Chapter Text
“You have a package on your desk,” Cressida muttered, her lips twisting into that ugly frown she so often liked to wear. Kate blinked, finally looking up from her phone as she passed the front desk.
“Another one?” she asked, not at all surprised. Cressida didn’t deign her with an answer, of course; she simply went back to ignoring Kate, as she enjoyed to do most days.
Stalking toward her cubicle, Kate found the third—no, it was the fourth; it was a Thursday—gift that had appeared on her desk before the work day could even begin. This time it was a bouquet of tulips, in varying shades of orange and pink, neatly tie together with a lilac bow. They were gorgeous and, much like the other three gifts she had been receiving since the beginning of the week, left with a card that simply read:
For Kate,
May your day be as beautiful as you.
Yours,
And that was it. No initial. No name. Simply ‘Yours’, written in the most obnoxiously pretty handwriting Kate had ever seen. Whoever it was leaving her these gifts—eautiful, often expensive gifts, at that—clearly had no desire to be found out, much to Kate’s (and Cressida’s) chagrin.
Really, would it hurt them to at least leave an inkling as to who they were? A hint so that Kate actually stood a fighting chance at learning who he—or she—was?
Sighing, Kate went to fetch one of the break room vases that was thankfully no longer in use, and fussed over the placement of her new bouquet. They really were quite gorgeous and, despite not knowing just who had given them to her, made her smile whenever she looked upon them.
“Nice flowers, Sharma,” came an unwanted voice, and Kate had to bite back the groan that seemed ever-present on her tongue whenever he came up to her. “Another gift from your stalker?”
“Jealous, Bridgerton?” she asked, spinning to look at a rather smug Anthony Bridgerton, who was sipping his morning tea from one of the chipped office mugs. “I don’t see anyone leaving you gifts on your desk each morning.”
His smirk only seemed to grow wider. Prick. “True,” he said, though this fact didn’t phase him. “But seeing your delightful face every morning is a gift in and of itself, Sharma.” And before Kate could think of a retort—she couldn’t, annoyingly enough—the aggravating man turned on his heel and left for his very private, very comfy office that seemed to cut him off from the rest of their colleagues.
Well, now Kate just felt annoyed; of course Anthony would choose to sour her mood, and right after she had been treated to such a lovely gift.
Falling heavily into her chair, Kate huffed as she switched on her laptop and started to work, the flowers seeming a little less joyful, now. How dare Anthony Bridgerton ruin her day.
As she packed up for the day, Kate carefully cradled her newest gift in her arms before taking her leave. Her previous gifts, though lovely, had not been quite as wonderful as the simplicity of a well-presented bouquet; she really did love flowers, she just seldom received them.
The day had, thankfully, gotten better; Anthony had been kept busy in his office, which meant his usual visits to her desk had ceased, at least for that day. And, while the office had seemed blissfully quiet, Kate couldn’t help but feel a little lonely that he hadn’t been there to annoy or disrupt her work.
It wasn’t that she had hated Anthony Bridgerton—no, hate was too strong a word; disliked was much better—because she didn’t. In fact, Kate found him to be quite charming at times, his smile infuriatingly pleasant. No, she simply found him to be exasperating, a tad cocky and, loathe though she was to admit, annoyingly handsome.
More often than not, they were at odds. He was set in his ways, often trying to ‘help’ her with her work when she very well knew what she was doing. In meetings, she often liked to point out his mistakes, earning herself an annoyed look as the dimple between his brows deepened.
He often retaliated by looming over her desk, his arms practically caging her while he looked over her work. His breath was always warm against his ear, his scent mouth-watering, divine. He never did this because he didn’t trust Kate, of course; she had considered that when she first started working there, but quickly came to learn that, in his own weird way, Anthony simply liked to bother her.
And with her recent Secret Admirer, he seemed to have increased his pursuit of annoyance. Not that Kate minded, really—again, she had felt quite lonely without him pestering her today—but since she had been receiving these gifts at the start of the week, Anthony had found multiple reasons to flock over to her like a pigeon poised for a fallen chip, his own work be damned.
Was he jealous? No, Kate didn’t think he was jealous, not that she knew what jealousy looked like on him. Maybe he just wanted to know, like the rest of their office—Anthony just so happened to be the only one brave enough to outright walk over to her desk.
She was waiting for the lift when Kate remembered she had left some documents on her desk. Cursing herself, she turned around and walked back towards the office and straight for her cubicle. The documents were waiting for her, set in a neat little pile next to the now empty vase that she hardly noticed until something caught her eye.
There, leaning against the vase sat a long, cream envelope, her name in the familiar cursive that she had been reading all week. Kate’s arm stilled and her eyes grew wide.
Why was a gift already on her desk, as if in wait for her arrival tomorrow? Didn’t her secret admirer bring them in the morning?
