A Perfect Bloom 9 – Alex Ankarr

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A Perfect Bloom 9 – Alex Ankarr

TUESDAY

It’s ridiculous, anyway. That’s what Cory tells himself, the rest of the way through Monday, and on into Tuesday. He has important meetings, and clients to confabulate delicate negotiations with, and a dozen other things that should be taking priority. He doesn’t spend twenty-four hours thinking of little else beyond a bright gaudy red-and-yellow rose, stuck in a china holder on his desk. About green-taupe eyes and a smile that’s all enigma, and long lovely haunches, long fingers, long lashes.

Well, maybe he does. Oh, God, oh damn, he’s well on the way to all the way out of control.

There’s no second flower on his desk on the Tuesday morning, anyhow. He tells himself that disappointment is a ridiculous reaction. Christ, was he expecting one? That’s lunacy.

When he gets a break in the afternoon, he’s tired from glad-handing important executive visitors, and making decisions that could make or break whole divisions of the company, and no-one, not even Linnet, ever getting his sandwich order fully right. To be fair, she’s not a secretary, and has better things to do. She’s only fulfilling the terms of her fixed term employment contract before taking over a division herself, to replace a dumbass who a couple of years ago was eyeing her arse and calling her ‘darling’ at meetings.

He’s tired, and the executive dining room is not enticing, and he’s had too much company of the wrong people all damn day. If he skips out on the informal lunch with the VIP visitors, leaving it in the hands of Linnet and a couple of capable VPs, then he thinks it excusable. It’s not a real issue. He’s done enough for the company his mother and grandfather built up, today.

Maybe he should do one thing for himself. Go visit the greenhouses, perhaps, where the new, carefully bred exotic hothouse rose lines, that their horticulture division is internationally known for, are developed. Yeah, he’ll do that. Where’s the harm?

Inside the hothouse, the electronically balanced temperature is enough to make Cory remove his suit jacket, loosen and remove his silk tie, and even pop the top couple of buttons on his nice white business shirt. He doesn’t usually do that. He has a tendency to, if not a preference for, formality. The temperature’s a few degrees above what is comfortable, and that goes for the humidity too. But the roses, the roses are truly glorious.

He begins to walk up and down the aisles – covertly looking for that one rose, that rose which someone, who knows who, illicitly filched a sample of yesterday and decided to gift him with. But he also just glories in the abundance of beauty, and wonders why he doesn’t do this more often. This is the fruits of all the labour he’s lavished on his company. It’s the wonder and beauty and utility of the products they produce, if you can even call such a gift as a rose a ‘product’.

 

 

 

© Copyright Alex Ankarr 2014

No unauthorised reproductions allowed. All rights reserved to the author. No inspirations for characters drawn from real-life individuals, no resemblance to real individuals intended.

Photo credit: Bonita Suraputra (https://www.flickr.com/photos/21185968@N00/3428731883/in/photolist-6dZ9wX-6e1HhW) via a Creative Commons licence (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/legalcode), book cover modifications made.

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