Tamed by You (6 page)

"Uh-huh." The florist looked skeptical.

"And the feeling is mutual. He doesn't like me. At all."
That
thought depressed her for some reason.

"But he lets you live with him?" T
h
e woman moved to the wooden table and set down the bunch of flowers in her hand. She pulled a vase from underneath somewhere and began filling it with water. "I doubt he'd let someone he didn't like live with him. Unless he's a wuss."

"He's no wuss." Antonio Rossi was all man, from his
chiseled
Italian looks to his cocky attitude. Even Gerard Butler, who was the manliest of the actors she'd worked with, was boyish comparatively. "He tells it like he sees it, and he knows who he is. It'd be infuriating if it weren't so attractive.
And h
e won't rep my career."

"He's like a manager?"

"One of the best, but he's selective." She sighed. "Which is why I'm questioning myself, because if Antonio Rossi says your career is
meaningless,
then it is."

The florist frowned as she snipped the ends of the stems. "What do
you
think of your career?"

Sophie wanted to defend where she was and what she'd done, but the words stuck in her throat. She swallowed them and said out loud what she’d been afraid to voice. "I've hit a wall."

"How can you say that? You just came out with a blockbuster hit."

"It was filmed a year and a half ago. I haven't filmed anything since, and there are no prospects on the horizon." She closed her eyes. "
M
y agent dumped me
, and no one's willing to take me on.
"

The silence in the room was deafening.

She couldn't take it, so she continued to talk. "What if I can't get another movie? I'm nearing the end of my shelf-life in romantic comedies."

"Like what happened to Meg Ryan," the florist said.

"Exactly!" Excited that someone understood, she continued. "And I can't bear the thought of that happening. It's more than the thought of losing everything I've worked so hard for. I'm afraid of slipping backward. You don't know where I came from."

"Wait." The woman stopped, her scissors poised in front of her. "I thought you're the daughter of a socialite and French nobleman."

"That's what my press kit says." She held her breath to keep the secret in. Hell—she exhaled, letting the secret loose for the first time in eighteen years. "I was born in a shack to hillbilly parents. My name was Sarah Martin."

The scissors clattered onto the table. "Seriously?"

"Yes." She
angled her head to the side to peek at the
florist.
"No one knows but you."

She nodded solemnly. "No one else will know."

Sophie smiled, genuinely, for the first time in longer than she could remember. She pointed to the arrangement the florist was working on. "You're good at that."

"Thanks."
Her bare lips pursed in thought as
her work grabbed her focus again
.
S
he grabbed a couple stalks of something leafy green and stuck them in. She nodded as though satisfied and then put the entire vase in the refrigerator.

Sophie didn't know anything about flowers other than what looked nice, and whatever those leafy things were that the woman added had transformed the arrangement into something more dynamic.

Interesting.

She rolled onto her stomach and
extracted
the journal from her purse
. She began to take notes on how the woman did it, how she looked, some possible ideas about what drove her. "Did you always want to be a florist?"

"No, I wanted to be an artist. But I always loved flowers, and this is its own art form. It was a perfect fit for me."

The woman's passion was evident. Had
Sophie
ever been passionate about anything? She'd been determined about being a successful actor, but she'd seen it as an out rather than something she was truly passionate about.

"What are you writing?" the florist asked.

She closed the notebook. "Just character notes."

"Do you write?"

"Not really.
" She wasn't ready to tell anyone about Desiree. Not that she had any plans for her. Writing scenes had started as a therapy tool she'd adapted into a hobby.
To the florist, she just said, "
I write notes for future characters. Observations to use when I'm given an unfamiliar part."

The woman wrinkled her nose. "
Y
ou
're
making observations now?"

"For if I ever play a florist. Although I wonder if that'd be a meaningful role." She lay on her back and sighed. "I'm not sure there are any meaningful roles in comedy."

"Maybe you need to reinvent yourself. Be like Madonna
instead of
Meg Ryan."

"W
hat
?" She sat up.

The woman shook her head as she wiped the work surface. "Look, I don't know anything about this."

"No, tell me what you meant."

"Well, it seems like you have to evolve in your line of work. Like Madonna. Madonna reinvents herself every decade.
Meg Ryan kept trying to be what she was when she was young and she bombed.
Maybe it's time for another phase in your career. Maybe that's what
your
Tony was saying."

No, Tony was slamming her for being cotton candy—pretty to look at but insubstantial and likely to give you a stomach ache.
"He's not my Tony."

"Whatever." The woman rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying maybe you need to think out of the box. Maybe it's time for the next phase in your career."

"To stretch myself," she murmured absently, thinking. A meaningful role, like Tony suggested.
She understood characters. All she had to do was find
the right
role with a good director.

Sophie
looked at the florist.
Maybe there was something to method writing. Maybe Desiree needed a floral therapist mentor. "What's your name?"

"Julie."

"
Julie, y
ou're hired."

The florist blinked.
"Excuse me?"

"I'll be back for my session tomorrow." S
h
e slid off the counter and righted her clothing. At the very least, she
'
d come back here to hang out and write. The space had a pleasant, earthy feel.

"Wait a minute. You can't—"

"Do you have a card?" Because without the address she'd never find the shop again.

"Well, yes, behind you, but—"

"Excellent." She took a card and smiled when she saw the name of the shop. Back to the Fuchsia. Clever
and
a movie reference
. T
hat had to be a good omen.

