REDEEMING THE ROSE: GILDED KNIGHTS SERIES BOOK 1 Read online

  He loved what we presented, and promised to be back next week for more.

  Around eleven, when Abby checks her watch for the hundredth time in ten minutes, I set my notebook down, and place my hands on my hips. “You can go, ya know? I won’t trash your shop in the time you’re gone.”

  “But we just got a bulk order,” she worries. “Four bouquets for this afternoon, and a bunch more for tomorrow.”

  “Your friend is waiting,” I counter. “I can do today’s order, and this afternoon when you get back, we can work on the rest together.”

  “Are you… But… what if you get walk-ins while you’re busy with the orders?”

  Laughing, I grab up a pile of single-stemmed roses I’ve been cutting the thorns off for the last twenty minutes. “You’ve been running this shop all alone for the most part since conception. What did you do if you were busy and had walk-ins?”

  “I… well…” Her lip somewhat quivers, perhaps overwhelmed because she finally has someone telling her to let loose. “I set my work down,” she says. “Dealt with the customer, then got back to it.”

  “Exactly!”

  Coming around the desk and placing my hands on her shoulders, I steer Abby toward the back of the shop and into the office that is rarely used. It has a desk and chairs, a filing cabinet, and a lamp. It has a mini fridge we never use, and a computer that, I’ve learned since working here, exclusively collects dust.

  “I have your cell number,” I assure her while moving around her desk to collect her phone, purse, and car keys. “I know how you want this place run, and I know it means more to you than all four of your brothers combined.”

  “Five brothers,” she corrects with tight lips. “You probably forgot Troy again.”

  “Show me a picture,” I counter. “Bet I won’t forget then.”

  “You’re so naughty,” she snickers. “You’re pretending to be into my brothers all to tease me.”

  “Heh. Yeah.” All to tease her.

  “But seriously,” she says. “It’s fun that you tease Mitchell, but I’m so glad you would never actually do that.”

  “Mm?” I zip Abby’s purse closed. It’s black, with black stitching, and zippers, and a strap… details I force myself to obsess over, purely so I don’t have to look her in the eyes. “Do what?”

  “Date my brothers. It’s all fun and games to pick on them, but they need someone a little more…” She ponders for a moment. “I don’t know. Anchoring is the word I think I’m looking for. Someone who will stay at home and make pretty babies and casseroles for them.”

  “Wow,” I drawl. “You just set the feminist movement back fifty years.”

  “No!” Laughing and completely oblivious to the way my heart pounds, Abby grabs her black handbag with stitching and zippers and such. “I don’t mean that my brothers would demand the barefoot and stuck thing. Just that I think that’s what they need. Troy needs someone who will bring him home, then keep him home. Nix needs someone who’ll make him not want to leave the house. Mitch needs someone who’ll make him happy, a balm to his grumpiness.”

  “You want women who will fix these men?” I scowl. “You’re hurting all of womankind right now, Abigail.”

  “I don’t mean to.” She stops in the doorway and furrows her brow. “I just know what would truly make them happy.”

  “Don’t you mean you know what would make you happy? You, being the sheltered and now overly-involved baby sister who wants to approve of everyone who walks through their doors?”

  “I’m not overly-involved! I—”

  “Just ordered a nineteen-fifties housewife off wish.com for Troy, all so he won’t travel for work anymore. You want an animal in bed for Nixon, purely so he doesn’t take work calls in the middle of the night and continue to run toward fire. And Mitchell… hell knows what you want for him. You ordered someone to make him less grumpy, but I’m just not sure that’s something you can buy.”

  “You’re being exceptionally abrupt right now,” Abby huffs. “And honestly, this is my family. Not a work thing.”

  “You made it a work thing,” I argue. “And you want me here for my abruptness. You have a million ass-kissers in your life, Abigail. Trust me, you’re gonna want my honesty to balance it all out.”

  “You didn’t have to cuss, you know.” Grumbling, she steps through the office door and back onto concrete flooring. And because she’s busy moving, she misses the way I roll my eyes. “I’m just saying that I know what would make the guys happy. And I don’t want there to be any issues here because you insist on teasing them.”

