Chapter 3 - Rules for a Man Who Never Asked Permission
The photograph reached Grant Voss at 8:06 that evening.
Claire was smiling.
That was what bothered him.
Not Ethan Caldwell.
Not the flower shop.
Not the fact that Claire had ignored three private emails sent through accounts Daniel Pike assured him could not be traced.
The smile.
Grant sat inside the library of his rented Santa Fe estate, holding the photograph between two fingers.
Claire stood behind a counter.
Caldwell sat near her.
They were looking at each other.
She looked relaxed.
Grant had not seen that expression during the final year they had been together.
That fact infuriated him.
“You said Caldwell barely knew her,” Grant said.
Daniel Pike remained near the door.
“He barely does.”
“Then why is he there?”
Daniel shrugged.
“Maybe she's sleeping with him.”
Grant looked up.
Daniel instantly regretted speaking.
Grant didn't shout.
That was worse.
“Don't say that again.”
“Fine.”
“She isn't sleeping with him.”
Daniel said nothing.
Grant placed the photograph on the desk.
People misunderstood obsession.
They imagined desperation.
Emotional chaos.
Grant thought of it as certainty.
Claire had been confused.
That was all.
She had become overwhelmed before the wedding. Her sister had poisoned her against him. Claire had overreacted to a few arguments, exaggerated an incident in Aspen, and then humiliated them both by disappearing.
Grant had given her time.
Eighteen months.
That was generous.
But time had not corrected her.
Now another man was interfering.
That changed things.
“Find out everything about Caldwell,” Grant said.
Daniel almost laughed.
“Everything? He's on magazine covers.”
“Not what the magazines know.”
Daniel nodded.
“Business weaknesses?”
“Personal ones.”
Grant turned toward the darkening windows.
“Everyone has leverage.”
At Desert Bloom, Claire locked the front door and turned the sign to CLOSED.
Ethan stood.
“I should go.”
“You don't have to.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
They looked at each other.
Claire cleared her throat.
“I mean, Teresa won't be here for another hour. I still have arrangements to prepare.”
“I can help.”
“No.”
“You haven't seen my floral abilities.”
“I've seen you hold a bouquet.”
“Skillfully.”
“You held it upside down when you put it in your car.”
Ethan looked offended.
“That was one time.”
Claire laughed.
He smiled.
It was becoming dangerously easy to laugh around him.
That worried her.
Safety could be addictive.
When a person had been thirsty for years, even a glass of water could feel like love.
Claire knew enough not to confuse the two.
“I have rules,” she said.
Ethan leaned against the counter.
“For flowers?”
“For you.”
His eyebrows rose.
“I'm listening.”
Claire set down her scissors.
“If you're going to keep coming here.”
“I was hoping to.”
“Then no surprise gifts.”
“Okay.”
“No sending drivers.”
“Okay.”
“No asking employees for information about me.”
“Easy.”
“No security people following me.”
His expression changed slightly.
“That one may require clarification.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“No security.”
“What if Grant—”
“You asked for my rules.”
He stopped.
She waited.
Ethan looked frustrated.
Not angry with her.
Frustrated with himself.
“Okay,” he said finally. “No security without your permission.”
She relaxed.
“And no using your money to solve problems I didn't ask you to solve.”
“That one is going to be emotionally difficult for me.”
“I noticed.”
“But okay.”
Claire almost smiled.
“One more.”
“Go ahead.”
“You don't tell me what I should do.”
Ethan thought about that.
“What if you're about to touch a hot stove?”
“Then you can tell me.”
“What if you're planning to invest in a cryptocurrency promoted by Noah?”
“Noah promotes cryptocurrency?”
“Only after whiskey.”
“Then yes.”
He smiled.
“But otherwise?”
“Otherwise, you ask.”
Ethan extended his hand.
“Deal.”
Claire stared at it.
He immediately lowered it.
“Sorry.”
She surprised both of them by reaching forward.
Their hands met.
Warm.
Steady.
Ethan didn't squeeze.
Didn't pull.
Didn't turn the simple contact into something larger.
Claire released him first.
“Your turn,” she said.
“My rules?”
“You get rules too.”
He considered.
“Don't lie to me to protect me.”
Claire's smile disappeared.
“You barely know me.”
“I know.”
“Then why would I protect you?”
“Because when Grant appeared, you told me to go inside.”
She looked away.
Ethan continued.
“You were scared of him, but you were worried he might hurt me.”
“That was different.”
“Probably. Still my rule.”
Claire folded her arms.
“Fine.”
“And if you want me gone, say it. You never owe me politeness.”
She looked back at him.
“That is a strange rule.”
“I spend my life around people pretending to like me because I sign checks.”
“Do you really?”
“Some.”
“You can tell?”
“Usually.”
Claire studied him.
“Was I pretending?”
“No.”
“You're confident.”
“You told me my generosity was self-serving within forty-eight hours of meeting me.”
“Fair.”
Ethan glanced toward the worktable.
“What are we making?”
“We?”
“You said you have arrangements.”
“That was not permission.”
He pointed at the bucket of baby's breath.
“I can handle those.”
“You absolutely cannot.”
“Your lack of faith wounds me.”
Fifteen minutes later, Ethan had destroyed three stems, spilled water on his shoes, and learned that floral wire was more aggressive than its appearance suggested.
Claire laughed until tears filled her eyes.
Ethan decided ruining a thousand-dollar pair of shoes was worth it.
