Bloom Syndrome

After waking up one day to discover I was coughing up flowers, everyone started giving me strange looks.

It continued until my sworn enemy cornered me against a wall. His expression darkened as he chuckled softly and asked, "Oh, baby, have you been going out like this every day? Why don't you try mine instead?"

I developed Bloom Syndrome.

I was sitting at my workstation with a face mask on, my throat constantly itching as I coughed up another cluster of flowers. The rich, provocative scent drifted from the petals. It was the kind of smell teenage boys knew all too well.

Bradford pear blossoms again.

I had researched everything I could find about this rare, ancient affliction. Without a kiss from someone who truly understood my heart in the next three months, I would keep coughing flowers until I died.

A month had already passed, and I still had no idea who I was supposed to love.

I pulled off my mask and wrapped a tissue around my fingers to fish the flowers from my mouth when voices drifted from nearby desks.

"What's that smell?"

"No clue. It's so musky. Why does this area always smell like this lately?"

"That scent... Doesn't it smell like someone's been..."

I pressed my lips shut and tossed the flowers wrapped in tissue into the trash before putting my mask back on.

"Mr. Cross, Mr. Gray wants to see you."

The words made me frown instinctively. Damien Gray and I were the company's infamous rivals, the type who clashed with cutting remarks every time we met. If I were not the top salesperson bringing in half the company's revenue, I probably would have been fired ages ago.

I knocked on his door with a cold expression.

"Come in."

"Mr. Gray, what do you need? I'm swamped, so if this isn't urgent, I'm leaving." I got straight to the point.

The man inside had unusually long hair. Smirking, he said, "Really? I had no idea you'd be too busy to accompany me to a client meeting, Mr. Cross."

My irritation flared, and I was about to suggest he take someone else when he continued, "They specifically requested you, so get ready. We're leaving."

In the car, Damien and I sat as far apart as possible, but I could not stop frowning. Our grudge went way back. This guy was ruthless and showed no regard for the gender of his targets.

Back in college, he stole a job offer my professor had lined up for me, then had me blacklisted so that I would have no choice but to work at his company. He had even propositioned me multiple times to be his lover. Every single thing about him just pushed my buttons.

My throat started itching again, and I could not suppress the coughing fit. I felt something wet in my mask—blood-streaked Bradford pear petals.

I was about to remove them with a tissue when Damien turned. "Felix, are you feeling sick?"

"Just a