She Helped a Stranger Pick Out Flowers. Unaware He Was a Billionaire Who’d Fall in Love With Her
A Chance Encounter and a Bouquet of Truths
Belle Donovan wasn’t sure why she cared so much about a stranger picking the wrong flowers. But when she saw the tall, broad-shouldered man hesitating in front of a lavish display of roses and lilies, she couldn’t help but step in.
“If you’re trying to make an impression,” she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “go with peonies.”
“They’re elegant, romantic, and not as cliché as roses.”
The man turned to face her, his piercing blue eyes catching her off guard. He was devastatingly handsome, with a strong jaw, perfectly styled dark hair, and an air of effortless confidence.
He looked like someone who belonged in a boardroom, not a tiny flower shop on the corner of Brielle Street.
“Peonies?”
His deep voice had a slight rasp, as if he wasn’t used to asking for advice.
“You’re sure?”
Brielle nodded, pointing at the delicate pink blooms.
“Trust me, whoever you’re buying these for will love them.”
His lips curved slightly, as if he found her certainty amusing.
“All right, peonies it is.”
He picked up a bouquet, then glanced back at her.
“You seem to know what you’re talking about.”
Brielle shrugged.
“I work at a wedding boutique. Flowers are kind of my thing.”
His gaze swept over her, assessing but not in a way that made her uncomfortable.
“That explains it.”
She expected him to turn and leave, but instead, he lingered.
“Do you believe flowers can really change someone’s mood?” he asked.
She tilted her head.
“Of course. Flowers mean something. They show effort, thoughtfulness.”
He studied her for a moment, as if filing that information away for later. Then, as if remembering himself, he extended a hand.
“Victor Sterling.”
She hesitated before shaking it. His grip was firm and warm.
“Brielle Donovan.”
Victor glanced at the bouquet in his hand.
“Well, Brielle Donovan, if these flowers work, I owe you.”
She laughed lightly.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
And with that, he was gone. Brielle didn’t expect to see him again, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.
A week later, she was rushing through the rain, balancing a coffee cup in one hand and her purse in the other. She collided with a solid chest.
Strong hands gripped her arms before she could stumble.
“Are we making a habit of this?”
That familiar deep voice sent a strange flutter through her chest. She looked up, startled, to find Victor Sterling standing in front of her.
Only this time, he wasn’t holding flowers; he was holding an umbrella. His dark suit was immaculate despite the weather.
“You,” she breathed.
He arched a brow.
“Me.”
Brielle blinked.
“Did the flowers work?”
A slow smile spread across his face.
“Better than I expected.”
Relief washed over her.
“Good. I’d hate to think I gave bad advice.”
Victor glanced down at her soaked coat. Without a word, he shrugged off his own and draped it over her shoulders.
She stiffened.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
His tone left no room for argument. Something about the way he said it made her heart race.
“I was just heading to a meeting,” he continued, “but I’d much rather buy you a coffee if you’re free.”
Brielle hesitated. She barely knew him, but something about Victor intrigued her.
“All right,” she said, “but only if you tell me who the flowers were for.”
His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering across his face.
“My mother,” he admitted. “She passed away last year. I visit her grave every week.”
Brielle’s breath caught.
“Victor, I…”
“You helped me pick the perfect ones,” he interrupted. “And for that, I really do owe you.”
Her chest tightened; she hadn’t expected that. She followed him into the cafe, warmth settling over her as she realized something.
Victor Sterling wasn’t just some stranger. Despite every logical reason not to, she wanted to know more.