Teresa arrived at six forty carrying dinner from a nearby restaurant.
She stopped in the doorway.
Ethan stood behind the counter wearing Claire's spare green apron.
Claire was attempting to remove a piece of eucalyptus from his hair.
Teresa looked at them.
Then at the CLOSED sign.
Then back at Ethan.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Claire stepped backward.
“No.”
Ethan said at exactly the same time, “Hopefully.”
Claire glared.
Teresa grinned.
“Well. Good.”
Claire introduced them.
Teresa Morales was fifty-eight, widowed, and possessed the effortless authority of a woman who had spent thirty years managing brides, grieving families, delivery drivers, unreliable refrigeration systems, and flower wholesalers.
She took one look at Ethan's arrangement.
“What did those flowers ever do to you?”
“They lacked discipline.”
Claire laughed again.
Teresa's eyes sharpened.
She noticed everything.
After Ethan left, Teresa locked the door.
“That man likes you.”
Claire cleaned the worktable.
“I know.”
“You like him.”
“I don't know.”
“You're smiling.”
“I smile.”
“Not like that.”
Claire became quiet.
Teresa approached.
“I know he has money.”
“That isn't what scares me.”
“No?”
“No.”
“What scares you?”
Claire looked at the window.
“Wanting something.”
Teresa's expression softened.
“After Grant?”
Claire nodded.
Teresa was one of only three people in Santa Fe who knew his name.
She had hired Claire twelve months earlier after finding her crying in the shop's back alley because a customer wearing Grant's cologne had triggered a panic attack.
Teresa had not asked why.
Not until Claire volunteered.
“You are allowed to want things,” Teresa said.
“That didn't work out well last time.”
“Grant was not punishment for wanting love.”
Claire's jaw tightened.
“He fooled me.”
“Yes.”
“I chose him.”
“You chose who he pretended to be.”
Claire looked down.
Teresa touched her shoulder.
“You do not have to love Ethan Caldwell. But do not make Grant the author of every chapter after him.”
Claire remembered those words later.
Especially when the first anonymous post appeared online.
It happened Sunday night.
A local gossip account published a photograph.
Claire.
Ethan.
Desert Bloom.
The caption read:
BILLIONAIRE CEO ETHAN CALDWELL'S MYSTERY WOMAN — WHO IS THE FLORIST WHO HAS HIM VISITING DAILY?
By Monday morning, another photograph appeared.
Claire leaving Ethan's headquarters.
Then another.
Her rental car near Taos.
The caption mentioned Caldwell Medical Systems.
Mentioned Ethan's estimated net worth.
Mentioned Claire by name.
Claire stared at her phone in horror.
The comments multiplied.
Gold digger.
She's pretty but obvious.
Wonder how long until she gets pregnant.
She looks familiar.
Ethan learned about it during an executive meeting.
Julia placed her phone in front of him.
His expression darkened.
“Get communications on it.”
Julia nodded.
“And legal?”
“Marcus.”
Noah leaned closer.
“That's not a random paparazzi photo.”
“I know.”
“The angle across the street—”
“I know.”
Ethan left the conference room.
His first impulse was to call Claire.
He stopped.
Her rule.
Don't manage her.
He texted instead.
Have you seen the photos?
Three minutes later:
Yes.
What do you want me to do?
A long pause.
Then:
Nothing yet.
Ethan stared at the answer.
Every instinct screamed against it.
But he replied:
Okay.
An hour later Claire called him.
“I changed my mind.”
He stood.
“What do you need?”
“The original files.”
“What?”
“Whoever posted those pictures received them from somewhere.”
“Yes.”
“I want metadata if we can get it.”
Ethan smiled despite himself.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you smiling?”
“Because that's exactly what I wanted to do.”
“You're annoying.”
“So I've been told.”
Marcus obtained copies through a contact.
The metadata had been stripped.
But one image contained something better.
A reflection.
Barely visible in the glass of a parked truck.
A man holding the camera.
Claire enlarged it.
Daniel Pike.
“There,” she whispered.
Ethan leaned closer.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
Marcus studied the screen.
“This still doesn't prove Grant hired him.”
“No.”
Claire stared at Daniel's reflection.
“But it proves Daniel is following me.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“And with the car break-in?”
Claire looked at him.
“Can we get an order?”
“Possibly against Daniel.”
“What about Grant?”
“Harder.”
Claire's mouth tightened.
Grant again.
Always standing one person away from consequence.
Ethan saw the anger in her.
“Claire.”
She looked at him.
“What do you want?”
He asked the question carefully.
Not What should we do?
What do you want?
Claire stared at Daniel Pike's reflected face.
“I want to stop running.”
Ethan nodded.
“Then let's figure out how.”
This time, she didn't correct the word let's.
Two days later, Marcus filed for an emergency protective order against Daniel Pike.
And for the first time in eighteen months, Claire did not change her address.
She did not leave her job.
She did not buy a new phone.
She stayed.
Grant heard about the filing before lunch.
Daniel stood in his library again.
“You said she wouldn't involve lawyers,” Daniel said.
“She didn't.”
Grant held the court filing.
“Caldwell did.”
Daniel read the expression on his face.
“What now?”
Grant folded the document.
“Now we remind Claire what happens when strangers insert themselves into family matters.”
“She isn't family.”
Grant looked at him.
Daniel went silent.
May you like
Grant smiled.
“She will be.”