  Yeah, that would be a damn shame. “I got it, boss. No teasing the Rosas.” Which I guess also translates to no sleeping with the Rosas.

  Satisfied, she clutches her purse strap and nibbles on her bottom lip for a moment. Her eyes scream abort mission, the way a brand-new mom’s might the first time she leaves her baby for more than twenty seconds. Her gaze flickers from me to the desk, to the wall, to the front of the store. “Nadia, I…”

  “Go.”

  I stride out of the office and become the assistant she needs. I let go of my feelings of rejection; first, it was Mitchell, sneaking out in the dark, then Abigail comes along with the boot and says hypothetically speaking, I’m not the right one for him. That’s two Rosa slams in one morning.

  Grabbing Abigail’s shoulders once more, I steer her through the shop—where there are no walk-ins—and straight toward the front door. Swinging it open, and hearing the jingle of the bells up top, I shove Abby onto the sidewalk and flash an evil grin. “Go, visit with your friend. Be a minute, be an hour. Be however long you want. If things start going haywire here, I promise to call you. But seriously? I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be just fine.”

  “Call me!” She squeezes the hell out of her purse strap. “I’ll come straight back. I’ll only be a few minutes away, so if the world catches on fire, you just have to—”

  “Call the fire department. Got it.”

  “Nadia!”

  “Abigail!” I swing the door shut. I was going for a more dramatic slam, but this door is one of those slow-close kinds, so instead of a slam, I’m left staring at her for a long minute as it slowly closes, and jingles the bells when it finally reaches them. Then, because Abby won’t leave until I do, I spin on my heels and go back to what I was doing when this whole discussion began.

  I was working on a bouquet of roses. An anniversary gift that lends toward love and fortitude, more than sex and a nasty time. Pinks, whites, and reds, rather than strictly red. Greenery, and a sprinkle of paper and ribbons. Lots of cute additions that will hopefully make a beautiful home display for the next week before eventually being tossed in the trash.

  I don’t know if Abby purposely sets her Spotify to the nineties, or if it just so happens to tend that way on its own, but Ashlee Simpson sings of her heart while I work, and after just a few minutes of being alone, my scowl transforms to a smile. My foot begins tapping while I arrange and do my best to make something pretty. And finally, the vise that was squashing my stomach all morning loosens.

  It’s okay to admit that I got my feelings hurt. I went to bed with a man last night. He was amazing, attentive, and hardly grumpy at all. He made it so I was completely and utterly in the moment, and not thinking about my next move. He made it so I could relax enough to orgasm, and soon after that, sleep.

  He made me comfortable.

  But then he snuck out. And really, that’s fine too. It’s literally what he said would happen. He never once made false promises, so my hurt feelings are completely my own.

  Abby is gone for more than an hour before there is any movement inside the store that isn’t mine. Whistling on my breath as Maroon 5 croons that way they do—yum—I glance up when the door bells jangle, then my stomach flips when a pair of platinum blondes walk in. These women are Vogue magazine cover-model-worthy. Long limbs. Long hair. Bright blue eyes, brighter than any summer sky.

  Shelves and displays stand
between me and them, so all I see are their shoulders and up. They’re identical in all but their clothes. One wears a tank, so her shoulders are exposed. The other, a capped-sleeve top. One wears a necklace. The one with a tank does not. One wears her hair up. The other, down.

  I paste on my best customer service smile, though nerves batter at my belly—because despite how confident I can act, I’m still new at my job and don’t wanna screw it up.

  But then the women step around the final shelf and stop in front of me. And my sales pitch is lost.

  “Holy shit,” I murmur as I study the women side by side. “One of you ate a watermelon for lunch.”

  Snorting, the clearly pregnant twin presses a hand to her twenty-month-pregnant belly. “Our mom kept warning us about swallowing the seeds, but alas…”

  “No. I assure you, had you swallowed the seeds, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  Barking out a loud laugh, the pregnant one reacts with her whole bouncing body, while the capped-sleeve twin merely blushes.

