Page 6 of Dirty Little Secret, Baby
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"Just call if you need anything," says the councilman kindly. Then I say my goodbyes, kiss his wife's hand, which makes her giggle with delight as if she were twenty-five again, though that'smore like half her age. But the councilman apparently likes it, and I've achieved what I wanted. Now it's just a matter of bringing the event to a close soon, without...
"Sir, there's someone else here who wants to speak with you," my assistant says after I've left the councilman and his wife. "He says he knows of an interesting investment and..."
"No more business for today," I say, waving her off.
"But..." Dilara begins, but is interrupted by a tinny voice from her walkie-talkie.
"Dilara. There's a delivery here for Mr. Rodgers. Flowers with glittery stuff on them."
"That's the security guard outside the door. I gave him a walkie-talkie so he wouldn't ring the bell in case there was another one of those pranks."
"Good thinking," I agree, and for once, I actually mean it. Because strange incidents have been piling up at my door lately. At the last event of this kind, the security guard came in a good five times because some delivery boys were at the door. Sometimes with pizza, sometimes with sushi, then it was sex toys.
The whole thing started when the camera was spray-painted, so you could no longer see who was at the door. Until a company took on the task of cleaning this strange special paint, all sorts of doorbell pranks took place. Usually, no one was at the door,sometimes someone had left a bag of trash there, another time a bag with dog shit in it.
Typical things that kids do. But all the neighbors who were questioned had no children and swore their innocence. Or was it one of the many women I'd spent a night with? The redhead had slapped me; maybe there was another vengeful woman out there? The thing with the delivery services at least pointed to an adult. But why the hell flowers?
"Did you order flowers?" Dilara asks me.
"For God's sake, no," I say, annoyed.
"Send her away," Dilara snaps into the walkie-talkie, nods at me, and we consider the matter closed.
"The woman is pretty persistent. Maybe Mr. Rodgers did order flowers?" we hear the security guard say over the radio a few moments later.
"I'll handle this," my assistant says, rolling her eyes, reaching into her bag and handing me another walkie-talkie. "Just in case there's any trouble," she explains, leaving me standing there.
I resist the urge to follow her. Something about the security guard's sentence has piqued my interest. Because he described a persistent woman? I go to the intercom, activate the now-functional camera to see if it's the redhead standing at the door. Maybe she wants to apologize?
Okay, that's a bit of a stretch. But it's better to watch from here. Out of range of her slapping hands.
When the camera image comes into focus, I pause for a moment. It's not the redhead. What I see instead is a petite woman with black, curly hair, a simple yet somehow elegant dress, holding a bouquet of flowers.
I can't describe it, but there's something about her. Can I even see her dimples right now, while she's talking to Dilara? I almost activated the intercom, but that would broadcast my voice through all the speakers in the living room. That might not necessarily be to my advantage. So I opt for the walkie-talkie in my hand.
"Enough. Leave the property," Dilara says, pointing to the driveway. "Or I'll..."
"Your nectar tastes like the gold of the bouquet. I want a taste of you!" the woman begins. I don't understand what she's saying, but the sound of her voice does something to me. I listen to the nonsense, spellbound. Then I realize she's reading from the card on the bouquet.
Oh God. She's just a flower girl. But what a flower girl. You can see that honest anger in her eyes. That fire. I'm truly captivated by this woman. She's from another world...
"Wait a minute, Dilara. I'm coming," I hear myself say into the walkie-talkie and head for the door.
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When I open the door and see this delivery woman in her dress, our eyes meet. Damn, she's even more beautiful than through the intercom's 4K camera. I struggle to compose myself, feeling a heat building in my stomach and slowly rising.
"So you're the guy who's into nectar," the woman says grumpily, holding the bouquet out to me.
"Cute. Persistent and sassy too," I say, smiling when I see the slight tremor in her hands. A little insecure, a little defiant. Just how I like it.
"How can I help you, Miss..."
"Peterson," she croaks, as if she's suddenly lost her voice.
"A pleasure, Miss Peterson," I murmur, walking toward her and kissing her hand. I watch her out of the corner of my eye and can practically feel the kiss having its desired effect.
