MACEY
True to his word, Damien sent someone to deliver the gifts and the huge-ass bouquet like they were from strangers. I, of course, played along.
The flowers arrived mid-morning, all lush and showy like something out of a perfume ad. My coworkers were drooling over them, and I pretended to have no clue who sent them. Inside, though, I was grinning like a fool because I knew exactly who they were from.
By the time the clock hit four, I’d had enough of pretending to work. My laptop was already half-closed, my head somewhere between daydreaming about Damien’s voice and wondering what he had planned for the night.
Sam called just as I was about to pack up. She wanted to know if I had plans, said she was thinking of dragging me out for drinks. I almost laughed. Why in God’s name woul