  And then I blush. “Geez, I’m sorry.” This is why Abby didn’t want to leave me in charge. “Don’t tell my boss I said that. Let me start again.” I step forward and offer a hand. “I’m Nadia, and I’m here to help you with all of your flower needs.”

  “Means you’re not Abigail?” The pregnant one takes the lead and shakes my hand. “I’m Jess, the prettier twin is Laine, and I was sent in here to ask for Abigail.”

  “Abby’s not in right now, but I can certainly help you. Alternatively, I can call Abby and have her here within a couple minutes. Your call.”

  “We’ll start with you.” Jess rubs soothing circles against her stomach and moves from one foot to the next. She’s already tired, already too heavy.

  “Oh!” Remembering my manners, I dash to the front desk and snatch up the stool that sits behind the register. In heels and with a swirling belly, I run the stool back to the women, only to skid to a stop when the front door opens once more, and a man, six and a half feet of ‘holy fuck, he’s gonna kill us all’ stomps through. Tattoos up to his ears, close-cut hair, and eyes darker than my soul.

  I stand with the stool in hand and consider using it as a weapon. I’ll toss it at the guy, snatch up the blonde barbies, and we’ll run for our fucking lives. But that plan is thrown out just as quickly when the guy strides along the aisle and wraps the pregnant one up in his arms the second he’s within reach.

  My mouth hangs open. My eyes bulge wide.

  I just… They just…

  “You should stop staring,” the other twin, Laine, murmurs. “He’ll shoot.”

  “He will not,” Jess giggles. “Nadia, this is my husband-to-be. Kane, Nadia is going to help us today.”

  Kane’s brows pull together into a severe frown. “Abigail runs this shop.” He’s not asking. He’s saying. Demanding. “Where’s Abigail Rosa?”

  “Bishop,” Jess grumbles low on her breath. “Chill.”

  “Um… Abby is out for a moment. But she’ll be back shortly.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Bishop!” Jess turns on the scary dude—her pale skin to his dark, her platinum blonde to his midnight black. They’re opposites in every way, and yet, she seems to control him. “She’s Nadia. I already told you that.”

  “Soph didn’t mention a Nadia working here.”

  “Well, maybe Soph is losing her touch and doesn’t know everything.”

  “I…” have no clue what you’re talking about. But I can’t say that, so instead, I offer, “I’m new. This is literally my second day, and contracts were signed on Friday, so…”

  “So Kane Bishop better chill out before I kill him with an icicle.” Jess spins in his arms and smiles sweetly. “Wanna play?”

  “It would be the perfect crime,” I chime in. Because I guess I’m feeling all sorts of testy. “No one would suspect it was her.”

  The other blonde finally laughs. “Everyone would suspect it was her. Not only that, but only one person would be truly cut up about it.”

  “Jess?”

  Laine snorts. “No. Kane’s little brother has codependency issues. He’d panic without Kane in his life.”

  “Alright,” Kane cuts in. “We’re done with that. So, you can help us with the flowers?”

  “I… well…” I laugh. “I suspect I probably can. But up to this point, no one has actually asked for flowers. Would you like some?”

  “We’re getting married,” Jess interjects. “I want it done and tied up before the babies arrive.”

  “Babies?” I ask. “Multiple?”

  “Two of them,” she says.

  Kane, grinning with pride, holds up two fingers.

  “And they were due when?”

  “Ha,” Jess rolls her eyes. “Let’s talk flowers, then we can talk colors and shit. How long does it take to order all the flowers in?”

  “Uh… could be a few days, could be much longer if you want us to create a brand-new species for you.”

  “No new species,” she replies with a smile. “Just regular flowers.” Again, her hand goes to her massively stretched stomach. “We could just—”

  “Ya know what?” I hold the stool in one hand, and offer the other in Jess’ direction. “I’m already freaking out about those babies bonking their heads on the floors. It’s concrete in here, and I worry about concussion, so let’s go take a seat. I’ll get you a bottle of water, and maybe…” I look along her man’s muscular body, to the gun strapped to his thigh, the bulge at his ankle. “Um… perhaps a gun safe?”

