Marco glanced at his watch, noting the ti. His evening was scheduled with a business engagent, and he was eager to wrap up his work discussion with Veronica.
He found himself staring at her, entranced by the way she concentrated on the docunts before her. Her delicate fingers moved with precision as she flipped through pages, and her brow furrowed slightly when she encountered sothing complex.
Noticing his lingering gaze, Veronica looked up from her work. "Is sothing wrong?" she asked, her voice soft yet professional.
Valentine's Lewis lood on tomorrow's horizon, but Marco chose not to ntion it. Instead, he shook his head dismissively. "Nothing at all," he replied, quickly averting his eyes back to the papers between them.
The romantic holiday had completely slipped from Veronica's mind, buried beneath deadlines and business matters. It wasn't until the following day, when excited chatter filled the office corridors, that she rembered the significance of February 14th.
She was heading back to her office, arms laden with files, when a voice called out from the entrance.
"Excuse ! I'm looking for Ms. Murray? I have a flower delivery that needs her signature," announced a young man in a delivery uniform, struggling to balance an enormous bouquet of deep red roses.
Veronica froze mid-step, turning slowly toward the voice. The delivery person stood awkwardly in the doorway, the massive arrangent of roses obscuring half his face. Every head in the office swiveled toward the spectacle, conversations halting as curiosity took over.
Though rumors linking her romantically with Dario had circulated widely, many employees knew she was married. Yet Veronica maintained strict privacy regarding her personal affairs, leaving colleagues uncertain about her dostic situation.
"Those roses are absolutely stunning," gushed one of her coworkers, eyeing the arrangent with undisguised envy. "Your husband must really adore you. So of us can only dream of such romance."
Another colleague sighed dramatically. "I'm positively green with jealousy right now."
Veronica knew with absolute certainty that Cullen wouldn't have sent her flowers—not now, not ever. Their marriage had never included such gestures. Still, she kept her thoughts private as she approached the delivery person and verified the delivery information. Indeed, her phone number was listed, confirming the flowers were ant for her.
"You're Ms. Murray?" The delivery person's face brightened with relief. "Great! Please sign here."
Seeing no polite alternative, Veronica signed the electronic pad and accepted the bouquet, its weight substantial in her arms. She carried the fragrant burden to her office, setting it carefully on the coffee table.
Curiosity finally got the better of her, and she plucked the small card nestled among the blossoms. No signature adorned the ssage—just a simple "Happy Valentine's Lewis" written in a strangely familiar script that tickled at her mory.
Dario strode into her office without knocking, his confident gait faltering when he spotted the roses. His eyebrow arched questioningly as he gestured toward the arrangent. "An admirer making their presence known?"
"I have no idea who sent them," Veronica replied honestly, studying the card again. "Though the handwriting seems familiar sohow."
A smile played across Dario's lips. "Looks like soone's harboring secret feelings for you. Any suspects co to mind?"
She shook her head firmly. "Not a single one."
Dario stroked his chin thoughtfully. He and Veronica had been practically joined at the hip professionally for quite so ti, yet he couldn't recall noticing anyone showing particular interest in her beyond professional admiration.
After a mont's consideration, he ventured hesitantly, "You don't think... could it possibly be Cullen?"
"Definitely not him," Veronica answered flatly, no emotion coloring her response.
Throughout their years of marriage, Cullen had never acknowledged Valentine's Lewis with so much as a card. It seed absurd that he would suddenly send roses when their divorce papers were practically awaiting signatures. Besides, she recognized his handwriting, and this wasn't it.
"Fair enough," Dario conceded, leaning closer to examine the bouquet. "Whoever sent these clearly put thought into it. The card is handwritten, which shows personal effort, and these aren't just any roses—they're premium long-stems. Quite expensive."
Dario's assessnt might have been accurate, but Veronica found herself surprisingly uninterested in solving the mystery. Her schedule was packed with deadlines and etings; she had neither ti nor emotional energy to invest in identifying a secret admirer. Without contact information, pursuing the matter seed pointless.
"Let's focus on work," she said, effectively closing the subject. "We have more important matters to handle."
She had a scheduled appointnt at Stellar later that day—arrangents made earlier in the week that required her attention. Veronica spent the next hour organizing the necessary files and briefing her team on the eting objectives.
When the appointed ti arrived, she gathered her materials, left the roses on her coffee table, and drove to Stellar with her colleagues, her mind already shifting to the business matters awaiting her attention.
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