I allowed myself to wallow in self-pity for one night.
After I surveyed the shop’s damage, I went home, showered, and fell asleep feeling sorry for myself. However, sometime between Saturday night and Sunday morning, the self-pity crystallized into determination.
I’d spent years living on the sidelines. Now that I’d finally stepped out of my comfort zone, was I really going to let the first obstacle I encountered knock me down?
It was physical damage, not death or financial disaster. My problem was totally fixable. If worse came to worst, I’d push back the grand opening and take a hit on the nonrefundable expenses like catering.
With that in mind, I spent the rest of the weekend formulating a game plan and looking up costs for replacement furniture and inventory. Most of them made my stomach churn. I needed rush deliveries to fix the shop in time for the grand opening, and rush deliveries (especially during the holidays) were expensive. Really expensive. Renters’ insurance covered some of the costs, but I would still have to pay a decent chunk out of pocket.
On the bright side, I wasn’t responsible for any property damage. Aiden was, and he swung by the following Monday anyway to assess the situation.
“The good news is, it could’ve been worse,” he said after his walk-through. He was unexpectedly calm, but I guess he dealt with burst pipes often as a landlord. “The electrical system is mostly intact, and the ceiling hasn’t collapsed.”
A weak laugh scraped up my throat. It was lunchtime. I’d been cleaning the debris since six in the morning, and I probably looked like death warmed over, but I was too exhausted to care. “Thank God for the small things. What’s the bad news?”
I might as well face it all at the same time. One giant blow was better than a thousand small cuts.
“The bad news is, your fingers are going to bleed from how many flowers you need to press before the grand opening.” Aiden rapped a gentle knuckle against the table where I’d dumped the ruined projects. “What’s the damage?”
“Two dozen.” I deflated. It took me at least a week to get each one exactly the way I wanted it. Recreating two dozen in the next two months was impossible unless I spent every waking hour on the project. I didn’t have the luxury of doing that. Even with my virtual assistants’ help, administrative tasks dominated half my workload.
“How about this? I’ll handle—”
The jangle of bells above the front door cut Aiden off mid-sentence.
Sharp jaw. Golden stubble. Lean muscles and ruthless command wrapped in a custom-tailored charcoal suit. Dominic.
A cool rush of shock flooded me. It was the middle of his first day back to work. What the hell was he doing here?
His gaze found mine, warm with concern, before coasting to Aiden. It was like watching a switch flip. The concern vanished beneath a layer of frost, and a vat of tension-laced silence drenched the already-damp floors.
“Hey,” Aiden said easily. His tone was cordial, but challenge flickered in his eyes. “You’re Alessandra’s ex, right?”
I flinched at his emphasis on the word ex. I didn’t relish the prospect of cleaning up blood along with everything else because that was where we were headed if Aiden provoked Dominic any further.
A smile curved along Dominic’s mouth, as dark and cold as midnight ice. “Have we met?”
“Yeah. I was having dinner with her and you interrupted us.” Aiden’s smile matched his. “Kind of like how you’re interrupting us now.”
“Okay. ” I quickly stepped in between them before their testosterone overran their good sense. “As much as I’m enjoying this chat, I have a lot to do. Aiden, thank you for coming by on such short notice. I’ll call you if I have any questions. Dominic, what can I do for you?” I asked pointedly.
“I’m here to assist with cleanup.” He kept his eyes on Aiden, who didn’t budge from his spot next to me. I stifled a sigh. Men. “Your grand opening is coming up. Every extra pair of hands helps.” The thought of Dominic engaging in manual labor was so absurd I almost laughed out loud.
“You have work.” I could only imagine how much had piled up during his time in Brazil. “I’ll be fine. It’s tedious, but I’ll get it done.”
“You also need to recreate your collection,” Aiden told me. “That’s a better use of your time than sweeping and taking out the trash. Dominic is right. Every extra pair of hands helps.” He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “I’m happy to pitch in as well. I prefer physical tasks over desk work anyway.”
It was another indirect barb at Dominic, whose chilling calm reminded me of the ocean before a storm.
“I’ve rearranged my schedule.” Dominic acted like Aiden hadn’t spoken. “I’ll work and take meetings in the morning, but my afternoons are reserved for you.”
His gaze found mine again. My heart wobbled as his words slid into the empty places lurking beneath my defenses.
I wanted to say no. Brazil was one thing; inviting Dominic back into my life in New York was another. That wasn’t even touching on the Aiden issue.
But Aiden was right about me needing to recreate my collection. I couldn’t open a pressed flowers shop with no pressed flowers on display, and the rest of the construction work was at a standstill until I fixed the damage from the burst pipe. I would be an idiot to turn down voluntary free labor.
“Fine.” I sincerely hoped I wasn’t creating more trouble for myself, but right now, restoring the shop trumped everything else. “If either of you would like to help, feel free to drop by whenever you can. But…” I held up a hand when they opened their mouths at the same time. “I don’t want any arguing, insults, or passive aggressiveness. Please keep it civil.”
“Of course,” Aiden said. “We have no reason not to be. Right, Dominic?”
Dominic’s smile held no humor. “Absolutely.”
My gaze ping-ponged between the stubborn jut of Aiden’s chin and the dangerous glint in Dominic’s eyes.
I sighed.
This was going to be a long week.