  “Ha!” Jess steps out of his arms and makes her way to the counter.

  The moment I arrive with the stool and set it down, she drops down with a grunt, and fans her face. “It’s so friggin’ hot.”

  “Water!” I dash away before anyone can say anything else, skid into the office, and snatch up a bottle of water from the mini-fridge as I grab my cell and hit dial.

  It takes less than a second for Abby to answer. “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” I snicker. “But we just had a couple walk in to discuss a wedding. Kane someone, and Jess someone. I didn’t catch last names yet, but they mentioned your name a couple times, so maybe you already know them.”

  “Kane and Jess?” She ponders that for a moment. “No, I don’t… I don’t know those names.”

  “Well, they know Abigail Rosa owns this place.”

  “Public knowledge,” she replies easily. “My last name is on the building. It’s okay, I’m getting up now anyway.” She grunts as she moves, and when I listen closely, I can distinguish the beep of a heart rate monitor.

  She’s really at the hospital. Really visiting sick people.

  “You can get them started,” she says. “Take notes. We want wedding date, colors, sizes and numbers of bouquets. Then we can move on from there.”

  “Alright.” I snag a fresh notebook from the desk, then a pen. “She, uh… the bride-to-be… she’s, like, super pregnant.”

  “Oh!” Predictably, Abby squeals with delight.

  “I’m talking full-grown watermelon pregnant. And she wants her wedding tied up before the babies.”

  “Babies?” she exclaims. “More than one?”

  “Two of ‘em, and he’s proud as punch.”

  “Aw, that’s so exciting. A little unconventional,” she says, reminding me of her ‘wedding before sex’ talks. “But still, very exciting. I’m putting my shoes on right now, then I’ll be there in just a couple minutes. Tell them I’m on my way.”

  “Sure thing, boss. How’s your friend?”

  “She’s great. She’s kicking cancer’s butt today.”

  “That’s awesome news. Alright, I’d better get back out there before they think I’ve run away. See you in a minute.”

  “See you in a minute!”

  Hanging up, I slip my cell into my pants pocket, and tuck my notepad under my arm. But stepping out of the office and into the main shop, I stop on a dime when I find Kane holding the other tw
in in a headlock.

  His massive bicep crushes her skull, his grin is hot as hell, and Jess’ laughter is pealing and soul-healing. They’re family, in the unconventional sense, and they don’t particularly look like they fit. But there’s love here. There’s genuine loyalty and kindness. There’s a family, waiting to bring a couple more Vogue cover models into this world.

  Sigh.

  My day started off a little crappy, but this right here turned it all around. This is why I want to work with flowers; purely so I can meet the people who care enough to buy them.

  “I… um…” I smile when Jess’ eyes whip back to mine. “I called Abby. She’s on her way back to meet you guys. While we wait, I was hoping we could cover a few of the boring admin-y details.”

  “Sure thing.” Kane tosses Laine away, rough hands and zero remorse, but he chuckles when she spins out on sure legs, then comes back and smacks his ribs with a balled fist.

  She’s not like those fighters I see on the television, with her crappy punch and all that. But still, her enthusiasm makes up for what she lacks in skill, and Kane’s laughter comes out on a squeak, then a bark.

  Call me crazy, but I think he’s proud as hell that she took the shot.

  10

  Mitchell

  Evil Plans - Squeak Squeak

  “I’m gonna need flowers,” Kari Macchio—aka Pipsqueak, aka, Luc’s brand-new fiancée—sits in the lunchroom a week after my disciplinary meeting and licks the lid of a yogurt container. “Lots and lots of beautiful flowers.”

  Luc sits on a hard plastic chair just like Kari and I do, but he has an extra for his feet, and his eyes are on the screen bolted to the wall fifteen feet away. The TV is tuned to the sports channel, where a couple of guys in tights roll around inside an octagon, and belt each other half to death for the sake of a fat paycheck. But though his eyes are on the fight, his attention is on everything his girl says.