Rachel's POV
David arrived at quarter past eleven with a bouquet that took up most of my assistant's arms when she came through the door holding it.
"From Mr. Crowe," she said, setting it on the edge of my desk carefully. with the careful expression of someone trying not to have an opinion. "He's in the waiting area."
I looked at the flowers. They were good ones, garden roses in cream and pale yellow, arranged loosely, nothing stiff or overly formal about them. It was obvious they were chosen with care.
"Send him in," I said, already smiling at the thought of someone thinking about me and picking what I like.
David came through the door with his jacket on and his hands in his pockets, "The flowers are from me," he said with a smile.
"I gathered," I said, trying to hold in my smile.
