Jamie hated Valentine's Day. She hated the hearts, the color red, the flowers, and above all, smug couples she had to endure every year. Which was ironic because she was in the flower business. Her job was to make sure that all those poor saps who spent three times too much on roses had their flowers delivered on time.
Her mother, God bless her soul, would send her three dozen red roses every year from "a secret admirer." And while she knew her mother was just being thoughtful, the eleventh year of roses seemed to send her over the edge.
"I despise this holiday," she lamented to her boss Aaron as they sorted out yet another delivery crisis. "Can't these people just be original and buy chocolates?" she asked, rolling eyes for the fifth time that morning.
"Whoa, what's with you?" he asked, his blue eyes scrutinizing her from across his desk. Aaron was the most beautiful man Jamie had ever met, and while she did everything in her power to maintain a professional distance, she still entertained daily fantasies of tearing the clothing off of his toned body. She probably would have quit her job years ago if it wasn't for the fact that she was madly in love with him.
Of course, he had a girlfriend. Her name was Liz, and she was perfect. Not in that normal kind of perfect, but in the "she could be a model" kind of perfect. Not only was she beautiful, but she worked for a non-profit that saved puppies, and from what Jamie had gathered, she was an excellent cook.
"Nothing," she replied, shuffling some papers and looking away to avoid further scrutiny.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you weren't getting laid these days," said Aaron.
Jamie's head whipped up at the response. Aaron had never been this casual with her, and his joking tone made her unsure how to respond.
