Sweet Seduction (7 page)

7

D
AISY
WAS
LATE
for her meeting. Again. As she hurried into the office building, she could hear Nana's voice in her head.

Avoiding the things you don't like doesn't make them go away. It makes them worse.

“Quiet,” Daisy whispered to herself, as she exited the elevator and hurried down the hall to the “neutral” meeting room. Nana was right most of the time, but this time she was wrong. Daisy had simply forgotten about the meeting because she'd spent the morning replaying the weekend, or rather, snippets from the weekend, in her mind. Jamie's hands on her body. His mouth and tongue, too. That very, very male part of him inside her...

Lordy.

She fanned herself.

Then there was his chest. She loved his chest: the muscles, the ink, the bruises.

God. He was perfection. He might not believe in it, but he was the closest thing she'd ever found to perfection in a man. Smart, funny, tough, incredibly sexy, great in bed. And he loved her baking. Too good to be true.

If it's too good to be true, it probably is...except for when it isn't.

Daisy smiled, thinking of all the times Nana had said that over the years, always followed by her deep, throaty laugh. Well, Jamie wasn't exactly perfect. He did bolt on Sunday morning. That part was less than perfect. If it wasn't for the fact that he'd asked her out again, his hasty departure would have ruined everything.

So it was Jamie's fault she'd forgotten about the meeting today, not hers. She wasn't avoiding the unpleasantness of her divorce; she was trying to focus on pleasant things instead. Wasn't that the foundation of happiness?

Of course,
unpleasant
didn't begin to describe the dealings with her ex. Hellish torture where her fingernails were pulled out with pliers was a much more apt description.

Pausing outside the door, she could see Alan through the narrow window, looking cool, coiffed and impatient.

She curled her fist and pounded hard on the door. She did it only to watch Alan jump—which he did. With a smile, she opened the door and walked in.

Alan rolled his eyes upon seeing her. “Late and without counsel. Again. Daisy, you can't keep doing this.”

She plopped herself down in the chair across from him with her old-school file folder spilling documents across the table. “We both know why I keep doing this, Alan.” She placed her hands on the table and leaned forward. “There's no money left for lawyers.” She looked around. “Speaking of which, where's that money-grabbing ass of yours?”

Using his chin, Alan indicated the man was standing behind her. Daisy turned.

Jamie stood in the open doorway, blinking at her in confusion. “Mrs. Smith?” He opened the file in his hands and quickly glanced through.

Daisy stood. However, her lower jaw felt like it stayed glued to the tabletop. “What the hell are you doing here?” She glanced back at Alan, suspicion flooding her veins. “What the hell is he doing here, Alan?”

“My lawyer is out of town,” Alan explained. “This is his partner.” He pointed between them, frowning. “Do you two know each other?”

“No,” Jamie replied so quickly that the
yes
on the tip of Daisy's tongue was swallowed before it could be uttered.

“No?”

How could such a small word—only two letters—suck the air right out of Daisy's lungs and sap the strength from her legs? She collapsed into the chair, numb, unable to do anything but stare at the man who strolled around to the other side of the table, casually sitting beside her ex-husband.

Jamie's unexpected presence had stolen her ability to breathe. His denial about knowing her had stolen her thoughts, her ability to see straight, and most importantly, her ability to hold her tears in check.

“Ms. Smith,” Jamie said, looking at her from across the table. “Where is your lawyer?”

“It's Sinclair.” Daisy said, her glare shooting daggers at Jamie. “And I don't have a lawyer.”

Alan threw his head back and groaned. “Oh, my God! We made the agreement last month that she'd show up with a lawyer and we'd hammer out the sale of the bakery. Then we'd be done with all this.” Alan leaned across the table, his face flushed with anger. “Daisy, we're not going to have anything left if you keep stalling.”

She heard the words but it was impossible to process them. The only thing she was capable of was shaking her head and watching the tears drip down off her chin, blurring the court order to sell the bakery that she'd been served with two weeks ago.

