—calms me down. Taking over the flower shop had been a stroke of luck. I had always helped out here during my studies.
Old Miss Taylor, the former owner of the shop, had said back then that I had a knack for floristry and always joked that I should have studied something in that field instead. She taught me everything, and when she told me months after I finished my degree that she had developed Parkinson's and could no longer use her hands, she offered to let me take over the shop. Everything was already settled with the landlord, and I just had to take over the existing lease. I wrestled with the decision for a few weeks, but after more rejections and her offer to let me pay off the inventory in installments, I finally said yes. Today, Ican't imagine a more wonderful place to work. The scent of the flowers has a wonderfully calming effect on me, at least...
I see you've read the message. And do you know what that does to me?
Now I've finally had enough. Disgusted, I glance away, because below that question is a picture he's taken of his dick.
"Chris," I exclaim, annoyed, feeling pent-up anger rising inside me. Back then, I was just hispiece of ass. He actually called me that from time to time. As if any woman would want to hear something like that.
I'll compensate you generously for your services!
Unbelievable! Just when you think Chris has hit rock bottom, he manages to sink even lower. Why haven't I blocked his number already? I don't remember, but I know I should have done it a long time ago. But I can't just let this one slide.
Go fuck yourself, you asshole!
That's all I write back before I block his number and delete the contact from my phonebook. It felt good to vent like that, but I can feel how much his bottomless audacity is shaking me up, and I roughly shove my phone aside, causing it to fall to the floor.
Does he really think something like that works? Does he really think he can just offer any woman in his phone money to sleep with him? Does that actually work?
I can't imagine it does, and I turn my attention back to finishing the floral arrangement in front of me, ignoring my phone. A glance at the clock tells me I'm already running way too late and have very little time until pickup.
It's Saturday evening, and the shop has actually been closed for a while, but because I registered as a shop with an online florist due to falling revenue, I was assigned this order. A so-called AAA-class premium priority order.
I didn't even know such a thing existed and had thought it was a joke. Who spends $15,400 on a flower arrangement?
To be precise: $400 for the arrangement, which I'll get paid directly via PayPal by the driver upon on-time delivery—and he, in turn, will collect it from the customer at their front door. He'll probably make it $450 so he can make a little something on it too. That's how it works with the online vendor. They leisurely pocket the commission, and I have to be satisfied with $50 after deducting all material costs.
The other $15,000 is for the gold leaf that I still have to work in. Thank God that was paid for in advance, and my friend Veronica agreed to pick it up from the local gold dealer. I glance at the clock again. I hope she makes it in time. With the traffic in the city, anything's possible.
I catch myself wondering if this bouquet is just another "I'm-buying-you-now-sleep-with-me" offer from some guy with way too much money to a woman of his choice.
Maybe he and Chris aren't so different. Maybe they're even best friends, or maybe all men are like that. I know that's not the case, but what I do know is that I haven't let a man get close to me since the whole thing with Chris.
Okay, I've also had a lot on my plate with the job search and taking over the shop, the declining sales and...
"Beth! I'm here! I got it!" Veronica comes through the front door of the shop. She's the only one besides me who has a key. I couldn't trust anyone more. We've known each other since school, been through thick and thin. Literally. Because from thirteen to fifteen, I was about a head too short for my weight. I was always picked last for sports and had to listen to some pretty nasty comments. But not from Veronica. She wasn't fat back then—she's always had the right figure—but she still stuck by me. She helped me study and went with me to my first parties. She was a really good friend and always told the others to shut their mouths when I didn't have the guts to. Even when I later slimmed down to a normal size, nothing changed.
I guess it's thanks to fate that we ended up at the same university and didn't lose touch. Just like me, she had trouble finding a job in New York after finishing her law degree and is currently getting by with waitressing jobs. Or she helps me out, as in this case with the gold leaf, which she's now holding out to me, a little out of breath.
"Thanks, Veronica. What would I do without you?"
"Oh, don't mention it," she says, still panting as she puts her hands on her hips. She must have run the last few blocks. She knows how time-critical the business through the online platform is. Every minute I make the driver wait cuts into my price.
"Oh yes, I would. I'd be lost without you. I'll just finish this up, and when I've delivered the bouquet, I'll take you out to dinner, okay?" I suggest.
