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Perhaps Dylan Hawke didn’t see the situation the same way. She held a sprig of mint out to him. “If that’s okay, Mr. Hawke?”
“More than okay,” he said, taking the mint and lifting it to his nose. “I think it’s a great example of customer service.”
Dylan’s approving gaze rested on her, and her shoulders relaxed as relief flowed through her veins. But she was also aware that his approval was having more of an effect than it should...
As she worked, he blended into the background, but she felt his eyes on her the entire time she was making the crab apple, mint and white carnation arrangement. After Tom left, pleased with the results, Dylan cornered her near the cash register.
“Please tell me you get reimbursed for those extras you purchase on Monday mornings,” he said, his voice low.
She maintained a poker face. Getting her manager into trouble was a quick route to reduced hours, but she couldn’t lie, either. He could check the store’s accounting books and find that she hadn’t asked for reimbursement after the first few times, not since Mary had finally put her foot down and said she should use stock that was already in the store. And being caught in a lie by the CEO would be even less healthy for her career than not covering for her immediate manager.
“Sure, but sometimes I forget to hand the receipts in,” she said in what she hoped was a casual, believable tone.
“I see,” he said, and she had a feeling he really did see.
“I don’t mind paying for those extras,” she said quickly. “I know I should only use what we have in stock, but I get such a kick out of Tom’s expression when he knows he’s taking home something Emmie will love. It’s like a present I can give them.”
“It’s your job, Faith. You shouldn’t have to pay money to do your job.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you have the receipt from this morning?”
She picked up her handbag from under the counter and dug around until she found the crumpled bit of paper. “Here,” she said, passing it to him.
Their hands brushed, and she couldn’t help the slight gasp that escaped at the contact. Tingles radiated from the place they’d touched, and she yearned to reach out and touch him again. On his hand, or his forearm. Or—she looked up to his face—the cheek she’d stroked with her fingertips when they’d kissed. His eyes darkened.
“Faith,” he said, his voice a rasp, “we can’t.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“Then don’t—”
“Anything I can help you with, Mr. Hawke?” Mary asked from behind them.
Without missing a beat, Dylan turned, his charming smile firmly in place, where only seconds before she’d seen something real, something raw.
“I was just chastising your florist about not submitting her receipts for the extras she’s been buying for that customer’s weekly order.” He handed over the receipt. “Ms. Crawford has promised she’ll turn them in to you from now on, haven’t you, Ms. Crawford?”
“Ah, yes,” Faith said, not meeting her manager’s eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another order to make up.”
She slipped away and left them to their discussion, finally able to take a full breath again only when she was immersed in her next arrangement. This day couldn’t end soon enough. He was too close here. In her space. Making her want him.
Yet even if he weren’t the owner of the company, the last man she could give her heart to was a man whose love life had no stability. She’d heard the rumors about Dylan, that he changed female companions regularly, never seeming to form attachments. She couldn’t fall for someone like that—she wouldn’t do it to herself. She’d spend the entire time waiting for the moment he’d move on. Better to stay independent and create stability by relying on herself.
She repeated the words to herself over and over while she worked, the whole time trying to ignore her body’s awareness of where he was in the room. And resisting the urge to walk over and touch him again.
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