Crazy Sweet Love: Contemporary Romance Novella, Clean Interracial Romantic Comedy (Flower Shop Romance Book 3) (17 page)

Chapter 7

Tessa paced around Samson's apartment, wringing her hands. He'd offered her some tea, though what she really needed was a stiff drink. “I want you do understand,” she said, “I'm not sure what I'm asking you to do is strictly legal.”

“Is it important?” he asked. Samson sat on a wicker chair, watching her pace. The entire apartment was decorated in wicker, rattan, throw rugs, and oriental lamps. There was an odd yet appropriate clashing to the decor. Nothing about it quite fit together, just like sometimes Tessa couldn't quite fit the things she knew about Samson together.

“I think it is,” she said. “It could be nothing. Nothing but covering up harmless use of GMOs because they're afraid of the bad publicity.”

“But?”

“But,” Tessa said, “it could be something more. I've seen a lot of reports indicating possible harmful levels of pesticides. Which could be hurting people. And the only way to find out is to get some tests done.”

“Okay,” Samson said. He slapped his hands on his knees and nodded, a determined look on his face. “What is it you need me to do?”

“Help me sneak samples out of one of our main sorting facilities.”

He frowned and rubbed his chin. “Can't we just get some Dunham products from the supermarket?”

“No.” Tessa made a cutting gesture with her hands. “That won't be good enough. Dunham's produce is triple-washed before it goes to the markets. In theory that helps make it safe, but residue from pesticides can be absorbed by the produce, or stick to the skin. Especially the skins of certain fruits, like apples. I think we need to get some samples before they've been washed, so we can get a complete sample. Find out exactly what's going into this food. Even if it's only in there at reduced levels after the produce has been washed, it might be the sort of thing that becomes dangerous when consumed in large quantities over a long period of time.”

“And you're worried those 'reduced levels' will be low enough to slip past most tests,” Samson said, “but high enough to still be dangerous.”

“I think so.” Tessa threw up her arms. “I mean, I don't know. I'm not a scientist. I'm going off what I've learned from online research here. But I have a list of some of the highest-risk fruits and vegetables. Apples, strawberries, grapes, celery, peaches. A few others. I want to get samples of each.”

“Okay.” Samson stood up and walked over to her, sticking his hands in his pockets. “So, you work for them. You can get us in, right?”

Her face scrunched up. “Sort of?”

“Uh-oh.” He rubbed his chin. “What does 'sort of' mean?”

“It means I found copies of all the forms needed to get the goods released to us, but I'm technically not authorized to submit the orders. I'd need signatures from upper management, like my boss, Mr. Morgan. And that's not going to happen.”

“So, if I'm hearing you right,” Samson said, smirking, “you need someone to play the role of 'Mr. Morgan' during your visit to the sorting facility.”

Tessa shrugged, her lips twisting in a wry grin. “Do you own a suit?”

* * *

They pulled up to the Dunham Enterprises Eastern Pennsylvania Sorting Facility mid-Saturday morning, driving a rented pickup truck. Tessa was dressed in her smartest business suit, with a cream-colored blouse and maroon pants and jacket. This wasn't an unusual look for her; she dressed like this whenever there was an important meeting at work, always conscious of making the best impression.

Samson, on the other hand, was completely transformed. Not only was he wearing a suit and tie, he had also cut his hair. Instead of hanging down to the middle of his back, it was in a short ponytail that just brushed his neck. He was also clean-shaven, and Tessa was pretty sure she detected a hint of cologne.

“You look like a secret agent,” Tessa said as they got out of the car.

Samson pulled out a pair of dark sunglasses, put them on, and said, “Just call me Bond. Samson Bond.”

They walked up to the facility. Tessa tried to keep a purposeful stride in her step. People wouldn't be as likely to question them if they looked like they belonged here, like they knew what they were doing.

They walked in the front door and found a bored receptionist sitting at her desk, playing Angry Birds on her computer. Tessa walked right up to the desk and cleared her throat. The receptionist cleared her throat and sat up straight. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“Yes,” Tessa said, pulling some papers out of her briefcase and handing them to the girl. “I'm Ms. Cunningham, this is Mr. Morgan. We're from the  Department of Information Resources. We're here to pick up some samples for inspection.”

