Page 177 of Rush

She glances toward the door. “If that’s another reporter, I swear to God?—”

I pad over to the intercom and press the button. “Hello?”

“Delivery,” a voice calls back.

I press the button, not long after there’s a knock at the door.

We look at each other before I crack it open.

My eyes widen at the sight. The hallway is a floral crime scene.

A guy in a navy cap wheels in three massive arrangements—red roses, pink peonies, something purple and dramatic I can’t name. Behind him: a man in a full gorilla costume holding a green balloon.

Riley blinks. “What in thePlanet of the Apes?”

The delivery guy clears his throat, unfazed, and hands me a clipboard. “Sign here.”

Then he leaves.

The gorilla steps forward, arms long and awkward, and holds out a green helium balloon:CONGRATS GRAMMY GODDESS.

Around his neck, a sign in black marker:Can’t wait to see you Friday, sweetheart —B.

I cover my mouth.

Riley wheezes. “Oh my God. He sent you a man in a monkey suit.That’slove.”

The gorilla gives an elaborate bow, does a half-hearted twirl, then shuffles back into the hallway like this isn’t even his weirdest job today.

We burst into laughter.

Only Broderick would send a whole-ass gorilla to deliver one little balloon.

Riley ties the balloon on my wrist.

“Who are they from?” I ask, closing the door and flicking the lock.

Riley rummages through the first arrangement and plucks out the card. She glances at it before handing it to me. “From your label.”

The card reads:Congratulations Elena, We’re all so proud of you! This is just the beginning.

I grab the card off the second one. “Philippa and Andrew.”

It’s sweet of them to send something while on their honeymoon, probably sipping overpriced rum on a beach.

I smile at the card:Couldn’t be prouder. Love you to pieces. PS: Andrew picked the orange ones.

The third arrangement is...something else.

Blood-red roses, stacked so tight they look sculpted—too flawless to be real, if not for the scent. Petals curled like lacquered velvet. I know exactly who they’re from. Red roses. Alex.

No card. Just a discreet sticker on the vase: AW.

I stare at it too long, like it might open its mouth and explain itself.

Riley hovers behind me now, chip bag forgotten. “That one’s fromhim, right?”

I don’t answer. Don’t need to.