"IS HE SERIOUS?!"
"About as serious as Ethan Caldwell gets." I sit up on the counter and swing my feet, watching Clara assemble a stunning bouquet of daisies. The next morning, I'm at her tiny flower shop for some expert consultation… and gossip. There's a lone man deliberating over some sunflowers, but aside from that, we're alone.
"Is it just me, or is there something off about this?" I ask. "I mean, I already jacked up my usual fees for him, but paying fifty thousand dollars just to get this girl to go on a date with him? That's insane!"
"You know he's loaded. Rich people are eccentric sometimes. Besides, love can make a man do crazy things." Clara smiles indulgently, ever the romantic.
"Umm, I'm not sure it's love on his mind… or other body parts," I mutter.
She laughs. "Aww, come on, give the guy a break. You said you've never seen him act that way around a woman before."
"True," I answer thoughtfully. "He was all stammering and awkward… It was pretty adorable seeing him lost for words. The guy can usually talk anyone into joining a yoga class."
"Umm, yoga reference?"
"Sorry." I laugh. Clara has zero interest in anything involving exercise. "He can normally talk a bookworm into believing that a rom-com isn't just a waste of time. Better?"
Clara gasps. "OK, that is smooth talking! And totally wrong, by the way. The classic novels are perfect for a rainy day."
I laugh. "So, you don't think it's shady—trying to make Chloe go out with him so I can cash in? I know they went to high school together, but there's something… I don't know, kind of sleazy about it. Pimp-adjacent."
Clara pauses her flower arranging. "Well, let me put it this way: would it feel so weird if he was offering you five hundred bucks instead?"
I think about that. "No…" I reply at last. "I mean, this is my job. Clients pay me to craft the perfect invitations and love notes."
"And do they tip you extra afterwards if everything works out?"
"Sometimes, yes. Remember that guy at the café?" I ask. "We were rolling in lattes for a month after I composed that letter for his anniversary."
"So, there you go." Clara gives a shrug. "If Ethan wants to reward your hard work with a truckload of cash instead of a lifetime supply of pastries, why stand in his way? Weren't you just saying you needed to step it up to afford your dream office space?"
That office… I sigh with longing. Fifty grand from Ethan wouldn't just pay the security deposit and rent; it would hire a couple of freelance writers… help clear my student loans… let me at least pretend to start putting aside a 401k account…
"You're right," I decide. "I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. It's not like I'll be paying anyone to date him. And if Ethan wants to shower me with gratitude, I can take cash or credit cards."
"Aren't you getting ahead of yourself?" Clara smirks. "You actually have to make Chloe say yes first."
Good point. I hop down. "Which is why I'm here, to get your amazing guidance." I bat my eyelashes, and Clara laughs.
"Flattery will get you everywhere. What do you need?"
"Well, I started with the usual coffee opening move—although for her, it was a smoothie. That struck out, so we need to up the stakes with flowers."
"You came to the right place." Clara gestures around at the charming storefront, which is crammed with buckets of blooms. "I just went by the market. There are some stunning roses if you want to stay classic… Or these sunflowers."
"Hmmm…" I inhale the floral scent. "Not roses; she seems a little more unconventional. What do these mean?" I ask, holding up a vibrant bunch of orange lilies.
"Pure loathing," Clara replies cheerfully.
I laugh. "Maybe not."
"If you want something with meaning, how about sunflowers?" she suggests. "They stand for adoration and loyalty."
"Ethan? Loyal?" I snort. "Sure, why not?"
"They'll look amazing with these daisies…" Clara is already plucking more flowers to add to the bouquet. In no time at all, she's assembled a glorious bunch, vivid with yellows and whites.
"You're a true artist," I praise her. She smiles.
"What's going in the note?"
"Pablo Neruda," I reply. "I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you directly without problems or pride."
"Romantic!" Clara laughs, and I smile.
"I told you, it's going to take the big guns!"
"I'll bill his usual account?" she asks, adding some pretty tissue paper and twine.
"Yes, please!"
"See, you're not the only one benefiting from Ethan's generous side."
"Generous… sure, that's one way to look at it." I laugh. "Incorrigibly desperate is another."
"Tomato, tomahto."
She's just wrapping up the flowers when her customer finally approaches, holding three tiny daisies. He's middle-aged, wearing a fraying jacket and glasses. "Oh," he says, blinking at my extravagant bouquet. "Those look lovely. How much is it?"
"Two hundred dollars," Clara replies.
His eyes bug out. "For flowers?!"
"For the artistry," I interrupt, giving him a look.
