He grunted suddenly and reached into the bag to produce a couple of bottles of water, which he plonked down between them. Daff didn’t say anything, merely nodded her thanks. She was starting to understand that Spencer didn’t need much in the way of conversation, and Daff—the consummate talker—was strangely okay with that.
They both devoured their lunch before speaking again.
“I was wondering if we should have the parties out of town. Plett, maybe?” Spencer said after taking a sip from his water.
“Like an overnight thing?”
“Hmm.” He picked up an apple and held it out to her, and she accepted with a soft “thanks” before crunching into the ripe, red fruit appreciatively.
“That’s a really good idea,” she said around a mouthful of sweet apple, and when he didn’t respond, she looked up and caught him staring. Wiping self-consciously at her chin, where some of the apple juice had dripped, she lowered her eyes.
“So . . . uh . . . what exactly did you have in mind?” she asked, taking another, smaller bite of the apple.
“I don’t know; it was just an idea. Figured we could brainstorm together,” he said almost shyly, and she raised her eyes to meet his. His expression was hard to read. He really was the most frustratingly enigmatic man. It was weird how she could see that now, where before she’d simply dismissed that closed-off personality as a man without much intelligence, having nothing of note to say. An unfair assumption based on nothing more than the fact that he was good at sport, rarely spoke, and couldn’t flirt worth a damn.
“Well, it’s a start,” she said, and he nodded.
“That’s what I thought.”
“How do you feel about Mason and Daisy moving?” she asked, the words tumbling from her lips without warning. Maybe she wanted to see if Spencer was as affected by the news as his brother had said he was.
“I knew it was coming,” he said, his voice and face without expression, and Daff was about to dismiss Mason’s words of the other day as sheer bollocks when she saw it—the brief tightening around his eyes and mouth, the tense set of his huge shoulders. He looked like he was bracing for a hit.
“You knew it was coming but you were upset by it,” she elaborated, and he shifted uncomfortably, saying nothing in response. Not even a grunt this time.
“Not my place to be upset by it.” He shrugged, gathering up the empty containers.
“Bullshit, you’re his brother. I’m bummed Daisy’s leaving. I’ll miss the hell out of her. We were just starting to reconnect, and I think it sucks that she’s leaving just when we’re starting to act like sisters again.”
“You seemed sisterly enough before,” he said.
“Not really. We got along and loved each other, but we never seemed to have very much in common. It’s been a lot better since your asshole move last year.” He grimaced at the reminder.
“So maybe you can thank me instead of constantly bitching about it?” he suggested, and she laughed incredulously.
“You’re joking, right? Dude, you treated my sister like she didn’t matter.”
“Yeah, and I’ve apologized. More than once,” he reminded her through clenched teeth. Spencer Carlisle looked seriously pissed off and Daff—perversely—found herself mildly turned on by that. She was beginning to discover that she liked pushing his buttons. It kept her in control. She preferred being in control these days. She had allowed others to control her too often in the past. She was done with that.
“Anyway, I was saying that you have a right to be upset about your brother leaving.”
“It’s none of your business how I feel,” he muttered, carelessly dumping all the cartons into the large brown paper bag. He shoved to his feet, looming threateningly above her, and Daff was secretly thrilled by the deliberately intimidating display. Big, bumbling Spencer Carlisle seemed almost scary, and it was pretty damned awesome.
God, I’m so messed up, she thought, shaking her head slightly. One second wanting to be in control and the next thrilled because of his show of dominance.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” he snapped.
“Okay. Thanks for lunch,” she said in a sickly-sweet voice with a matching smile. He said nothing in response to that, just glared at her before slamming his way out of the store.
“Touchy,” she said softly, exhaling on a whistle.
How the hell did she always manage to get the upper hand like that? Spencer seethed as he walked the short distance back to SCSS. One minute he was staring at her luscious mouth while she devoured that fucking apple, and the next she had him on the back foot about some ancient history that nobody else even cared about anymore. And worse, why the fuck would she nose around about his feelings concerning Mason’s imminent departure? What did she care?
