Tulips for Tonica (4 page)

“Carte Seay hired me to have you follow him. That was the case.”

“What? Why?” Tonica’s world tilted. At once, her hand shot to the desk’s edge. She grabbed it to steady herself.

“Tonks! Please!” Olivia pleaded.

The volume yanked Tonica back to the ongoing conversation. A sheen of perspiration shined from beneath Olivia’s usually smooth, light makeup. Coaxing back her anger, Tonica decided to hear everything. Surely, Olivia had a good reason to send her on a wild goose chase. Surely.

“Go on,” Tonica eased herself into the seat once more, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu.

“Seay paid up front, and he came to me under false pretense so it bugged me. At first, he sent that Tre Alexander to me. He pretended, rather convincingly, to be Shae Williams’ cousin. Right in this very office. Where you’re sitting! So, he told us he wanted Seay’s DNA.”

“Why?” Tonica couldn’t see why anyone would go through such lengths.

“To prove paternity…”

“What? No, Olivia. Why did Carte create some ruse to get me to follow him? What was I supposed to see?” She scowled as her voice shot up an octave, and climbed along with her realization that Carte had planned it all. So ridiculous.

Olivia put her face into her hands. Big golden hoops in her earlobes glistened in the office’s fluorescent lights. Tonica expected her to go on, to cry, to scream, but Olivia only sat in silence. While she took a few minutes to collect herself, Tonica tried to figure out why.

When Olivia sat back up, she said, “I wanted to know why, too. So I called him. He confessed straight off the bat. Apologized and everything. But I was so pissed; I pulled you off his tail.” She pounded the desk. “Being the most tenacious employee and PI I have ever met, you had to go pursue him anyway.”

“Did you ask him?” Tonica asked, shifting the discussion back to what she didn’t already know.

Olivia tossed her hands up. “Yeah. He said he only wanted a chance.”

“A chance to do what? Be a conniving bastard?”

At this Olivia’s face sobered. “No, Tonks. I believe he wanted to impress you or develop a reason to talk to you.”

“Oh that’s better.”

“Tonks…”

“I’m out,” Tonica said, standing up again. “I need to breathe some air not polluted with bullshit.” She wanted to go home and shower. No,
soak
in a nice, warm bubble bath with a glass of Merlot.  It didn’t matter it was only ten in the morning. It would be her little secret; it seemed everyone had them, so why not her?

The cell phone blared and they both jumped. Olivia answered, “Stevens & Eaton Detective Agency .yes, be right there.”

Wordlessly, Olivia got up and went to her office door.

Tonica hardly noticed as she became lost in a whirlwind of confusion. She couldn’t shake the firestorm of questions and emotions assaulting her. She heard Olivia talking to someone, but the words buzzed annoyingly in her ear.

Olivia appeared in her doorway and pointed to Tonica.

This can’t be good
. She was identified.

But Olivia gave whoever was in the lobby her client smile, so it couldn’t be too bad.

Could it?

“Yes, Tonica Faye is right here. All of those are for her? Wow. Um, Tonks where do you want these?”

With adrenaline seeping into her bloodstream, Tonica’s sense sharpened. The crisp cold air blew in from outside which meant open lobby doors. Heavy boots stomped on the tile which meant delivery men of some kind—and more than one. Well, maybe not a delivery man. What would delivery men want with her anyway?

“Tonks! Where. Do. You. Want. These?” Olivia inquired again and gestured with her hand for Tonica to come see the “these.”

When Olivia cracked the door open a hair wider, Tonica held her breath. She walked over to the door. Feeling more confident at her boss’s smiling face she cautiously stuck her head out.

And shrieked.

Stumbling in disbelief, Tonica felt Olivia’s hands grab her.

“I’m glad I caught you,” Olivia said.

She guided her out into the lobby where every flat surface had been covered by bouquets of tulips. The receptionist counter, the window sills, the outgoing mail counter, and even spots where Stevens & Eaton Detective Agency pamphlets and table tents had been housed.

