Chapter Ten
Caroline
"Will half a million be okay? If not, I can add more."
My jaw dropped, and for a moment, I couldn't speak. My mind raced as I tried to regain composure. Half a million naira—just for flowers? My pulse quickened, and I had to physically steady myself. "Sorry, sir… do you also want me to plan a birthday party for her?" I asked, my voice careful, measured. With a budget like that, surely he had more in mind, I thought, forcing my curiosity down.
"Oh no, just flowers. Is it too much? What will you advise?" His smile was easy, charming, but there was a hint of uncertainty behind it that made me study him more closely.
"Okay," I said, pointing out a birthday flower arrangement that was elegant, less romantic, something safe. I wanted to be careful; these flowers could send the wrong signal if I wasn't attentive.
He laughed softly, a low, indulgent sound. "This is ridiculously cheap. I'll pay for it." His eyes glinted as he scanned the catalogue again, like a man sizing up a puzzle he had yet to solve. "Let me take a look at that again."
I handed over the catalogue, watching as he meticulously flipped through every page, pausing deliberately at the most expensive arrangement. "I want this as well," he said, and I couldn't hide my astonishment.
"Really?" I said, laughing softly, shaking my head. "For someone who wants his P.A. not to get any idea, this is way too suggestive." I handed the catalogue to the florist, who had been hovering just a bit too close. "The two marked," I said. She collected it, bowing slightly, and left us alone.
I turned back to him, trying to regain control of my emotions. My heart was pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the flowers. Why was he doing this? Generosity? Arrogance? Something else? He had the kind of presence that made it impossible not to notice every subtle movement, every flicker of expression.
"I know, that's why I ordered it," he said, quiet, deliberate.
Something twisted inside me—a pang of something I couldn't name. Disappointment? Intrigue? Perhaps a little of both. My rational mind scolded me: he's just a stranger buying flowers. But my instincts argued: there's something about him…
I began to turn toward my desk, but then his hand shot out, gripping mine. The touch was electric, shooting through my arm and settling low in my stomach. My legs stiffened, and I froze, completely aware of the current pulsing between us.
"You did not ask who it is for," he said softly, his voice calm but commanding, and I felt myself lean toward his tone without realizing it.
I looked up, and immediately I regretted it. His eyes were light brown, warm, and alive, with fire dancing just beneath the surface. I felt trapped, rooted in place, every thought evaporating except for the magnetic pull of his gaze.
"They are for you," he said.
I could barely breathe. My chest tightened, my pulse drumming in my ears. I shook my head slightly, hoping to clear the fog in my mind. Did I hear him correctly? My eyes darted back to his, searching for some hint that I had imagined it. But no, he repeated himself, calm, unshakable.
"I can't believe this," I whispered, shaking my head. "Why… I can't possibly accept it."
"Not 'sir.' Please, call me Nat," he said, a smile tugging at his lips, gentle yet teasing.
"Nat…" The name felt strange and thrilling on my tongue. My stomach flopped, butterflies taking over, and I had to swallow hard. Why do I feel like this about someone I barely know?
"I can't just let you spend so much on me," I added quickly, trying to step back, to create some physical space between us, to calm the sudden fluttering in my chest. The heat radiating from him was almost tangible, and it made my thoughts spin faster than I wanted to admit.
"Why not?" he asked, stepping slightly closer, but not enough to be threatening—just close enough. His voice was smooth, deliberate, and it sent shivers down my spine. "This is for having patience with me and helping me out."
He reached for my hand again, but I pulled away quickly, shaking off the rush of excitement that made me light-headed. I cannot be feeling like this… not now, not with a stranger.
"I… I cannot accept it," I repeated, laughing nervously. "It's too romantic. I am not immune to the connotations."
He smiled again, and my body betrayed me, responding to the warmth and the sincerity behind it. "The flowers are for you—to be my date."
My mouth went dry. I blinked, opening and closing my lips, searching for words that wouldn't come. Finally, I managed, my voice just above a whisper: "Be your date? You don't even know my name… we're practically strangers."
"Not if you tell me now," he said, his smile impossible to resist. My stomach flipped again.
"Caroline," I said simply, letting the name fall naturally.
"Caroline… will you be my date tomorrow evening? Please."
I hesitated, my rational mind screaming caution, but my heart—a traitor—wanted to leap forward. "I… don't know. Maybe. Please, let me think about it and get back to you later," I said, trying to protect myself. Naturally, I didn't just accept dates from someone I barely knew.
"Why? Do you need to consult anyone before accepting a date? I am sorry if I overstepped my boundaries," he asked, stepping back slightly, but keeping his attention fixed on me.
I felt a sudden panic at the thought of losing him, and yet, I knew I had to hold my ground. "No, no. I don't need to consult anyone. Okay, I'll be your date."
"Thanks," he said, his face lighting up in a smile that made my knees feel weak.
"Give me a minute. I want to give one order to the florist," I added quickly, needing to regain my professional composure.
I turned to see the florist arranging materials for the orders. I walked over and whispered, "Don't do the second arrangement." She nodded, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "I know it's for you. What's the need?" Her voice held a teasing note, almost like jealousy. I ignored it, walking back to Nat.
He had been standing there all this while, watching me. I felt the sudden need to guide him to sit somewhere, to calm the whirlwind in my chest.
"Nat, would you like to sit at my desk?" I asked, offering a semblance of normalcy. I knew there was a waiting room, but this was more personal, more… private.
"I could show you to the waiting room, or better still, have it delivered to your office if you have no time to wait," I suggested, my voice steady.
I shook my head slightly, a small smile tugging at my lips. Then, seeing the genuine interest in his eyes, I whispered, almost to myself: "I would love for you to sit at my desk."
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