Alan stood. “I was willing to bargain with you today. But no more. One month, Daise. You give me my share of the bakery by the end of the month, otherwise it'll go to court and you won't get a dime. Do you understand?” Alan stormed around the table, muttering, “Such a waste of time. Such a waste of money,” before slamming the door behind him.

* * *

J
AMIE
DIDN
'
T
MOVE
as he sat across from Daisy, watching her cry. At one point he shut his eyes because her tears were too painful to witness, yet listening was worse because the sounds she made reminded him of sounds she'd made a mere thirty-six hours ago, only now she was moaning out of pure misery.

“You're a bastard, you know that?” Her voice, though soft, was thick with emotion.

When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by Daisy's tear-stained face. Her nostrils flared as she struggled to take deep breaths. “How could you?” She stood, her hands shaking as she fumbled to pick up the documents strewn across the table.

Jamie hurried around the table to help. “Daisy, listen—”

She slapped his hands away. “I don't know what's worse.” Her breathing was so ragged she could barely speak and her words came out in stuttering hiccups. “The fact you denied knowing me or that you're helping my ex ruin me.” She made a sound, something like a half sob, half laugh, and then pressed a hand to her mouth as if that'd keep the sounds inside.

“Daisy, sit down. Please.”

“Sit down with you? No, thank you.” She tucked the file under her arm and turned to go.

Jamie was not about to let her leave, not in this state, and not until she heard him out. He stepped in front of her, blocking the door. “This is serious. You need to sit down, calm down and listen to me.”

“Don't you dare tell me what I need.” She shoved him with her shoulder as if she was a linebacker. The action surprised him enough that he stumbled out of the way, giving Daisy a chance to open the door.

He followed her out into the hall, talking quietly as they made their way to the elevator. “I've barely looked at the file, but I saw enough to know the magnitude of your situation.”

She pressed the button for the elevator and stood there, completely ignoring him, blotting her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“You need to find yourself a lawyer, it's required by law, and you need to act soon. Otherwise it's going to get ugly.”

Nothing.

“I know people you could call.” He found his card holder and located the card of a colleague. When he held it out to her and she still didn't acknowledge him, he said, “I'm not trying to ruin you. I'm trying to help you.”

The elevator doors opened and Daisy stepped inside. She turned, and when Jamie started to get on the elevator with her, she blocked his path. “If you take one step inside this elevator, I will press the emergency button and tell people you're harassing me.” The last few words sounded like a hiss—harsh and final.

Jamie stood silently as the elevator doors closed. The last thing he saw was Daisy's mouth move—the very mouth he'd kissed so passionately a day ago—forming the words
I hate you
before she disappeared from view.

* * *

D
AISY
STOOD
ON
the sidewalk outside the brownstone in Old Town, looking up at the building, hating herself. Oh, there were so many reasons to hate herself right now, not the least of which was her obviously abysmal taste in men. To think she'd actually thought Jamie was different.

Perfect.

Ha!

From one asshole to another, she was destined to make poor choices as far as men were concerned.

“No more motorbikes,” she muttered to herself as she made her way up the steps to the front door. “No more tattoos. No more crazy sex.” Now here she was, about to grovel to the last person in the world she ever wished to grovel to. It just went to show how desperate she was.

With a sniff, she raised her chin and rang the bell.

When no one answered, Daisy experienced a brief moment of relief, until she heard footsteps and the door opened.

“Hey, Daisy,” Alexander said, looking handsome in khakis and a button-down shirt.

“Sorry to just show up like this, but...”

“That's okay,” he interrupted. “You looking for your mom?”

After clearing her throat, she said, “Yeah. Is she home?”

“Yep. Come on in.”

Daisy followed her mother's boyfriend through the foyer, past the front sitting room and kitchen to the addition at the back of the building. She'd been here only once before, but the sun room had been her immediate favorite.

“Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? Wine?”

“No, thank you.” This was not a visit. This was a mission.

Alex motioned to the kitchen. “If you decide you want anything, make yourself at home.” He left her at the door and Daisy watched him walk away. She was puzzled. He really was a nice man, and she still couldn't quite figure out what he was doing with her mother, who was typically more interested in rich men than nice men. No matter. It wasn't her business. She took a deep breath and entered the room.

Then she stopped.

Cynthia was seated by the window, wearing yoga attire and little to no makeup. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. But most surprising of all was the fact that she was sitting with a laptop in her lap, typing. If it wasn't for the reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, she would have looked about twenty-five. There were so many things wrong with this picture. Yoga pants? Unstyled hair? No makeup? Glasses? Working?

“What are you doing?”

Her mother's head popped up in surprise. “Daisy. I didn't know you were here.” She closed the laptop and set it on the side table, then removed the glasses in a hurried motion. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Come in, come in.” She waved her over.

Daisy approached slowly, taking the chair opposite her mother. She pointed at the laptop. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, that.” Her mother glanced at the computer as if she was shocked to see it there. “It's nothing.” She cleared her throat. “Well, it's silly, really. I'm writing a book, if you can believe it.”

“A book?” Her mother was right. Daisy couldn't believe it. “I didn't even know you read.”

Tilting her head in a show of annoyance, a pose Daisy was very familiar with, her mother said, “Of course I read. I'm not stupid.”

“That's not what I meant,” Daisy said, trying to find common ground with a woman she'd never been able to find common ground with before. In an attempt to make it up to her, Daisy said, “You look nice, by the way.”

Cynthia made a face. “No, I don't. I just finished a workout, for God's sake.” She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “What do you want?”

Wow. Okay. Her mother might look different and be acting a little strange, but their relationship had obviously not changed, and the tension between them was as potent as ever. There was no point making nice. Daisy figured she might as well get straight to the point. “I just came from a meeting with Alan.”

“I thought so.”

“How did you know?”

“Your face.” She made a circular motion in Daisy's direction. “It's all red and blotchy. You've been crying.”

Daisy put her hands to her cheeks. Once again, her mother had managed to make her feel ugly and insecure—just like that. This was pointless. “I don't know why I bother.” She pushed herself to her feet.

Her mother's deep inhalation was audible. “Sit down. Tell me what's going on.”

Although it went against her better judgment, Daisy sat back down, because she really had no idea where else to turn. She slowly began to relay the sorry state of her divorce, finishing with, “I'm going to lose the bakery and I don't know what to do.”

After listening without interrupting, Cynthia said, “You should let Alexander take a look. He's really good at this kind of thing—he should be able to advise you.”

For the first time all day, Daisy felt a modicum of relief. Could it be that she'd made the right decision to come here and ask her mother for help? She hurried back out to the car to retrieve her file folder. By the time she got back inside, Cynthia had briefed Alex about what was going on. He took the file and sat down at the kitchen table, going through each document in great detail. In the meantime, her mother removed a million kinds of fruits and vegetables from the refrigerator and proceeded to throw them all into a blender, creating a disgusting-looking pea-green concoction. She poured two large glasses and passed one to Daisy.

It tasted marginally better than it looked. Marginally.

“I know,” Cynthia said. “It's not Nana's strudel, but it's good for you.”

Daisy made a face and took another tiny sip. “So, what's the book about, anyway?”

Cynthia took a long drink, almost emptying her glass. “It's a guidebook.”

“What kind of guidebook?”

“A guide to bad relationships and how to avoid them.”

“What?”

Tilting her head, Cynthia said, “If you consider the men I've dated, from your father until...now, I am sort of an expert in the field of disastrous relationships.” She glanced over to Alex poring over the documents, a soft smile lighting her features. “Anyway,” she said, “I pitched the idea to a publisher friend of Alexander's and he liked it enough to offer me a deal. They even gave me an advance.”