Project Daddy by Kate Perry Page A

interrupted. It sounded like an automated recording, but I knew it was the receptionist downstairs.
    “A delivery?” I frowned. I hadn’t ordered anything. “Are you sure—”
    “Please come get it.”
    Dial tone.
    I stared at the receiver. That was a little abrupt.
    Resigned, I got up and headed down to get my so-called delivery. The last time I had a delivery, it was meant for Kathleen Murphy in accounting.
    Taking the stairs (it’s been proven that exercise reduces anxiety and depression), I got to the lobby a few minutes later. I wouldn’t put it past the receptionist to decide to trash the package if I didn’t arrive within five minutes.
    I saw the flowers the second I stepped out of the stairwell and wished they could be for me. The white roses were plump and dewy and numerous. There had to be two dozen. But they wouldn’t be mine—most likely Jupiter Communications had sent me some kind of promotional package.
    “Hi.” I smiled at the receptionist. “You called me.”
    She looked at me blankly. “And you are?”
    I’d only worked here for almost eight years. You’d think she’d know me by now. “Katherine Murphy.”
    She nodded at the flowers. Then she turned a little and said, “Good morning, Ashworth Communications,” into her headset.
    I wrinkled my nose at the roses. They were gorgeous, but it was a mistake. No one sent me flowers. No one had ever even handed me flowers. I’d look at the card and end up having to take them to their real recipient.
    In that case, might as well enjoy them while I could. I got on my tiptoes and took a deep breath. Wow, they smelled good. Like they’d been spritzed by perfume, because real flowers didn’t smell that good.
    Like I’d know.
    I lifted the card out of the arrangement. Odd—it said Katherine Murphy .
    That was me.
    Frowning, I opened it and pulled out the tiny ivory card (heavy stock, expensive stationary). I blinked. It was in Luc’s chicken scratch.
    Don’t be angry at me for caring about you.
     
    I looked at the flowers and then the note, and then the flowers again.
    Luc sent me roses.
    I grabbed the vase and scurried for the elevator before someone popped up and said there was a mistake and they weren’t really mine. I punched the elevator button for my floor until the doors closed and I was on my way back (fortunately there was no one in there to witness my insane behavior). I got to my office and closed the door, locking it this time. Setting the roses on my desk, I sat down and stared at them.
    They were beautiful. So plump. That couldn’t be natural, could it? I grabbed a pad of sticky notes and jotted down a reminder to research how roses were manufactured.
    Luc sent me roses.
    I smelled them again and felt guilty for being such a bitch. Luc was right—he was only being a good friend. I mean, he shouldn’t have called my dad an asshole, even if my dad did take advantage of me. Still, he was just concerned about me.
    And he bought me all those clothes and I just acted ungrateful.
    I picked up the phone and dialed his home number.
    “Hello?”
    “I got the flowers.”
    Silence. I could practically hear him thinking. “And?” he finally said.
    “I should be sending you roses. I was the one who was out of line.”
    “Yeah, you were a bitch, but I could have been more tactful.”
    “So, um”—I pushed up my glasses—“does this mean we’re still friends?”
    “Katherine Murphy, you’ll never be able to get rid of me. So don’t even try.”
    All the tension I’d been feeling drained away. “You’re the best, Luc.” When all of this was over and I had my promotion I was going to do something really really nice for him.
    “Remember that in half an hour, okay?”
    I frowned. “What does that mean?”
    “Just promise.”
    Promise when I had a sneaking suspicion I wouldn’t like whatever he had planned? I think not. “Tell me what you’ve done.”
    “No.”
    “Luc—”
    “Promise, Kat. Remember the roses.”
    I