“Well, that didn’t work out so well, did it?” Mrs. Brooks snorted.
“What did Cooper say?” Felicity asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“Nothing at all. I imagine she’s mighty confused right about now.”
Christ, this was worse than that time some evil person had sent Elena an awful plant used for exorcisms. But that had been someone trying to tell their boss that they hated her. Felicity was doing the opposite, for God’s sake! What a disaster!
“You should call her,” Mrs. Brooks finished.
“And have her hang up on me before I can explain? That is not strategically sound. No, I will turn up and whisk her away to some eating establishment she loves and explain everything when she’s relaxed. Any suggestions?”
“Not a one. I’ve never been out to dinner with Dr. Cooper or any of the staff. I have a big family to take care of, and that keeps me plenty busy. You might try asking Mitch. Those two talk a lot. He always knows what she’s up to. She sometimes borrows the van for an evening out.”
“Mitch. Yes. Okay.” Good, a clear path forward on her mission. “Do you have his phone number?”
“Can I remind you that the man’s homeless? He doesn’t have a phone.”
“Well, some homeless have a phone,” Felicity protested.
“True. Not Mitch. I got him a nice one once, but he was robbed a few years back. Said he’d never take another phone from me again. Shame, too. He’s lost jobs over not being easily contactable.”
“I see.” Well, that was frustrating. “Can you get him for me? Put him on?”
“Ms. Simmons, I’m an old woman with one bad knee and a hip replacement. I can’t be running up and down stairs so you can chat to Mitch about your romantic business. If this was a work matter, I’d do my best, but it’s not. You’ll have to work this out for yourself. Now, I have to go. I’m director of a charity, and I have a lot of work to do tonight before I go home.”
“Oh.” Felicity could hardly argue that the woman should do PA work when she wasn’t a personal assistant. That’d be mighty hypocritical. She respected Mrs. Brooks for setting those boundaries. “Yes. Fine. Good night.”
The other woman hung up.
Felicity leaned back in her chair and glowered over the fact that her gift of flowers had backfired. Of course, she only had Mrs. Brooks’s say-so as to what the flower varieties meant. What if she was wrong? Felicity didn’t get to where she was in her career by trusting only one source. So in the interest of accuracy, she made a call that she was not looking forward to.
“Felicity? Felicity!” came a screech down the phone. Her sister, Heather, older by one year, was a joyful mother to a brood of ankle biters whose names Felicity absolutely refused to learn in case Heather took it as encouragement that she liked them.
On the plus side, Heather was all about herbs, plants, dried flowers, roots, and whatever other natural oddities her little store sold.
“Hi, Heather,” Felicity said, wincing at the volume of her sister’s greeting.
“It’s a miracle! I usually only hear from you on birthdays and funerals. Or Christmas, when you’re not working.”
“Yes, well, I just had a question pertaining to your area of expertise.”
“Raising happy kids? Why, of course! Are you and Phillip expecting?”
Felicity rolled her eyes. “He and I are no longer together. He refused to make a transpacific relationship work.” She sniffed to highlight her indifference.
“That’s no small thing, though. Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. He said I wasn’t worth it. Well. He proved his inadequacies. Anyway, I have a question: if someone gave you a bunch of yellow tansies, white snapdragons, and yellow carnations, what would you think?”
Heather hissed in a breath. “Has someone put a hit on you?”
Oh crap. “That bad?”
“Worse. Seriously, does someone hate you that much? A tansy says ‘I declare war on you,’ the snapdragon means deception, and the yellow carnation is disdain.” Concern filled her sister’s voice, and Felicity warmed a little that she actually cared.
God knew Felicity wasn’t the best of sisters. It had always been so hard to understand Heather and the life she’d chosen. They had nothing in common, either. Then again, having met Cooper, who seemed to share Heather’s views on happiness trumping career, it seemed maybe…just maybe…Felicity was the one with the problem.
“I didn’t receive them. I may have sent them to someone else,” Felicity replied. “Someone I like. It was an accident. The meanings, I had no idea.”
“Google is a thing you know. Wait—someone you like? Did my clueless little sis by any chance outsource the sending of flowers to one of her petrified minions, who got it wrong? Or worse, the minion has it in for you?”
Felicity scowled. “I’m a busy woman. I can’t be expected to do everything.”
“Whatever. So what’s your next step?”
Felicity rather wished she knew. She couldn’t exactly hire a Times Square billboard addressed to Cooper and plaster the words Mistakes were made. She paused. Could she?
No…no, she was pretty sure that wouldn’t fly.
“Felicity, are you planning to do something even more boneheaded to make up for the flowers, by any chance?”
“Well, what would you do?” Felicity asked in exasperation.
“Grovel. I’m sure he’s a reasonable guy. He might even laugh.”
“She.”
Heather squealed again.
