Secret Admirer?

This morning when I arrived at the office, there was a single long-stemmed rose on my desk. The crimson blossom reminded me of a tattoo I almost got one night in Tijuana when I was in the navy. (But that is another story. )

There was no note, or card or any hint about who had placed it there. I asked everyone on the crew who had left it, but no one seemed to know where it came from.

Was it a token of affection from a secretly admiring member of the staff? A closet poofta? Unlikely.
Or maybe one of the local desparate houswives hoping for a crumb of attention?
Nah.
Why would anyone leave such a token, with no note? An overblown sense of mystery? Romance? Anonymity is not romantic, it's spooky.
A psychopathic stalker killer?

Yeah. That sounds more like it.

I tossed the unwanted vegetation into the trash bucket. I hate fucking roses.