The girl looked at the forms, her face tense. She skimmed the pages, licking her lips, but it was clear she had no idea what to do in this situation. “Umm, okay. Do you need me to call the floor manager?”

Tessa almost told the girl no, but she didn't want to raise suspicions. If they were going to make this work, they would need the cooperation of the staff here. “Yes, please,” she said. “As long as he's not busy.”

“Just one moment.” The receptionist picked up her phone and pressed a button. A moment later she told whoever answered about the visitors, then she hung up and said, “It'll be just a moment.”

They didn't have to wait long before the manager, a middle-aged man with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie hanging loose around his neck, came into the lobby. “Hi,” he said, extending a hand first to Samson, then to Tessa. “Mike Carter, assistant floor manager. What's this all about?”

Samson stepped forward, showing Mike a copy of the inspection report from Elizabeth O'Conner. “One of your inspectors filed a report with our department, suggesting the need for more testing on some of the products. We'd like to take a few samples so they can be analyzed. Make sure everything meets with safety specs.”

Mike scanned the report, nodding. “All right. Yeah, I remembered her saying something about it. I didn't know there would be anyone coming down here, though.”

Samson leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Well, they're trying to keep this quiet. You understand, right? The media hears the words 'health hazard,' and the next thing you know, they've got OSHA and the USDA down our throats, people stop buying our products, and we get the goddamn hippie health nuts picketing us. Nobody wants that.”

Mike nodded, breaking out into a light sweat. “Right. I understand. Though I can assure you, everything at this facility is run according to spec.”

Samson smiled at the man and patted him on his arm. “Trust me, I know. No one blames you. This is just a sorting facility, after all. You're not responsible for what happens out in the fields.”

“That's right,” Mike said, a determined set to his jaw. “We just load everything up and send it off to the local distributors in each region.”

“Which is why we want to get samples right from the source,” Tessa said. “So we can run tests on the produce before it's even been handled by your people. That will prove that any contamination came before any of it even crossed your hands.”

Mike blanched at the word “contamination.” “Right. Right. Well, just let me know what I can do for you. We'll be happy to help.”

They left some paperwork with the receptionist for filing. By the time Mike led them onto the main floor, the girl was already tucking the papers into a filing cabinet, where Tessa hoped they'd be lost and forgotten.

The main part of the facility was a broad, high-ceilinged room, filled with machinery. Crates of produce were unloaded from trucks at the far end of the room, then piled onto conveyor belts. The belts ran them through sprinkler systems that washed and sanitized everything, taking the produce through a triple-wash system to maximize sanitation. The produce was then loaded back into crates and sorted, with the workers loading up shipments that would be taken off to Delaware, New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut. After arriving at their destinations, Tessa knew the shipments would be split up into smaller orders for delivery to supermarkets local to each area.

Mike walked them through the facility, explaining some of the processes. “Everything meets all health code regulations,” he said. “Everyone wears gloves and hair nets, and we do a full scrub down of the machinery after every shift.”

“Everything looks good,” Tessa said. She looked around the room at all of the weekend workers, busy loading and unloading crates and operating the machinery. There were a lot of people here who might recognize her face if someone from Dunham started poking around, trying to find out what she'd done here. She suddenly wished she hadn't used her real name.

“Do you have anything that hasn't been washed yet?” Samson asked. “It'd be best if we got samples right off the truck.”

“Sure thing.” Mike led them to the loading docks, where several trucks were in the process of being unloaded. “How much do you need, exactly?”

“Just a few pieces from each,” Tessa said. “Preferably stuff that was grown in different fields. If there's anything wrong, we want to isolate where it came from.”

Mike had some of his people help them with selecting some fruits and vegetables from a variety of crates. Tessa made sure everything got labeled, and she took notes on where each shipment had come from. With the tracking numbers on the crates, she could search the Dunham computer network and find out the exact field these crops had been grown in.

They got some of Mike's men to carry the boxes of samples to the truck. They shook hands again, and before they left, Samson leaned closed and spoke quietly to the man. “Remember, it'd be best if you keep this as quiet as possible. We don't want to risk any bad publicity when there's a good chance this is all just a pointless scare, right?”

