Page 210 of Tall, Royal Hater
With a nudge of my foot, I jerked my chair around to face them. “At all. I even fucking messaged him and asked if he was okay, but nothing. This idiot hasn’t even read my message!”
“Damn, he has a death wish,” Martin mumbled out the side of his mouth.
Priya offered a shrug. “Maybe he’s really busy. I mean you said he works for the Crown Princess of Jahandar, right?”
I grunted and narrowed my eyes. “What? So damn busy he can’t even leave me a single bloody message that wouldn’t even take him five seconds to type out?”
Priya pursed her plum-coloured lips together before they slowly twitched into a wide, laughing grin. My face fell. “Sorry,” she said through a snicker, lifting one hand up apologetically. “I’m not laughing because he hasn’t messaged you. I’m just…surprised. I didn’t really take you for the needy girlfriend type.”
A blush lit up under my skin again as I gawked at her, completely aghast, and her and Martin fell against their chairs, laughing.
I wasn’t—I wasn’t being needy!
It was completely normal for me to be pissed that my boyfriend hadn’t messaged me on my freaking birthday when I’d video-called him at midnight to wish him a happy birthday. I wasn’t making comparisons, but I could complain about not receiving the same energy from him. That wasn’t being needy. That was well within my rights as his girlfriend.
Before I could defend myself, a steady knock came at the glass doors behind the three of us. Everyone’s heads popped up from around or over their computer screen in the open office space. Long desks lined up with the windows at equal intervals, and the door to my parents’ shared office space closed at the far end.
Priya, Martin, and I swivelled around too.
And my heart slapped the back of my rib cage in shocked hope.
“Oh, shit,” I heard Priya whisper.
Standing on the other side of the entrance doors to the office floor was one of the ladies from the building’s postal room.
On her plump face was a massive, knowing grin. And in her hand was an expensive-looking bouquet of bright red roses.
Everyone remained completely still, either out of curiosity or they were all waiting for someone else to get up and let the woman in.
“I’ll get it,” Priya volunteered loudly, shooting out of her seat.
I watched rapt as she sauntered over to the glass doors, tapped her ID on the scanner attached to the wall, and opened one of the doors from its long metal handle.
The plump lady thanked Priya as she walked in, then tilted the bouquet to look down at the front of it. Upon glancing up, her eyes tracked everyone behind a desk. “I have a special delivery for Mariyah Levine,” she said.
My heart thudded like the drum bass of a love song as my lips parted.No fucking way…
Priya excitedly jabbed a finger in my direction. “That’s her. Mariyah Levine.”
The woman chuckled and crossed the short distance to me. Still numb from surprise, I just about forced my hands to cooperate as she laid the pristine bouquet, packaged in cellophane and matte black tissue paper that looked like it had been ironed, into my arms. Then she left the way she’d come in.
There was an instance of silence as Priya let the door swing shut, before the entire office floor broke out into hollers and squeals that shook the four walls and every picture and pin board hanging on them.
The burning blush their excitement elicited finally snapped me out of my shocked state, and I dared to swivel my chair to face the onslaught of Esmeralda-level creepy grins from everyone.
“Who’s that from, huh, Mariyah?” one of the younger lads two desk rows down called out, and laughter skittered around.
I narrowed my eyes at him and pushed my tongue against the back of my teeth, trying hard to fight the bashful grin desperate to spread across my mouth.
Priya came bouncing over to me like a fairy intoxicated on laughter. “He didn’t forget! He didn’t forget,” she squealed and collapsed into her own chair. “He didnotforget, Mariyah!”
“Gotta give the man credit where credit is due,” Martin added with an appreciative nod.
“Open the note!” Priya said, dragging her chair closer. “Open it now.”
A chorus of cheering agreement followed her demand.
I admitted I was struck dumb by the gift that had turned up, but I wasn’t struck stupid that I was going to open the note tucked into the roses in front of a number of my colleagues.