"I have some smaller flowers, if you'd like." Clara quickly steers him to the corner where pretty bunches of mixed blooms are arranged. "Who are they for?"
"My girlfriend."
"Well, then you want something romantic. These are a lovely pink," Clara says, beaming. "And they're only twenty dollars."
"Well… I suppose," he says reluctantly. "It is for a special occasion. It's our third anniversary," he says, taking out his wallet.
"She'll love them," I tell him encouragingly. Because I know exactly what a few stems of daisies mean: "I couldn't care less."
"I hope so." The man's expression lightens as Clara wraps the flowers in pretty paper and even adds a few extra stems. She's always been a sucker for romance. She hands them over with a flourish.
"I hope you have a lovely anniversary."
"Thanks," he replies, then looks around. "While I'm here, I may as well get something else, too."
"Of course!" Clara beams. "Who are these ones for?"
"My wife."
Clara's jaw drops, and I have to keep from laughing. So much for romance!
"Do you have anything cheap?" he asks, adding insult to injury. "It's not a special occasion or anything."
Unless she's calling a divorce attorney.
"I think you better be going," I tell him, steering him to the door before Clara can beat him over the head with a bunch of tulips. "Don't come again!"
The door swings shut behind him. "Can you believe the nerve of that guy?!" Clara exclaims. "Using my flowers to help him cheat!"
"Look on the bright side," I say, comforting her through my laughter. "With his taste in gifts, his wife will be leaving him soon!"
I TALK CLARA DOWN, then take the flowers over to meet Ethan. This time, a typed note or his assistant's scribble won't cut it—I need the man himself to take time out of his busy schedule of charm and antics to transcribe the note that will melt Chloe's heart.
I step into the lobby of his hotel in SoHo and make a beeline for the front desk. Everything at The Griffin is stylish and cool, a kind of rustic chic-meets-downtown vibe that makes you think the girl at the bar could be a supermodel, and those scruffy guys lounging on the plush couches are actually a chart-topping rock band.
I peer closer. Wait, are they…?
"Can I help you?"
I pivot to the scarily polished woman on duty. "Hi," I say, smiling at her. "I'm meeting the CEO, Ethan?"
She gives me a slow up-and-down look that makes me wish I'd changed out of my denim shorts and threadbare tank. Laundry day plus July in NYC equals fashion disaster over here. "He's in a meeting right now," she says, looking bored. "You'll need to wait."
"Well, I have a schedule too," I say pleasantly. I don't tell her that schedule involves me, a window AC unit, and some old episodes of The Office. "Where can I find him? He won't want this to wait."
Scary Chic presses her hand to her ear and murmurs something, and I realize she's talking into a headset. Then she gives me a nod towards the elevators. "Room 515."
"Thank you!"
I head on up, admiring the mirrored paneling and plush details. I have to hand it to the guy; he knows how to make a space feel sexy and decadent. Although, I shouldn't really be surprised. The first time I met Ethan for a quick coffee-shop meeting, he managed to pick up the barista and get the number of the girl behind us in line, all before my latte was ready.
The guy can multitask; I'll give him that.
He can also wear a pair of jeans like nobody's business. When I reach Room 515, I find the door open and Ethan's back turned, bending over the bed.
I pause, admiring the view for as long as is wholly professional.
And then maybe another five seconds longer.
"Ethan?" I finally announce my presence.
He straightens up and turns. "Mia! Hey, come on in and lie down."
"Excuse me?" I blink, my cheeks heating up. I've half-expected him to hit on me since we started working together, but I figured he would have more finesse than this. Buy me a drink, tell me I'm pretty…
"The bed. I'm testing mattresses. Come on." Ethan gestures me in.
Right. Work. Of course.
I take a couple of steps into the room and set the flowers down before gingerly perching on the edge. "No, seriously, lie down, give it a good bounce," Ethan insists. "This is a new vendor. He made me a bet that if I didn't think it was the softest around, I could get a big discount."
"Why would you want to order them at all if they aren't the best?" I ask. "Isn't that your whole thing? Quality is in the details," I say, quoting the ad copy I've seen on his Griffin promos.
Ethan arches an eyebrow. "You've been reading up about me? I'm flattered."
"Don't be. The pop-up ads follow me all around the internet," I correct him. I glance around the hotel suite, which, of course, is flawless. There's even a record player in the corner and a small library of books. I look closer. They're all by New York authors… and have something else in common, too. "Would it kill you to stock a female author?" I ask, rolling my eyes. "I mean… Nora Ephron, Zadie Smith, Edith Wharton…"
"Reading lists later." Ethan shifts back on the bed and begins to vigorously bounce. "Five minutes. I want to know what you think. You seem like someone who enjoys a good nap."