“Right,” Mike said, nodding. He licked his lips. “Look, my name isn't going to be associated with anything, right? I mean, I just work here.”

“Don't worry,” Samson said. “We won't even mention you.”

Mike wiped the sweat from his forehead and he headed back to the facility. Tessa and Samson got into the truck and drove off. Tessa held her breath until they were out of sight of the facility, then she let out a long sigh of relief.

“That went well,” Samson said.

“I hope so.” Tessa turned in her seat and looked back behind them, half-expecting someone to be following them. “I just hope no one starts asking any questions or following up on what we just did. This could really bite me in the ass.”

She consoled herself with the reminder that this could be for a good cause. If she got fired, but stopped people from getting sick in the process, then it would all be worth it.

Chapter 8

Tessa and Samson stopped at a gas station a few miles from the shipping facility. While Samson filled the tank, Tessa paced back and forth across the asphalt, fidgeting nervously with her hands. “Wow,” she said. “Wow wow wow. I can't believe we just did that.”

“It sure was a trip,” Samson said. He took off his suit jacket and tie, tossing them into the truck, then rolled up his shirtsleeves. He almost looked like his normal self again, though the gray silk pants were still quite out of character.

“I thought for sure we were going to get caught.” Tessa ran her fingers through her hair, feeling pent up with too much energy. “Every time he asked a question, I thought, 'This is it. We're screwed.'”

“It didn't show. You played it totally cool.”

“Really?” Tessa smiled bashfully, her face warming up. “I was just trying to keep him from being able to think too much about what was going on. I loved the way you kept pushing him about the risk of the media finding out. Keeping him too nervous to think things through.”

Samson leaned against the truck and stuck his hands in his pockets. “All in a day's work for Bond. Samson Bond.”

Tessa laughed and stepped forward, throwing her arms around him. “Oh, thank goodness you were here. Thank you for doing this. I can't imagine why you agreed to it. We could have been arrested.”

“Well,” he said, pulling his hands out of his pockets and slipping them around her waist. “I guess I just couldn't say no to you.”

She leaned back and looked into his eyes. There was something there. Something unexpected. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. She'd never really looked at Samson like this before. He was just her hippie neighbor, the man who grew herbs in his garden and made tea for his neighbors. Though he was looking rather handsome, now that he'd cleaned up a little.

The gas pump clicked off with a loud snap, jarring Tessa from her thoughts and making her jump back. She laughed nervously and brushed her hair back just to give her hands something to do. “Well, we should get going,” she said. “I'd like to get this stuff to your professor friend right away.”

Samson topped off the tank, then they got back in the truck and drove off. Most of the drive was quiet. Tessa kept glancing over at Samson, wondering. She chewed on her lip, trying to sort through her thoughts, but they were all jumbled.

They arrived at the university in mid-afternoon. The campus was mostly empty, with no classes in session on Saturday, though there were some students mingling about here and there. They parked near the science building and Samson led Tessa in to meet his friend. The professor was a young man who fit the image of his job perfectly, from his nerdy glasses to the tan suspenders holding up his pants. Samson made the introductions, introducing his friend as Gregory Harcourt.

“So, what kind of samples is it you want me to look at?” Gregory asked after the introductions.

“We tried to get a little of everything,” Tessa said. “I wasn't really sure what would be best. But it's all labeled, based on where it came from and all.”

“Let's take a look,” Gregory said.

They hauled the boxes of produce up to Gregory's office, then started sorting through everything while Gregory took notes on the invoice numbers Tessa had recorded for each sample. “This is a lot of stuff,” Gregory said, looking over all the samples. “I'm going to need a few days for all this.”

“All right,” Tessa said. “Whatever you need. And...thank you. For doing this. I wish we could do something for you...”

Gregory gave her and encouraging smile. “It's all right. Samson explained the situation to me. I guess I consider this my civic duty as a scientist.”

He walked them to the door and shook their hands. “I'll let you know as soon as I get the results,” he said. “Just keep in mind, all of this will have to be off the record. I can't go on record with any study that hasn't been cleared by the university's Institutional Review Board. If it turns out there's something there, you'll need to report it to the USDA and get them to conduct an official investigation.”

