Chapter 15 FIFTEEN
Chapter Fifteen
Lena’s POV
The bouquet on my doorstep is the third this week—roses this time, blood-red and obnoxious, tied with a satin ribbon that screams, “I’m sorry,” in Wes’s handwriting on the little card. Miss you, baby. Let’s talk. –W. I kick it aside as I juggle my keys and takeout bag, the flowers tumbling into the hallway. My neighbor, Mrs. Delgado, peeks out, her curlers bobbing. “Another one? Mija, that boy’s persistent.”
“Persistent pest,” I mutter, slamming my door before she can launch into her soap-opera theories. The apartment smells like pad thai and exhaustion—another late night at the office, poring over campaign revisions while Sienna’s snide comments echoed in my head.
Wes is unrelenting. He keeps dropping flowers at my doorstep because I’m never home when he comes knocking, all puppy-eyed and desperate. It’s becoming embarrassing. The doorman started smirking, and the super raised a brow. I can’t keep dodging him forever; the building’s gossip mill will explode.
I flop on the couch, ankle propped on a pillow. My phone buzzes—Wes again. I’ve ignored thirty-seven calls and deleted twice as many texts. But the flowers… they’re a public declaration now. I need him gone. Finally, I decide to listen to what he wants to say, if only to shut him up. I swipe to answer, pressing the phone to my ear.
“Lena?” His voice cracks with breathless hope. “Baby, oh God, you picked up—”
“Don’t ‘baby’ me,” I snap, cutting him off. “We can meet up this weekend to talk. That’s it.”
“Really? Thank you, thank you—”
“In public,” I add, firmly. “Central Park, by the Bethesda Fountain. Saturday, noon. And Wes? Don’t get ideas.”
He pauses, the silence thick. “Can we meet at your place? More private, just us—”
“No.” The word’s a bullet. “Open space. Take it or leave it.”
He sighs, defeated but eager. “Okay, okay. Park it is. I’m glad you finally want to meet with me, Lena. I’ve missed you so much—”
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. “You should not even think of it as anything because I just want a pest off my back. You’re being a pest to me, Wes. Flowers at my door? Showing up when I’m not home? It’s creepy. Stop.”
“I… I just want you back,” he says, voice small. “I messed up, I know—”
“Save it for Saturday.” I hang up, tossing the phone aside. My head throbs immediately, a vise squeezing my temples. Headache. Of course. It’s because of everything. The world’s conspiring to break me.
I rub my eyes, the office flashing back. Yesterday’s disaster with Tessa still burns—my snarky comment about her not understanding marketing, Sienna fanning the flames. What does Tessa want to do? Escalate to Sebastian? Dock my pay? I contemplate going to apologize, swallowing my pride with a side of grovel. It might save my ass. Probation’s a tightrope; one slip, and I’m out.
Morning comes too fast. The office is a blur of emails and deadlines, my cubicle a fortress of sticky notes. Mia swings by mid-morning, two coffees in hand—hers black, mine with oat milk, just how I like it. She’s in a mustard sweater today, curls bouncing as she perches on my desk edge.
“You okay?” she asks, sliding the cup over. “You look like you wrestled a printer and lost.”
I manage a weak laugh, sipping the coffee—bitter, perfect. “Headache. Life. The usual.” I hesitate, the apology to Tessa gnawing at me. Screw it. “Mia… you know the best way to apologize to Tessa?”
She raises a brow, a small smile tugging her lips. “Looks like you’ve stepped on Tessa’s toes this time. Big time.”
“Understatement,” I mutter, glancing around—no eavesdroppers. “I snapped. She said she doesn’t know marketing. Sienna made it worse.”
Mia leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, Tessa’s not one to let you off the hook easily, but I think if she’s been sex-starved lately—and rumor has it, her divorce left her high and dry—she might soften. I think if she gets a good dick, it could be a distraction. Perhaps if you find a hot man for her, she might be too busy to remember whatever you did to her. Set her up on a blind date—tall, dark, and charming. Bonus if he’s loaded. She’ll forget your name by Monday.”
I choke on my coffee, eyes wide. “Mia! You’re evil. Genius, but evil.”
She winks, straightening. “Hey, desperate times. Just don’t tell her I said—”
“What’s going on here?” Sienna’s voice cuts in, sharp as glass. She appeared like a bad omen, arms crossed, eyes narrowing at our huddle. Mia and I freeze, coffees mid-sip.
“It’s none of your business, Sienna.”