8. Lily

Chapter 8

Lily

T he next morning, I wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside my window. The clouds are more prominent this morning, which I decide is a bad omen for the day ahead. After a quick breakfast of toast and marmalade, I head downstairs to the shop.

The roses are still fresh and vibrant in the cooling box and the infusion is ready to be bottled up for the omega ready to collect at noon. I cringe when I remember the delivery for Max is at eleven. I should make it back in time for twelve, but it will be cutting it a bit finer than I'd like.

Pottering about, it's a slow day, as predicted. When half-past ten finally rolls around, I'm ready to go. With shaking hands, I grab the scent-masker that I made for myself and dab a bit on. The scent of peaches mingles with the scent of the bouquet, and I'm satisfied that I'm hidden as much as possible for this little trip out.

Jittery and nervous, as I load the roses into my tiny car that I hardly drive because I never go anywhere. Okay, I go to Noletown once a week for groceries, but everything else I have right here. Safety, security, and not too many tourists to scare me into being a complete hermit. My hands shake suddenly at the thought of making this trip.

"No, not now," I groan. I feel the car getting smaller as the doors and windows press in. My breathing is erratic, and I splay my hand on the cool side window to anchor myself.

Deep breaths, Lily. You've got this.

Shoving the door open, I gulp back deep breaths when my lungs finally work, and after what feels like an eternity, my breathing evens out, and the car stops closing in on me. I grip the steering wheel tightly, staring straight ahead, glad that no one paid any attention to the omega having a panic attack in her car on the side of the road. It would've made it so much worse if someone had hovered over me. Or maybe someone did notice and left me to it. Not in a nasty way, but an ‘I get it' way.

That is confirmed almost instantly when Mrs Hargreaves appears, making enough racket to warn the dead she was arriving, coughing and stomping her feet loudly. I appreciate the un-stealthy way she made her approach.

She gives me a warm smile. "You alright there, love?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit of a wobble, you know," I reply, trying to sound casual.

She nods knowingly. "We all have those days. You take care now."

"Thank you," I say sincerely.

As she shuffles off down the pavement, I finally feel ready to tackle the drive. I start the car and pull out onto the road, focusing on my breathing and the rhythm of the tyres on the tarmac. I'm running later now than I'd have liked, but mercifully, the roads are quiet, allowing me to maintain a steady pace. Max's fancy bank, Forshaw's, is on the main street in Noletown. It's one of those where you need a certain amount to even open an account. Way more than I make in a year, so it's not a place I've ever gone to.

Luckily, fate throws me a bone after my panic-induced incident, and I find a parking space right outside that would only fit my Smart car and nothing else—maybe a motorbike. I take a few precious seconds to compose myself further. Having never met Max Hamilton, I don't want to roll in there looking like something the cat dragged in. I have no idea why I want to impress him so much, but I have a very strong suspicion it might have to do with Jack and Sam.

I smooth out my wild hair and check my reflection in the rear-view mirror, making sure I at least look somewhat presentable. God, why do I feel like I'm about to face some sort of court hearing? It's just a flower delivery.

Grabbing the bouquet of roses, I step out of the car and make my way towards the entrance of Forshaw's.

Stepping inside, I'm immediately enveloped by the scent of polished wood and leather. The place is posh; even the plants look expensive. No plastic pot plants here or ginormous cacti that would put your eye out.

The receptionist, a young beta with a sleek bob and sharp eyes, gives me a quick once-over as I approach the desk.

"Good morning," she greets with a professional smile, eyes flicking to the roses. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, good morning," I reply, trying to sound less like a nervous wreck. "I have a delivery for Max Hamilton."

Her smile widens slightly. "Oh?" She checks her computer and comes up empty, judging by her frown. But duh. This is a surprise delivery. Aren't flowers usually? "I don't have you down for today?"

Plastering a smile on my face, I try not to sound too condescending when I say, "They're a surprise delivery."