“I want to at least find out if there's anything worth reporting first,” Tessa said. “After all, there could be thousands of people's jobs on the line here.”

“Don't worry,” Gregory said. “I'll keep things hushed on my end.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a grateful smile.

When Tessa and Samson got back to their apartment complex, Samson invited Tessa over for a drink. “After the day we've had,” he said, “I think we both deserve a chance to unwind and relax.”

“Sounds perfect.”

She stopped at her own apartment to change out of her fancy suit and into sweatpants and a tank top, then headed over to Samson's. When she got there, he was in the middle of getting changed himself. He'd traded the suit pants for a tight pair of jeans, and he was still pulling on a clean t-shirt when he opened the door. She got a brief glimpse of his toned abs, and for the first time she appreciated the kind of physique a man could develop when he rode a bicycle everywhere all the time.

Samson poured them each a glass of white wine, then raised his glass and said, “To a successful heist.”

Tessa clinked her glass against his. They sat together on his sofa, drinking wine and trying to unwind. Tessa couldn't quite get settled onto the couch, and kept fidgeting. She felt stiff, her back and shoulders all knotted up with tension. Part of her still kept expecting the police to show up at the door. She wasn't sure if anything they'd done was
technically
illegal. It was possible she'd just get fired instead of arrested. Not that that was much comfort.

“You look tense,” Samson said. “Here, let me help.”

He moved next to her and she turned her back to him. He set down his wine glass, then started rubbing her shoulders. Tessa closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. The aches in her muscles slowly started to fade away. “You're really good at that,” she whispered as Samson's fingers massaged her worries out.

“Professional training,” he said. “I spent six months training as a physical therapist before I decided it wasn't for me.”

“Well, you're just full of endless surprises.”

“All part of my charm,” he said.

After Samson worked the kinks out of her back and shoulders, Tessa leaned back against him, sipping her wine. She felt more relaxed and at home than she had in a long time. Samson's fingers kept gently running along her arm, tracing delicate touches across her skin. She let out a soft sound of contentment and nestled against him, almost feeling like she could drift off to sleep. She wasn't sure if it was the wine, the massage, or the aftermath of a day filled with adrenaline, but she was ready to crash right there on her neighbor's couch.

Samson's hand slid down her arm until his fingers glided across the back of her hand, then intertwined with her fingers. She held onto his hand, not wanting to let go. His breath felt warm against her neck.

She suddenly stiffened, sitting up a bit straighter. “Samson?” she whispered.

“Yes?”

“What are we doing?”

He was silent for a long moment, though he didn't let go of her hand. “Sitting on the couch,” he said, speaking softly. “Drinking wine. Enjoying each other's company.”

“Is that all?”

She twisted around to look into his eyes. He looked at her in a way he never had before. His eyes traced the lines of her face, then strayed down to look at her lips. Tessa licked her lips, wondering what he was thinking in that moment. Wondering what was about to happen.

A sound from outside jarred them out of the moment. They both jumped up, looking towards the window.

“What was that?” Tessa asked.

“Probably nothing,” Samson said. He stepped over to the window and pulled the curtain back, peering outside. Night had fallen, and the garden plots were draped in darkness.

They headed outside, looking around the plots. After a minute of searching, they came across a jumble of pots and trellises that someone had dropped by the edge of one of the plots. “This wasn't here this morning,” Tessa said.

“Ahh,” Samson said. He gestured to the shadow-enshrouded plot. “Of course. The Mystery Plot.”

“Damn.” Tessa looked around, searching for signs of anyone in the darkness. “We must have just missed our mystery gardener. I swear, one of these days, I'm going to set up a camera and see who comes out here.”

Samson chuckled. In the dim moonlight and the gentle illumination coming from the apartment building's windows, he looked quite stunning. Tessa looked up at him, stepping closer.

His hand reached out for hers. Their fingers intertwined.

Samson's other hand reached up and he caressed her cheek. Tessa held her breath.

Then he kissed her, there under the moonlight, beside the mysterious garden, while the cool spring wind blew between the apartment buildings and wrapped them in its embrace.