‘‘Lovebirds?’’ she demanded into the cell phone as she turned her back to the cupids—and the clerk. ‘‘Yes.’’ Oliver Sanders sounded distracted. She could imagine him behind his big mahogany desk loosening his tie, his suit jacket already off and hanging neatly over the back of his chair, the scent of his expensive cologne mingling with the rich smell of leather and wood. ‘‘I should have thought of them before,’’ he said. She could hear the scrape of a pen on paper. He must be signing the letters she’d typed for him before he sent her to buy Valentine’s Day presents for his wife. ‘‘You got the good chocolate right, the stuff from Bulgaria or whatever?’’ ‘‘Belgium. Yes.’’ Only the best for Mitzy Baxter Sanders. ‘‘I went to the little shop you told me to go to.’’ ‘‘And the flowers?’’ Peggy could tell by his tone that he’d stopped what he was doing and was finally giving her his undivided attention. ‘‘You didn’t forget flowers?’’ He didn’t call her Miss Efficiency for nothing.
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