“Stunning.” Olivia beamed. “They’re all addressed to you. You obviously made an impression on someone.”

Carte Seay.

“I guess so,” Tonica muttered. What did he think he proved by doing this?

“Oh come on, sour Sally,” Olivia passed the delivery man’s clipboard to Tonica. “Twenty dozen tulips is nothing to sneeze at. That’s two hundred and forty flowers.”

“Yeah, took up two trucks ‘cause one had to come from our other two stores,” the delivery man added. He took the outstretched clipboard bearing Tonica’s signature. “You must have some admirer.”

“Did I ask you?” Tonica snapped.

“Tonks, really…”

“Good morning to you both,” he said and left.

As soon as the door shut, Tonica stomped back into Olivia’s office and threw herself into the same wingback chair. Uncomfortable and hard, it didn’t offer any relief. It should’ve felt cozy, like how she imagined Carte’s arms to be. Like his arms were crafted to hold her. The thought made her mouth water.

Goodness, she ached to taste his lips.

NO! He can’t buy my affection with corny flowers and delicious sushi dinners.

“Why are you here? Go to your office and call the man. Thank him,” Olivia encouraged. She leaned back in the doorway.  

“He can’t buy my affections.”

“He isn’t trying to…”

“Isn’t he?” Tonica bolted upright. “He paid you to have me follow him just to manipulate the situation to ask me out. Now this? What next? He buys me the Hope diamond? He’s trying to pay for my affection, Olivia, and I won’t fall for that. My name isn’t Shae Williams…”

“Oh, is that what this is about?” Olivia’s eyebrow quirked. She nodded like a wise old wizard and shoved her hands in her pocket.

Tonica ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. “Aren’t you listening to me?”

“Are you listening to yourself?”

“What? Yes, of course…”

“Then let me tell you what I heard. I heard that you’re scared to let anyone in. The fact that Carte Seay has money is a red herring. You’re worried about how he treats women based on rumors, and the gossip mill instead of finding out for yourself. Excuses to not feel, to not let anyone close enough to hurt you.”

Tonica tilted her head to one side. She was pretty sure she hadn’t said all of that. It worried her that even though she hadn’t vocalized it that Olivia had read her that well.

“No…I’m not interested in him.”

Olivia snorted. “Uh huh. That’s why you followed him even when I told you not to.”

“I’m tenacious. You said that earlier, so no take-backs!”

Olivia smirked. With her hands on her hips, she nodded. “You are, but that’s not why you kept following him.”

“Yeah it is…for the case.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “I don’t like that you’re lying to me, but I
really
hate that you’re lying to yourself.”

Chapter Five

The tulip is a declaration of love.

—Romance Struck

Flushed and blushing sunset rays poured through the panes of the Proximity Hotel’s 22-foot high windows. Perfumed scented air blew from discreetly hidden heaters. A faint hint of strong drink spiked the closer he came to the Print Works Restaurant.

Carte Seay walked between two curving staircases and multiple sofas in varying shades of beige and taupe, accented with orange pillows in the Social Lobby. Places like this gave the illusion of perfection, but of course, failed. Carte didn’t search for imperfections today. Instead, he sought out the one jewel that outshined all others. His heart beat faster, like he’d spent an hour jogging. Even his hands sweated. In most courtrooms, other lawyers and even some judges referred to him—behind his back—as the cucumber, because he was so cool. But beneath his ebony sweater, undershirt, and pleated dress pants, he perspired.

Weaving through the luxuriously decorated lobby of fresh-cut flowers, mohair sofas, and gleaming marble floors, Carte heard the whispers buzzing around him as he passed. Over time, he’d grown used to creating a stir when he entered a room. His looks used to cause the drones to start humming, but now, his money got the hive all bothered. The other people in the upper echelon occupied the casual elegance of The Proximity like lizards basking in the sun. With nothing to do at twilight, many of them used the Social Lobby as a transitioning station between home and work. Happy hour ticked on as fine wines, aged whiskey, and inhibitions spilled. Their lips loosened by strong drink, people said his name in poorly whispered volumes that caught his attention. But he pushed it aside. He had a much more important purpose.