"Oh," she exclaims, as if that thought hadn't even occurred to her. "I'll sign for them."

"I'd like to hand them to Mr Hamilton myself. That was the instruction, and I won't let my client down."

Jeez, she's being a real pain in my arse right now.

"Hand them to him yourself?" she repeats. "I'm not sure that's possible."

"Call him down here," I grit out, still smiling so hard my cheeks are hurting. "It won't take a minute."

She glares at me, her attitude going frosty.

Despite my panic attack earlier, I'm going all guns blazing for my mysterious client who asked me to hand deliver these to Max. Whoever she is, she deserves for me to do what she paid me for. Handsomely, I might add.

The receptionist lets out a huff that could have blown away my bouquet if it wasn't for my tight grip. She picks up the phone, jabs at a few buttons, and mutters something indecipherable into the receiver before slamming it down.

"Mr Hamilton will be here in a minute," she says through gritted teeth before she looks away, going back to her work.

I think she rolled her eyes so hard they almost got stuck in the back of her head.

"Thank you," I state and silently add, that wasn't so hard now, was it?

While I wait, I take in the grandeur of Forshaw's Bank. The air suddenly shifts, and the scent of bergamot and old books hits the back of my nose. The blend sends a tingle creeping over the back of my neck in a deliciously good way.

Turning, I spot a tall alpha approaching from the back of the bank, his presence commanding as he strides towards me. He's impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that probably costs more than my annual profit. His blue-eyed gaze is sharp, his dark hair neatly styled, and there's an air of sophistication around him that's almost tangible.

"Good morning," he greets me, his voice smooth as velvet but with an underlying curiosity. "I understand you have a delivery for me?"

I try to hide my nervousness as I step forward, extending the roses towards him. "Yes, Mr Hamilton. These are for you."

He takes the bouquet, his fingers brushing against mine for the briefest moment. There's something electric about his touch that makes me swallow hard. His eyes flicker with surprise and amusement as he examines the flowers.

"Thank you," he says, looking back at me with an intensity that makes my knees feel like jelly. "No card?"

I shake my head, and gulp. The vibration is coming up from the very tips of my toes, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I slam my hand over my mouth the instant the purr escapes my lips, but it's too late. The sound is out there, echoing awkwardly in the otherwise quiet lobby of Forshaw's Bank. Jesus Christ. Could this get any more embarrassing?

Max raises an eyebrow, a look of, oh God, is that horror on his face?

The snotty receptionist's head snaps up, and she stifles her laugh about as well as I did my purr.

Which isn't very well.

Heat rushes up my face, and I can feel my cheeks turning a deep shade of red.

"Humph," he mutters, almost as embarrassed as I am about this unprecedented situation.

Great, he thinks I'm some lovestruck omega delivering flowers to him because of his irresistible alpha charm. I need to set the record straight before my dignity crumbles into dust. "They're not from me," I blurt out quickly. "I'm just the messenger."

His eyes narrow slightly. "I assumed that."

Fuck.

Fuck.

I knew today was going to be bad, but this is taking the cake.

"Yeah," I nod vigorously. "So…"

He glares at me as if he expects an apology for my bumbling behaviour. Well, fuck that, and fuck him. He is a total arsehole. How did two nice alphas like Jack and Sam get hooked up with this arrogant fuckface?

"Bye, then," I snap and storm off, dread filling my soul at the thought of having to do this again next week. Maybe I'll get Sonya to deliver them after all. Surely, my client won't mind. Sighing when reality slaps me in the face, I know I can't do that. I'm going to have to pull my Bridget Jones big knickers up and arrive here next week as if nothing ever happened.

"Fucking hell," I mutter as I climb back in the car and give the clouds the finger. This day needs to end. But then I glance at the clock and gasp. "The omega!"

I have fifteen minutes to get back to the shop in time to make the twelve o'clock appointment. Firing up the engine, I slam my foot down and burn rubber, getting away from the town centre and back on the road to Keeley for a meeting I cannot and will not miss.