"I'm going to choose to interpret that as meaning I look well-rested and fresh," I inform him archly, but it's clear Ethan won't get around to his plans for romance until I give him my oh-so-important mattress opinions. I finally scoot back so I'm lying beside him on the king bed—a safe arm's length away.
"Comfy," I say.
"Yes, but is it like sleeping on a fluffy cloud?" he asks.
I sigh. "What does it even matter? It's fine!"
"Fine isn't good enough." Ethan turns his head to me. "Next!"
"Wait, there's more?" I ask as he pulls me into the room across the hall.
"This one is the UltraFeatherlite brand, with extra toppers." Ethan hurls himself onto the bed with enthusiasm. "Ooooh, I like this one."
What the hell. I take a running leap and flop down with a bounce. It's like being a kid all over again, except this king-sized bed is way better than my rock-hard twin mattress. I sink back into the pillowy bedding with a happy sigh.
"Now this has definite potential," I say.
"I think so too," Ethan agrees. "Now, for the all-important thrust test."
"The what now?"
Ethan scoots up the bed and starts rocking vigorously—sending the headboard thumping against the wall. I sit up with a jolt.
"Ethan!" I protest. "Stop it!"
"What?" he grins. "Everyone knows hotel sex is the best sex."
"But whoever's next door… They'll think we're…" I stop, blushing even harder now.
"Then we may as well put on a show." Ethan winks and rocks again. "Mia," he says loudly. "You little minx!"
I roll my eyes. "Ethan!"
"That's right, baby. Read poetry to me!" His voice gets louder. The bed thumps harder.
Two can play at that game.
"Oh no, Ethan, that's OK!" I raise my voice. "I don't mind. It happens to every guy."
"What? No!" Ethan exclaims. I have to stifle my laughter at the look on his face.
"It's not a big deal," I continue loudly. "Whoops, bad choice of words. It's a perfectly average-sized deal!"
"You're going to pay for that," Ethan warns, laughing. I scoot off the bed before he can push me.
"You asked for it!"
"So, what's the verdict?" he asks as I catch my breath again—and not just because of the bouncing. He's lounging back in the pillows, giving me a come-to-bed smile, and everything about him screams indulgent. Unforgettable. Sublime.
Ahem.
"The mattress is great," I blurt quickly. "Go for it."
"I'll order 500, ASAP."
I blink. That seems like a lot for a boutique hotel. "Are you going to stack them, three to a bed?"
Ethan laughs. "I'm opening a new location upstate," he explains, sliding off the bed and getting to his feet. "Griffin Lake Hotel, up in the Catskills. We're doing a soft opening next week to work out the kinks… but a bad night's sleep won't be one of them."
"Good luck with that," I say. "But what about your big date plans for Chloe? Or have you already changed your mind about her?"
Ethan gives me a look. "Do you really think I'm so fickle? Don't answer that," he says, before I can reply. "And no, I'm actually going to invite her to come as my guest."
I whistle. "Upping the stakes, huh? OK, here, I picked the perfect poem for you. It's all about nature; she'll love it. Just copy it by hand and put it in with the flowers with your invitation. She'd have to be a fool to turn it down."
"Why, because I'm such a catch?" Ethan teases.
"No, because an all-expenses-paid trip to the lake sounds amazing right about now."
I hand over the page, and Ethan gives it a brief glance before stuffing it in his pocket. "I trust you," he says. "When have you ever let me down? Aside from calling my manhood into question," he adds with a smirk.
"Your manhood is doing just fine," I laugh, opening the hotel room door. I stop. An older couple is just exiting the room next door. The woman gives me a sympathetic look.
"I couldn't help overhearing about your… predicament," she tells me in a whisper. "Viagra's what you need. One little pill, and he'll be good to go."
I choke back a laugh. "Thank you!" I say as they head down the hallway—with a spring in their step. "Did you hear that, honey?"
Ethan throws a pillow at me. I jump back, just in time.
"Remember, hand-write the note," I call to him. "And lead with the whole luxury vacation part!"
Lucky Chloe. I head out, feeling slightly wistful that there's nobody out there composing a grand seduction with me in mind. But that's how the cookie crumbles: some people get swept off their feet with extravagant bouquets and getaways, and some of us have to settle for popsicles and a night in with Netflix.
At least with Netflix, I know McDreamy will never let me down!