Nestled in a corner spot, closest to the one he hungered for, he saw her slowly come into view. None of the world mattered any longer. The edges of his vision blurred. Only one person existed.
Her
. For years he’d lamented the loss of a woman he believed held the key to his heart and his future.

Tonica.

He wondered if the flowers had been over the top. Tonica had invited him here for a meeting. Three days of waiting, Tre claimed Carte had worn a hole in the Persian rug in the center of the living room. Big. Bold. Stephen and he decided he needed something to shake Tonica’s reservations. But had it moved her heart toward or away from him? She must be one hell of a chess player—unconventional—but fantastic. Each time Carte made a move, she reacted too.

And never in the way he expected.

He liked that about her.

Still, he’d already begun working on another plan. After being so close, he couldn’t just leave it. He’d done that before. Not going to happen again. He promised himself and scores of restless nights that he wouldn’t allow Tonica to slip through his fingers. Just watching her sitting there turned his dials. His lips burned to taste her marvelous chocolate skin.

Why had she decided to reach out? Why arrange this tête-à-tête unless she meant to
accept
his affections? Or reject them? A giddiness spilled over him. Here, he was again, ready but with more knowledge.

He slowed down, giving himself more time to observe her without her knowing—without her guard up. She sat in partial shadow. A bone-white cup rested on the maple-stained table before her. The coffee’s strong aroma bowled through the light perfumed scents and acidic aroma of alcohol. The tapping of her scarlet heels against the elegant flooring created intermittent little taps drowned out by guffaws and outbursts of drunken cackling. She watched something out of the window, putting her profile on display. She pondered something deeply.

Him?

He hoped so.

He grinned.

Heading toward the woman of his dreams, Carte pushed by guests. Happy hour grew as more people arrived. Tonica didn’t seem overly dressed. Fitted black leggings skimmed her ankles on up to her knees where they disappeared into the dark recesses of her sweater dress. A red leather belt cinched her waist. Diamond and ruby pearl-drop earrings sparked from her ears. He’d been reared to notice how well a woman took care of herself. It spoke to how well a woman would take care of him. Or so his mother said.

She sat just at the edge of the throng of people. Apart, but also a part of the mayhem. He approached with his hopes in his throat.

Stopping short of her chair, he said, “Tonica, you look stunning.”

She turned to face him.  “Seay.”

He held out the single, red tulip to her. “I’m glad you called.”

Tonica’s eyes widened and a smile quirked her lips. “A tulip. Why thank you.”

Rewarded with a small smile, she smelled it.

“I know you’re probably sick of tulips by now, but they remind me of you.”

“How so?”

“Tulips are beautiful, no matter the color. They’re resilient and productive. The red ones stand for undying passion, the yellow ones, hopeless love, and the tulip tree is for fame.”

Tonica rotated the tulip in her hand. “This flower means all that?”

“Yes, well, to me.”

She arched an eyebrow as she looked at him. “How do you know so much about tulips?”

“My father was a florist and botanist.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“There’s much you don’t know about me,” Carte said.

“It’s not for lack of trying,” Tonica replied.

“Are you ready to find out more, first-hand?”

When she got up, his breath whooshed out. She batted those long dark lashes, and his knees threatened to send him crashing to the floors.

“Yes.” She picked up her purse, and shrugged into her cashmere coat.

“You want to go someplace else to talk?” He adjusted his own leather coat.

“Yes, it’s too loud here.”

“I know just the place.”

He offered her his gloved hand. It warmed him through to his toes when she accepted.

Hand in his, she let him lead her through the now crowded lobby.