Speaking of the devil, Lorenzo opens the door in nothing but a black T-shirt and jeans. It’s rare to see him looking so casual, and the sight of his thick arms and the faintest hint of abs test my heart rate. “Ran out of clean suits to wear?” I say coolly as I step inside, only to lose my footing when I glance at his entry table. I’ve never had the nerve to ask Lorenzo what he does with the flowers he orders, and I’ve spent way too many hours wondering why he bothered if he clearly wasn’t dating anyone. Or at least that’s what I told myself to feel better about making his bouquets because
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