Kate stared at it for a minute, maybe two, and held her breath before finally plucking the damned thing from its resting place. With trembling fingers, she opened it and, inside, she found two tickets marked for Saturday night. An opera, she realised; she had never been to the opera.
But she had always wanted to go. Kate had mentioned it once, in passing, to Sophie in the break room. How could her admirer know…?
Dropping her flowers onto the desk, Kate felt her feet move before she could think about this practically. Thankfully, the office was empty, so none of her colleagues would see her stalking down the pathway of desks like a madwoman. She was always one of the last people out of the office, finishing her work off while everyone else filtered out at five o’clock sharp. And yet even as she left, there was always one person left. One absolute prick who seemed intent on being the final one to leave…
“What the fuck?”
Anthony looked up at Kate from his desk, wide-eyed with surprise, perhaps a little shock. She glared back at him, the opera tickets still in her hand as she stood in his office doorway, panting. He stared at her, then at the tickets in her hand, and Anthony groaned.
“You weren’t supposed to open them until tomorrow, you infuriating woman,” he muttered, one hand flying to his forehead to smooth over the creases that were beginning to form.
“It was you?” Kate hissed accusingly, though she’d already guessed as much; Anthony was probably the only person in the entire bloody office who could afford box seats for the freaking opera. Still, it annoyed her that she hadn’t guessed sooner.
Rolling his eyes, Anthony pushed against his desk and stood, his gaze unwavering as he looked towards Kate. “You weren’t meant to know until Saturday,” he replied coolly, and began making his way over to her. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”
As she watched him stride towards her, Kate found herself almost at a loss for words when she finally took him in. Anthony was dishevelled, deliciously so. The knot in his tie had been loosened, his jacket since discarded and hanging over the back of his chair. His sleeves, usually down to his wrists, were now pushed up to his elbows, the veins in his forearms prominent. And then there was his hair, combed through from his own fingers after hours of work, no longer the perfect coif that Kate often thought of when she thought of him.
Oh, God; why did he look like he had just walked right out of a Mills & Boons novel? At this thought, Kate wrinkled her nose, though not in disgust.
“What, that you’re my stalker?” she finally asked, mockingly. Thankfully, Anthony seemed to take his own words being thrown back at him in jest, because he gave her one of those infuriatingly pleasant smiles she seemed to like so much.
“Secret Admirer sounds much more romantic, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked, finally stopping in front of her and—God, it irked Kate to think this was hot—leaned one arm against the door frame as he arched one perfect brow.
“Why me?” she managed, thankful that her brain hadn’t disconnected just yet. “Why have you been doing this all week?” Kate motioned towards the opera tickets, and then to her desk, and Anthony smiled widely, dimples beginning to form on his cheeks.
Oh, fuck. Of course Anthony Bridgerton would have fucking dimples. Kate’s stomach swooped.
“Why not?” he said simply, his shoulders lifting in a light shrug. “There are many reasons why I would want to spoil you a bit, Kate.”
Swallowing, Kate dared to ask, “Name one,” with shuddering breath.
“Because you’re hard working,” he whispered. Then, “Because I enjoy your company.”
“That’s two—” Kate protested, but Anthony shook his head and continued.
“Because you deserve it,” he said, his voice soft and sweet, and Kate realised too late that his hand had come up to cup her jaw, his thumb gently stroking the indent of her chin. She swallowed, all too aware that she had now lost her voice.
“And, I hope you are listening to me closely, now, Sharma,” he murmured, his lips now impossibly close to her ear as he leaned into her. “Despite how infuriating you can be, I rather like you more than a colleague should.”
And then he was looking at her, those damning brown eyes filled with warmth and a gentleness Kate had not seen before. A look that would probably doom her if she gave in, allowed him to bewitch her with his gifts and the words that tumbled from his pretty mouth…
The same pretty mouth that, in a delirious haze, she had caught with her own, her fingers immediately winding into that glorious mess of hair.
He kissed her back immediately, his mouth greedy upon hers as Anthony dragged Kate over the threshold and pushed her against the wall. His hands were bruising on her arms, then teasing against her waist as he slipped his hands beneath her blazer, hot and wanting while he crushed her body against his chest.
All too soon—or not soon enough, given how hard Kate was panting, now—Kate pulled back, her gaze immediately falling to Anthony’s plush, red lips that looked thoroughly kissed. If she kissed them again, would they bloom even redder?
Before she could ask that, though, she had one more question.
“Why ‘yours’?” she asked, genuinely curious. “Why not sign with an initial on your gifts, or give me a clue?”
There was a beat of silence as she returned Anthony’s gaze, his eyes glassy and pupils blown wide. For a moment he stood there, still holding her in his arms, catching his breath. Then he was smiling again and touched his forehead to hers.
“Because I have always been yours, Kate,” he whispered.