The shop felt louder after that.
“Well,” Jenna said after a beat. “That was… something.”
Jackie leaned toward me, eyes bright. “Please tell me you saw his arms.”
“I saw the clock,” I said, though my pulse was still doing something inconvenient. “And the order list. And the fact that I don’t have time to play florist to a motorcycle gang.”
“Motorcycle club,” Jenna corrected. “The patch on his jacket said Ruthless Vultures.”
I froze. “It did?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Very intimidating bird,” she giggled.
I shook my head, turning back to my work. “It’s not happening.” There was no way I could do it on top of everything else this week.
The bell chimed again twenty minutes later.
I didn’t look up right away.
“I swear,” Jenna muttered, “if that’s him again—”
“It’s me again,” the man said.
I sighed and turned.
He stood just inside the door this time, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, gaze locked on me like he’d never left.
“I told you I’m busy,” I said.
“I know.”
“And I’m not taking new projects.”
“I know that too.”
I raised a brow. “Then what are you doing here?”
He stepped closer to the counter, lowering his voice, not secretive, just intentional. “I’ll pay you triple,” he said. “And I want you personally handling it.”
The shop went dead silent.
Jenna’s mouth dropped open. Jackie’s eyes went wide.
I felt heat climb up my neck, not from the money, but from the way he said it. Like he wanted me for more than arrangements for his motorcycle ride thing.
“I don’t sell my time just because someone waves cash.”
“Good,” he said.
That threw me harder than the offer. He should have been offended and mad that I was telling him no. Instead, he seemed… glad about it.
“I’m not buying convenience,” he continued. “I’m buying your eye. Your hands. Your creativity.”
I stared at him. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you didn’t flinch when I said bikes,” he said. “I know you shut me down without being rude. And I know you’re running this place like it matters.”
I swallowed.