The flowers started arriving on Monday.Not a single bouquet—that would have been manageable, dismissible. No, Miles went nuclear. By 10 AM, my father's office (where I'd been helping with some consulting work while figuring out my next move) looked like a funeral home. Roses, lilies, orchids, peonies—every expensive arrangement the city's top florists could deliver, each one more elaborate than the last."Miss Clement—I mean, Mrs. Calvert," my father's receptionist said, appearing in the doorway looking overwhelmed. "There's another delivery. That's the seventh one this morning. What should I do with them?"I looked up from the contracts I'd been reviewing, my jaw tight with irritation. "Donate them. All of them. To the hospital, nursing homes, wherever. Just get them out of here."She nodded gratefully and disappeared. Two minutes later, she was back. "There's a delivery person downstairs who says he has ten more arrangements in his truck. Should I—""Tell him to turn around and tak
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