The elevator chimed softly, its doors sliding open to the familiar hum of the morning floor. Sam stepped out, heels clicking against the polished marble. The faint scent of roasted coffee lingered in the air—her secretary must've already brewed a fresh pot.
"Good morning, Ms. Sam," her secretary greeted as Sam passed the front desk. "Flowers delivered for you."
She held out a bouquet of deep red roses, their petals still kissed with dew.
Sam blinked, caught off guard. "For me?"
"Yes, ma'am. They arrived about fifteen minutes ago."
Sam accepted the bouquet, the paper crinkling in her hands. The fragrance—sweet, heady, deliberate—filled the space between them. She frowned slightly, trying to guess the sender.
Josh?
Her grandmother had been pushing that setup for weeks. Flowers from him would be predictable... and insufferably cheesy.
"Thanks," she murmured, and headed to her office.
Once inside, she placed the bouquet on the coffee table, the roses' crimson bright against the muted gray of her decor. She dropped into her chair, stared at the blooms, and sighed.
"Too much," she muttered.
After a moment, she stood again, gathering the bouquet to toss it. But as she tilted it toward the trash can, a small folded paper slipped free and fluttered onto the floor.
Sam frowned and picked it up. A single sentence was written in elegant handwriting:
"I tried to send you the most beautiful thing I could... but apparently, I can't mail myself. So these roses will have to do.
— Alexandra"
Sam froze. Her heartbeat kicked once, hard.
Alexandra?
Not Josh. Not even close.
She looked back at the roses, the corners of her lips twitching before she caught herself. Still, she couldn't help it—she leaned in, inhaled their scent again. It was stupid. And disarming.
Why would Alexandra send her flowers?
She reached for her phone and typed:
Sam: What are the flowers for?
Alexandra: A thank-you would be nice.
Sam: Thanks. But why did you send them?
Alexandra: Told you I'd take my job seriously.
Sam: My grandma's not even here to see your "show".
Alexandra: Even if she's not around, we still have to sell it to everyone else, don't we?
Sam: You really don't have to go that far.
Alexandra: What if I want to?
Sam stared at the message a moment longer than she should have. A warmth crept up her neck, completely out of her control. She hated that Alexandra could do that—turn her so easily off balance with a few words.
Before Sam could type a reply, another message appeared:
Alexandra: Got to go. Talk later, okay?
Sam: Okay.
And then, after a pause:
Alexandra: Don't throw the roses away. I picked them myself.
Sam glanced at the bouquet again. The petals caught the morning light spilling through the blinds—rich, velvety, alive. She felt her chest tighten, just a little.
She set the phone down, exhaled, and muttered to no one, "You're impossible, Alexandra."
But the roses stayed.
Hours later, A gentle knock broke through the quiet, pulling Sam from her mountain of reports.
She looked up, trying to stay all business... or at least look like it.
"Hey, Sam! Got a minute?" Ashley peeked in, clipboard in hand. "I need your signature on the quarterly report."
"Sure, just set it here," Sam said, reaching for the pen.
Ashley stepped inside—and froze mid-step. Her eyes locked onto the vase of dramatic red roses perched on Sam's desk like they owned the place. "Hold up... flowers? On your desk?" She squinted suspiciously. "And they're alive? In actual water?" She leaned in, mock whispering, "Okay, who are you and what have you done with the real Sam?"
Sam cleared her throat, leaning back casually in her chair. "Oh, those? Uh... picked them up on my way in." She waved a hand vaguely. "You know, office stuff. Fresh flowers at the café or whatever."
Ashley arched an eyebrow. "Sam. Five years of friendship. You have never bought flowers for yourself on the way to work. Ever. That story? Not buying it."
Sam exhaled, keeping her tone neutral. "Alright, fine. They're from Alexandra."
Ashley blinked, wide-eyed. "Wait... Alexandra? The Alexandra? Coffee-shop Alexandra?"
Sam shrugged, flipping a pen between her fingers. "Yeah. She accepted the job you suggested. She's just... doing her job."
Ashley's grin widened. "Doing her job? Sending you roses? That's... a little overkill for 'just doing her job.'"
Sam leaned back, voice casual, even amused. "Well, jobs sometimes require... extra effort. Nothing to read into it."
Inside, though, her thoughts were anything but calm. It's just Alexandra doing her job, she told herself. Professional courtesy. Totally normal.
Then her gaze flicked to the roses again, and she groaned inwardly. So why did I put them in a vase? With water? Like I'm auditioning for a romantic drama?
Ashley leaned closer, poking at a petal. "Wow. She went all out. Flowers, a note... the whole nine yards. Even for a fake-girlfriend job, that's impressive."
Sam picked up her pen again, signing the report without looking up. "Yeah. Impressive." She said it like it was a neutral observation, a simple fact. But inwardly, she couldn't stop thinking about the roses sitting in the vase—the ones she'd taken the time to trim, arrange, and water. Why did I even do that? It's not like she's coming over for a performance review on flower care.
Ashley smirked. "Good at her job, huh?"
Sam shrugged, finally looking up at her friend. "Yeah. Job's a job."
She said it smoothly—casual, professional, perfectly indifferent. The kind of tone that said see, I'm totally fine and definitely not spiraling over flowers.
Ashley's knowing smirk didn't help.
Sam forced her attention back to the report, signing the last page a little too neatly. Still... why the vase? Why the water? Her pen stilled. Totally unnecessary. Absolutely no reason to make them look nice. And yet... there they are. Hydrated. Thriving. Mocking me.