Alexander Vane returns three days later with a bouquet of red roses and an expression of rehearsed sincerity, as if the previous rejections were merely dress rehearsals for this moment. He appears at my office door without an appointment, having somehow bypassed Maggie's tearful gatekeeping and Lucas's carefully constructed administrative barriers.
"I brought these for you," he says, holding out the roses like a peace offering. "I know things have been tense between us, but I wanted to start fresh. Clean slate, remember?"
I look at the roses, then at his hopeful, practiced smile, then at Lucas—who is standing by the window with his tablet in hand and his ears already pale. I don't need to see his expression to know what he's thinking. The roses are cliché and manipulative, a gesture designed to create obligation rather than genuine connection.
"I'm a vegetarian," I say flatly.