"Sophie, it's been, um, nice, but—"

"I'll see you tomorrow
.
" Sophie wasn't about to allow Julie to disinvite her. She needed this place. She felt better than she had in months. "I get why they make you lie down now. My therapist always wanted me to lie down, but I never saw the appeal. Lying down is for sleeping."

"And sex," Julie said.

"Right." She waved as she walked out, not wanting to get into a discussion on sex, because these days
sex
made her think about Tony, and she wasn't about to lust after a man who didn't like her. "See you tomorrow."

She could hear Julie sputtering behind her, but she paid no attention. S
h
e left the store, missing its sweet warmth and green smell the moment she stepped outside.

She put her sunglasses back on and covered her head with the hood of her jacket as she walked down the street.
She had a call to make, to
Pal Greenland.
She'd never worked with Pal, but he was said to be an excellent director. He was known for meaningful, acclaimed art house movies.

That was exactly what she needed.
She nodded. She'd make it work.

Now if only she could figure out how to get back to the house.

Chapter Six

Ten minutes until Valentine's first meeting with
the Hulk.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to calm down the butterflies.
She figured she was nervous because so much was riding on finding him a match. That he was so attractive had no bearing on her nerves.

It was good that he was attractive—it'd make him easier to pair up.

She checked her hair for the twentieth time, smoothing one last strand back into place. She tugged her blouse down from under her skirt and straightened her grandmother's pearls.

Perfect. She gave herself a thumbs-up and walked
ou
t
of the bedroom.

Venus
stood in the kitchen
, staring into an open cupboard, looking confused
.
At least today she had earrings on. Of course, she wore a different ballet flat on each foot.

Valentine's heart constricted. It panicked her to see her mom so lost. She put a smile on her face and went to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Hey Mom. I was wondering if you'd go over the profile for a new client with me later. Are you coming into the office today?"

It was the right thing to say, because the lost look gave way to renewed purpose. "Yes."

"She seems like she'll be hard to match, and I'd like your input."

Her mom perked up. "I'd love that."

"Good."
Maybe helping her mom re-
center
wouldn't be so hard after all.

Venus frowned. "Why is your hair like that?"

Valentine’s hand flew to her head despite herself. "Like what?"

"Come here," was all her mother said, but then she strode over to Valentine. She patted the top and then went around the back, undoing the clip and refastening it.

"Mom, I have a meeting
in a few minutes
." She hated that she heard the teenager she used to be in her voice
, but she knew it made her mom happy so she endured the fussing
.

"Well, there's not much more I can do."
Her mom looked like she was going to say something else, but the pearls caught her attention. Tears filled her eyes as she reached out and touched the necklace. "Your grandmother loved this necklace. It was the first thing she bought for herself when she expanded her matchmaking services into a real business. She said it brought her luck."

The sadness in her mom's expression melted away her frustration. "I know."

"She wanted the best for you, Valentine, just like I do." A lone tear leaked down her cheek, leaving a pale mascara track in its wake.

Panic choked Valentine. Mothers weren't supposed to cry—they’re the ones who do the comforting. What was she supposed to do? She cleared her throat and tried to think of something that'd cheer her mom up. "The client I'm meeting today is great. He lives in the neighborhood. I've been talking to him for weeks to convince him to let me match him."

Sniffling, Venus wiped under her eyes.

Valentine forged ahead, brightly. "He's the perfect candidate. He's the type of guy who's quiet, but you can just tell he's really smart. He's beyond hot. I don't see how any woman couldn't want him."

Her mother frowned. "You sound like you find him attractive, Valentine."

"Well, he's nice," she said cautiously, feeling like she'd made a misstep somehow.

"You know your grandmother's rule."

"Which one?" There'd been so many.

"The cardinal rule. Not to fall in love with your clients."

"I'm not falling in love with him." She chuckled, but it sounded thin to her ears. She shook her head. "I'm just saying he's a good guy. He should be easy to match."

"Be careful, Valentine. Your grandmother would
not
approve of the rules being broken." A militant glare in her eyes, her mother made a cutting motion with her hand. "
I
won't approve. Nothing good ever comes from breaking the tenets of matchmaking. You—"

"I get it, Mom." She put a hand on her mom's arm, trying not to freak out by the way her mom had gone beet red.
Please don't let her have a heart attack
. "You need to calm down. Are you okay? Do you feel alright?"

"Yes, of course."

"Dad said your doctor wants to run some sort of test," she broached carefully. "Maybe—"

"Nonsense. I don't need any test. I trust Fate. I'm fine."

She wasn't
fine
, but Valentine wasn't going to argue. She
gave her mom a peck on the cheek. "
I have to go
.
Will you be okay?
"

"
Yes, of course." Venus looked around the kitchen as though wondering what she was doing there.

She hated leaving her mom alone in this state, but t
he thought of
taking her to work and having her meet
the Hulk made her want to
puke with nerves.
"
There's a cafe down the street. Why don't you check it out? They have great mochas.
"

"Oh. Okay."

Her mom sounded so suddenly aimless that she had to offer,
"
And then after my meeting, let's go over the strategy to put me back on track.
"

"
Okay, sweetheart.
"
Venus lifted her cheek for a kiss. "Remember what I said. I'll see you later."

She wavered, not sure she should leave her mom alone. But nothing would help her mom as much as finding the Hulk a match, so she kissed Venus good-bye and let herself out of her apartment.
She closed the door behind her, walked down the steps, and made a very short U-turn to go down the steps to her office.

She didn't expect to run into
someone
. A very solid
someone
who
felt like a wall of bricks. "
Oof
."