"Come in!  It's open!" 

Cheryl looked up from her computer as the delivery man pushed open the front door and approached her desk. He was carrying a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a large, steel clipboard in the other.

"Morning Greg, saw you pulling up outside".   

"Morning Luv.  Another one for you".  The delivery man passed the flowers to Cheryl over her desk and she accepted them eagerly.

"Any note this time?"  She said. Cheryl was turning the bouquet over and over in her hands, busiliy scanning the precious blooms for some clue as to their origin.

"No such luck my darlin', maybe next time eh?"  Greg smiled at her.  "At least you know that someone cares, yeah?"

"Yeah, maybe".  Cheryl's shoulders slumped a little in defeat.  She gently placed the flowers next to the small vase on her desk, whilst she found a pen and signed Greg's delivery forms.  She passed them back to him, all the while glancing at the flowers as though they were a puzzle that only she could solve.  If only she could find the answer.

"Cheers Luv.  Have a good week".  Greg took the clipboard from her proffered hand and walked off toward the door.

"What? Oh yeah, you too".  Cheryl said distractedly.  She had been distracted quite alot lately.  Distracted and frustrated and exasperated.  The reason for this was simple:  Cheryl had a secret admirer and a little over two months ago, her admirer had decided to make his affections known.

The flowers were always delivered to her at work.  They arrived every Thursday at eleven o' clock in the morning, regular as clockwork.  The arrangement was always the same: eleven red roses and one white rose, surrounded by a haze of Baby's Breath and encased in a sheath of clear cellophane.  They were gorgeous.  More importantly, to Cheryl at least, they were reassuringly expensive.

In Cheryl's opinion, she had been out with more than her fair share of cheap bastards in the last few years.  First there had been Doug the rugby player.  Granted, he had the body of an adonis and he certainly knew how to use it.  Unfortunately, his idea of a romantic night out was dinner at the local chinese followed by a night out with the rest of the rugby lads and their girlfriends.  The only gifts she had ever received from him were season tickets to Twickenham Rugby Club and a deep but insatiable longing for the finer things in life.

Then there had been Michael the businessman.  From his designer stubble to his Armani suits, he had oozed charm and sex appeal.  She had really fallen head over heels for him.  There had been presents galore:- Designer handbags, designer shoes, designer dresses, the works.  Unfortunately, it turned out that "businessman" was actually Michael's slang for "market trader" and that the only genuine thing he had ever given her was a dose of the clap.

Lastly and most recently Cheryl had dated Jason Sheen.  Yes, that's right, THE Jason Sheen.  Former footballer turned TV presenter Jason Sheen.  It had all been going so well.  He was absolutely loaded and absolutely all over her.  As long as she kept her knickers off and her legs open, the presents just never stopped coming!  For her birthday next year he had promised her a car! 

Unfortunately, it had all come crashing down around her ears when some journalists had caught him snorting cocaine off the bare buttocks of a fourteen year old rent boy.  Now, Jason was banged up in The Priory and the police were very interested in "pursuing their enquiries regarding the incident".  He'd phoned her to apologise a few times now.  Of course she'd taped the conversation, got herself an agent and was currently awaiting the outcome of several negotiations with some of the seedier tabloids.  The photos and videos would probably help with that too.

Cheryl had eliminated all three of her ex-paramours from her list of potential secret admirers.  Doug was married with one on the way (poor sod), Michael was in prison for fraud (stupid twat) and Jason had already sent her a couple of bouquets (daffodils - dickhead!).

She wondered briefly if her admirer could be Brian in Accounts.  They had gone on a brief but disasterous date about six months ago where they discovered that they had very little in common and even less to talk about.  She dismissed the idea almost immediately.  It was true that she was far better looking than his current girlfriend (Fiona from HR - God, what a moose!) but she seriously doubted he'd ever get the idea to send anyone roses.  With him, you would be more likely to get a limited edition Star Wars action figure as a sign of devotion.  Loser.

Cheryl was sure that her admirer could only be one person and one person alone:-  Sir Rufus Conway.  He was her boss, the CEO of The Conway Group and he was worth millions.  Okay, so Cheryl was only a lowly receptionist on the ground floor but from day one, he had always taken an interest in her.  Every morning he would stop and say hello to her and ask her how she was getting on.  Cheryl always took the opportunity to laugh and smile and bat her eyelashes coquettishly at him.  She had noticed him admiring her ample cleavage and hadn't he brushed up against her in the elevator once or twice? 

Even though Sir Rufus was a self-confirmed family man and had been for the last 15 years or so, Cheryl felt sure that she had in fact snagged him.  After all, he was forty-five and overdue for a mid-life crisis and a sexy young blond on his arm.  The roses were merely his way of trying to tell Cheryl that he wanted her to make the first move.  It was entirely possible that he felt that for all his money and power, Cheryl might reject him for being too old.  Hence, he had sent the roses anonymously in the hope that Cheryl would work it out for herself. 

Cheryl smiled to herself as she unwrapped the roses and started to arrange them on her desk.  They really were very lovely.  She was so pleased that she had been asked to work late.  Sir Rufus's secretary had unfortunately come down with a rather bad case of food poisoning last night, along with half the marketing team and a couple of PAs (that had absolutely nothing to do with the brownies Cheryl had baked and left in the break room).  Tonight, Cheryl would make her move and Sir Rufus would be putty in her hands. 

 *******************************************************************

Sitting in his van outside, Greg watched Cheryl as she unwrapped the bouquet with those delicate hands of hers.  He gazed down the length of her supple, shapely body as she arranged the flowers haphazardly in the silver vase on her desk.  As her fingers caressed the delicate flowers with their soft petals and long, thorny stems, Greg felt himself becoming more and more aroused.

"Not yet," he whispered to himself.  He squeezed the knife in his hand in an effort to re-establish his self control.  He thought of little boys playing in the sunshine, of football on a Sunday morning, of walking his dog in the park.  He did not think about the smooth, tender flesh under his rough, work worn hands nor did he think of the array of beautiful, shiny instruments concealed in a leather box under his seat. 

Greg felt the knife bite into his skin and let out a small sigh of relief.  He looked down at his hand, at the small cut on his palm and the blood that bloomed from the wound.  Red as the roses.  He lifted the palm up to his mouth and slowly, deliberately, licked it.  The warm taste of salty iron was like music to his senses. 

The ceremony performed, his business was concluded for now.  He started the van, put it in gear and prepared to pull out of the car park.  After all, he had other flowers to deliver, other seeds to plant.  He glanced at Cheryl one more time before he drove away.

"Soon," he whispered, "soon".