The Upper East Side is a whirlwind of chaos on the weekends. Tourists, bikers, dog walkers, and other people on a mission flood the streets as they pass to and from their destinations.

I've always been fond of people-watching. Trying to determine what someone does for a living, or why they storm past me angry on a call, it's fun to make up their lives in my head knowing my theories are probably incorrect. Sometimes, I wonder if others do it to me, and I wonder if they guess I moonlight as a stripper.

Likely not.

My life here in debatably the wealthiest section of the city is vastly different from the club that lures in the most dangerous types of people. My persona has to be amplified here as the co-owner of a business, my lives separate. The seductive, cunning version of myself has to be replaced by a lighter, sweeter version. When dealing with owners of country clubs and housewives hosting charity galas or auctions, I quickly learned to nod and smile, tapering down my true self. Maybe that's another reason I love dancing so much. It allows me to break that cocoon I envelop myself in.

"Is everything ready?" Riley, my best friend since high school, carries the last of the floral arrangements to load into the van. The local police station is hosting an event, and I'm in charge of delivering the arrangements.

I check off the last item on the clipboard, nodding enthusiastically. "That's everything."

"Thanks again for making the delivery. You know I'm not..." With a quick shake of her head, she releases a sigh. "I'm not good with crowds."

Sweet, innocent Riley would give the shirt off of her back for anyone. That's how we became friends, after all. She was shy and studious in our Physics class, quiet as a mouse, but when one of the jocks started to pick on her glasses, I told them where to shove it. We are complete opposites, but it's what draws us together. She's the calm to my wild.

Needless to say, delivering all of these arrangements to a room full of cops isn't the job for her. When she suggested we open Blooms, I had just graduated college with a business degree. Riley graduated from a prestigious art school, and with her being as talented as she is with an eye for design, it didn't take much convincing to go into business with her. With the help of our friend Sienna, the CEO of one of the largest marketing companies on the East Coast, our business has been booming ever since. Sometimes it's hard to wrap my head around the fact that our dreams came true.

"Don't worry about it," I reassure her, closing the back of the van. "Besides, if one of us has to be in a room full of hot, buff men, it should be me, right?"

Her nose wrinkles in disgust. "Yeah. Not my type. Maybe you'll find the love of your life so one of us isn't lonely anymore."

"Mmm. Not likely." I've been single for years, and that's been by choice. Not to say I haven't had a hookup here and there, but given my profession, I know there aren't too many men who would be comfortable with it.

My mind strays to Corden and the way his hands danced across my body last night. I remember how his breath felt against my ear. How the back of his knuckles brushed against my nipple, sending a rush of heady—

"Hello?" My eyes snap back to Riley, who's currently sporting a perplexed expression. "Are you okay?"

No. The past twenty-four hours have been pure hell. Ever since I left the Red Room last night, nothing has sated me. Not even three uses of my vibrator. Corden has weaseled his way into my brain, and although I should be thinking about work, all I can imagine are the possibilities of where his hands will be on me later this evening when I see him again.

"I'm fine. Just tired," I lie. Telling her the truth would require me to be upfront about my second job, and given Riley's shy nature as it is, learning I'm an exotic dancer might put her into cardiac arrest. I can't even talk about vibrators without her flushing from head to toe.

Before she can question me further, I blow her a quick kiss. "See you soon! Make beautiful masterpieces while I'm gone!"

***

On the way to the event venue, my phone rings from an out-of-country number. It's not often my mother calls due to the price, but she tries to check in once a month. Normally, I'm thrilled to talk to her, but this time I sigh as I swipe to accept the call, sensing the angry tone from thousands of miles away.

"Nibo ni owo naa ti wa, Carmen? Se o n sinwin?" Where did the money come from, Carmen? Are you crazy?

Oh, shit. She's speaking Yoruba. Now I know I'm in deep shit. Both of my parents know how to speak English since that's the language I was primarily raised on after I moved here, but when she's pissed? Her native tongue takes control.

I wince, pulling the phone away from my ear before I respond. "Maami, does it matter? I'm assuming the wire transfer was successful?"

"We don't need help," she says, her accent thick. "Children should never provide for their parents."

"It's a privilege to do so here," I explain. "I need to be sure you and Baba are taken care of. If you can't accept it, will you at least use it in the village? Help the children. They need it more than I do."

She tuts in disapproval, stubborn as a bull, but even I know she won't be able to refuse the money if it's to help the children there get necessities like clothing, toys, and food. I've cornered her, and she knows it.

"For the children," she answers as if trying to convince herself more than me.

We catch up on our lives for the remainder of my drive to where the event is taking place. It's at a swanky reception hall ten blocks away from our floral shop. With the banquet set to begin in two hours, I work quickly to bring all two hundred arrangements indoors.

I'm on my third haul, loading up the cart, when a man in uniform approaches the van with a kind smile. He's tall and handsome, with auburn hair and freckles dotting his face. The police uniform that showcases his toned biceps certainly helps matters.

"Need some help?" he offers.

I'd love nothing more than to accept it. It's the beginning of June, and I'm sweating from head to toe, even in a sundress. However, I'm running a business, and that doesn't include having our clients help. "Don't worry about it," I say between labored breaths, sticking a hefty vase on the cart. "This is my job. The event tonight is to celebrate your hard work."

He flicks his eyes to my pink sundress before meeting my eyes again. "Luckily for you, it's my job to help others, is it not? I insist."

Well, who am I to argue with a policeman?

On three more trips, he helps me with the heavy lifting by loading the vases into the cart, allowing me to start setting the arrangements on the correct tables indoors.

When everything is set, he meets me at the back entrance, brows raised. "Anything else?"

"No, I uh... I think that's it. Thank you..."

"Archer," he supplies, sticking his hand out to shake.

I place my palm in his, returning the gesture. "Carmen. I'm the co-owner of Blooms."

Archer looks around at all of the tables, shaking his head in disbelief. "You guys never fail to amaze me with the work you do. This is the third year we've hired you guys, and the arrangements are perfect every time."

"I can't take all of the credit," I admit. "The other co-owner, Riley, designs the arrangements. I just run the business side of things."

"Well, there's a reason we called Blooms and not another floral shop on the Upper East Side. Your ratings are fantastic, so I'd say you contribute to the success as well, right?"

The compliment sends me into a tailspin, causing my heart to flutter. I didn't take Riley seriously when she said I'd meet someone, and now that it's happening I have no clue how to react. His grin is flirtatious, and he's lingering by the back exit as if he wants to say more. I'm not an idiot, so I know when a man is hitting on me, but I'm not in the right place to take on a relationship. If he found out about The Harbor I'd be fired on the spot. It's not the type of place a cop should know about.

Why am I overreacting? This nice man offered to help me bring in vases, that's it. He's not blatantly asking me on a date or proposing for crying out loud!

Stop jumping to conclusions, Carmen.

After thanking him politely for the compliment, I tell him goodbye and excuse myself back to the van, feeling the heat of his gaze the entire way.