JAY'S POV —
By the end of the week, I come to one deeply unfortunate realization:
Mark Keifer Watson is not flirting with me anymore.
No.
This man has launched a full-scale psychological warfare campaign disguised as romance.
And somehow?
It's working which is humiliating for me personally.
My London stay was originally supposed to be ten days.
Only ten.
Fix the legal disasters betweenthe Mariano's and Watson Enterprises,Willow Industries R&E and the Brasleton, finalize the acquisition cleanup, yell at a few executives, threaten a few contracts, then leave peacefully.
Instead?
One week in and my trip gets extended to an entire month because apparently Keifer and Chris run companies the same way teenage boys play FIFA—aggressively, emotionally, and without reading instructions.
Brasleton was easy.
R&E was manageable.
David, Rory, and Edrix at least possessed functioning brain cells.
But Watson Enterprises and Willow Industries?
Absolute corporate hellfire.
Which means unfortunately—I cannot leave London and Keifer knows it.
Oh, he knows.
That smug evil billionaire knows he has an entire extra month to torment me.
Monday morning starts the war.
I walk into my office building half-asleep, already mentally preparing for twelve hours of contracts and financial corrections.
Then I open my cabin door.
And freeze.
Flowers.Everywhere.Not bouquets.Not arrangements.A floral massacre.
Red roses cover every possible surface in my office like Cupid himself suffered a nervous breakdown.
For one long second I just stand there staring in complete silence while my exhausted brain attempts to process what I'm looking at.
Then Jeremy walks in behind me.
Stops.
Blinks once.
Then screams.
"OH MY GOD."
"I'm suing his damn ass.Jeremy prepare a lawsuit."
Jeremy totally ignored me a d starts spining around slowly taking in the room like he entered a botanical garden funded by unresolved emotional trauma.
"There are SO MANY."
I march toward the massive arrangement on my desk and violently snatch the black card tucked between the flowers.
Of course there's a card,I open it aggressively.
> You looked prettier angry.
Which honestly feels unfair to the rest of humanity...I hope you enjoy the rosey scent...
— K
I stare at the note.
Then at the flowers.
Then back at the note again.
Jeremy leans over my shoulder dramatically.
"AWWWW He is so cuteee."
"I hate him."
"You say that while holding the note like it personally healed your childhood."
"I will stab you."
I throw the card into the trash.
Then spend the next ten minutes ordering assistants to remove every single rose from my office.
Unfortunately—That only encourages him.
Because Tuesday morning?
There are Lilies.White lilies.Huge ones.
Fresh enough that the entire office smells expensive.
I stop dead at the entrance.
"No."
Jeremy walks in behind me carrying iced coffee.
"Yes."
"No What in the world is this.....this is so escalating."
"Oh this escalated yesterday when a billionaire apparently bought half of London's flower inventory for your emotionally constipated ass."
Another black card rests against the vase.
I already know better than to read it.
I read it anyway.
> You once said lilies make bad days softer.
I remember everything about you unfortunately.
— Your favorite problem K.
Silence.
Complete silence.
Jeremy slowly lowers his sunglasses.
"…oh he's DOWN BAD bad."
"I'm burning this building down."
"Admit it Jay Jay you folded internally a little bit just now."
"I absolutely did not."
"You read the note twice."
I hate him.
I hate BOTH of them.
Wednesday morning brings sunflowers.
Bright giant sunflowers sitting in my office like happiness itself personally attacked me.
And this time?
There are even more.
"Why are there SO MANY?" I whisper in horror.
I picked up my phone and started to call the cleaners for cleaning up this beautiful mess meanwhile Jeremy starts counting the damn flowers absentmindedly while stealing one of the complimentary chocolates from reception.
Then suddenly he pauses.
"…wait."
I narrow my eyes suspiciously.
"What."
Jeremy counts again quietly.
Then slowly looks up at me.
"Oh my God."
"What."
"Jay."
"What, Jeremy."
"There are exactly one hundred and forty-three flowers here."
Silence.
My heartbeat stutters once.
Then again.
Because no.
No fucking way.
Jeremy's expression shifts instantly from amusement to complete spiritual devastation.
"That evil genius billionaire bastard."
I snatch the note before he can.
Too late.
He already sees it.
> One hundred and forty-three favourite flowers of yours...since saying "I love you" like a normal person apparently isn't dramatic enough for me.
— K
Jeremy grabs the edge of the desk dramatically for support.
"Jay you do know what this means right!???"
"I know what 143 means."
"HE USED THE NUMERIC LOVE CONFESSION CODE.THIS MAN IS ROM-COM SICK IN THE HEAD."
I stare at the flowers again.
One hundred and forty-three.
Carefully counted.Carefully planned.
And suddenly—For the first time all week—
My chest hurts a little because seven years later and this man still remembers the stupid little things.
Was I really too harsh!?? Should I give him another chance!???
Thursday becomes significantly worse because now desserts start arriving too.
At exactly two in the afternoon, my assistant walks into my office carrying a tray.
"Delivery for you, Attorney Mariano."
I blink slowly.Red velvet cupcakes and my favorite coffee order.Tiny tiramisu pastries and another black note because apparently peace was never an option.
Jeremy appears from absolutely nowhere like a demonic emotional support raccoon.
"OHHHH WHAT'S TODAY?"
I read the card reluctantly.
> You skip meals when stressed so here are some desserts for you to keep those soft pink lips smiling....
— K
My stomach flips traitorously.I immediately throw the note away.Then the cupcake.
Jeremy gasps in absolute heartbreak.
"THAT WAS RED VELVET."
"I DON'T CARE."
"You are wasting luxury manipulation."
"I DON'T WANT HIS WEAPONIZED BAKERY PRODUCTS."
Jeremy grabs the remaining desserts protectively.
"You don't deserve romance."
"I know....I deserve prison."
This entire week was somehow the worst yet cutest week of all because of him.
I didn't expect the flowers.
I didn't expect the desserts.
I didn't expect the notes that make my chest feel weird and my blood pressure unstable.
What I really didn't expect was— him.
Every night without any failure.
No matter how late I leave the office building—He's there.
Leaning against one obscenely expensive car after another like London itself was designed specifically to frame him attractively.
One night it's a black Aston Martin.
Next night a silver Bentley.
Then a fucking Rolls Royce because apparently subtlety died years ago.
And every single time—THOSE stupid shirt buttons are open.
Always three enough to show his collarbone.Enough to ruin my emotional stability enough to make me homicidal.
Why are the top three buttons of his shirt ALWAYS open?!
Why does this man walk around looking like capitalism's hottest threat?!
Friday night I leave the office around eleven completely exhausted after reviewing another catastrophic Willow Industries contract issue.
The streets are mostly empty.
Cold London wind sweeping between the buildings and there he is again.
Waiting.
Like he always does now.
Hands in his pockets.
Dark coat over his suit.
Hair messy from the wind.
Looking at me like I'm the only thing he's been waiting for all day.
I immediately look away.
Because absolutely not.
"Evening, Attorney," he says smoothly.
"You need psychiatric help Watson."
"That's not a greeting."
"You again sent me one hundred and forty-three flowers and today different kind!!is the work in your company finished or what!?"
"You counted again!!I'll take that as a compliment."
I hate that my silence answers him.The bastard smiles slowly.
God.
I hate that smile.I walk straight past him toward my car behind me I hear his footsteps follow lazily.
Not rushing me.Never forcing.Just there.Constantly there like seven years never happened.
Like we're still those stupid high school students who fought constantly and kissed between curses.
I unlock my car aggressively.
"You know," he says conversationally from behind me, "most people say thank you when they receive flowers."
"Most people aren't being emotionally terrorized by billionaires."
"That sounds ungrateful."
"That sounds accurate."
He laughs softly.
I slam my car door shut immediately before my nervous system embarrasses me further and like every single night that week—He follows my car home.Not too close.
Just enough that every time I glance in the mirror—He's there.
Like he's making sure I get home safely without ever saying it out loud by the time I pull into my apartment building, I'm already exhausted.
I get out quickly determined to ignore him.
Again.
Big mistake because the second I reach the entrance—
His voice echoes down the street.
"Goodnight, Mrs. Watson!"
I nearly choke.
"WE ARE NOT MARRIED."
"Not with that attitude we ever will."
The doorman starts coughing violently to hide laughter.
I refuse to turn around.
Absolutely refuse.
Then louder—
"Sleep well, love!"
I walk faster and then the final attack comes exactly as I reach the building doors.
"Don't have dirty dreams about me tonight, Jay Jay!"
I freeze in absolute horror.
An elderly woman near the elevator gasps scandalously.
The doorman looks seconds away from cardiac arrest.
And this PSYCHOPATH continues calmly—
"But if you do, at least call me afterward. I'll reach within 5 minutes i promise."
"MARK KEIFER WATSON I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!!! GET OUT OF HERE!!!!."
His laugh follows me all the way inside the building and the absolute worst part?
The very worst humiliating part?
By Friday night—I start looking for his car in the mirror before I even leave work.
Which honestly feels like the beginning of my downfall.
What the hell is wrong with me!!!!
Ughh Jay Jay get a grip and get therapy GOD!!!!