She was the most frustrating woman. He didn’t know how to converse with her, and it didn’t help that he was semihard every time he was in her general vicinity. He didn’t know why the hell he was so turned on by her. Sure, she was pretty, but she’d never been anywhere near civil to him. Maybe he liked being treated like dirt. It was familiar—it was how most people had treated him for the entirety of his life. And it was disturbing to think that he was still such a victim that he would willingly seek out this treatment from someone like Daff, someone he desired, someone he couldn’t seem to stay away from.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
“Hey, boss,” Claude Meintjies, his manager, greeted him when Spencer stepped back into the store, and Spencer lifted a hand in greeting. The salesmen and women all looked up with smiles and waves, too. They were a friendly lot, hardworking, efficient, and he valued every single one of them. He kept them incentivized and well paid, and he made sure there was room for growth within the company. SCSS was so much more than just this store. He intended to expand and branch out. And he made sure his staff knew that they would be right there along with him.
“I’ll be up in my office, Claude,” he informed, striding past the smaller man as Claude gave him a thumbs-up. Spencer made his way to the back of the store, through the storeroom, and up a short, winding staircase to the small glass office upstairs. The second floor of the building was a huge empty space, housing only the staff break room, Claude’s cubicle, and Spencer’s office. But Spencer had big plans for this space.
He shut himself into the office, closing the door and the blinds. His staff would know not to disturb him. He lowered himself into his desk chair and threw his head back on the rest. He examined the stained ceiling board above his desk, the remnant of a damp problem that had long since been taken care of. He should have replaced the board, but he liked the familiarity of the elephant-shaped stain.
His phone beeped and he dragged it out of his pocket and raised it to his line of sight, blocking out the elephant in the room. A text message . . . from Daff.
Seriously. Thanks for lunch.
He sighed and chewed the inside of his cheek for a second before sending a thumbs-up emoji.
He waited for a moment, but no response was forthcoming . . . she wasn’t even typing. He was about to lower the phone when it pinged and her response—a grinning emoji accompanied by a thumbs-up—popped onto the screen.
He stared at the two cheery little pics for a moment before screwing his eyes shut and then opening them to type two words. Words he knew he’d live to regret.
Dinner? Tonight?
“For fuck’s sake,” he gritted, furious with himself. He was a sucker for punishment. Clearly he was a masochist. Who knew?
She was typing . . . and typing . . . and typing. Jesus, how many words did she need to spell out a rejection? In the end, after endless amounts of typing, he found himself staring at just one word: Okay.
No shit?
He nearly dropped the phone in his haste to respond. He fumbled and caught it before it fell and sent his response before he could change his mind.
Pick you up at 6:30
Another thumbs-up in response, and that was it.
Someone knocked on her door at six that evening. Daff was in the middle of getting dressed for her dinner—date?—with Spencer, and she cursed the timing of this unexpected visitor. A quick peek through the peephole had her groaning and she unlocked the door with palpable reluctance. Daisy stood on her doorstep, a huge canvas bag tucked beneath her arm and clutched protectively to her side. Her entire demeanor was furtive, and Daff’s curiosity was immediately piqued.
The younger woman pushed her way into the small house and Daff stepped aside, allowing the intrusion. It was Daisy’s place, after all, even though her youngest sister would never really intrude unless she absolutely had to.
Daff closed the door, shutting out the cold, and followed her sister into the living room.
“Thank God you’re home,” Daisy was saying, gingerly placing her bag on the coffee table. “You have to hide these.”
“Hide what?” Daff asked blankly and then watched as Daisy carefully unloaded the contents of her ugly canvas bag.
“Ugh! No, I don’t want to hide your creepy caterpillars,” Daff protested as Daisy gently placed her entire caterpillar collection onto the coffee table. A little revolted, Daff gawked at one complacently smiling little caterpillar, a ceramic thing wearing a jaunty sailor uniform.
“Come on, please, Daff,” Daisy begged. “You even have the perfect display case for them, right there.” She pointed at the empty cabinet that had previously housed the unsettling caterpillars that Daisy had always found so inexplicably fascinating.
“Why?”
“Mason keeps swapping them out for these weird butterfly trinkets.”
The information startled a laugh out of Daff, which she quickly stifled when Daisy scowled at her.
“Why would he do that?” she asked, trying very hard to keep a straight face.
“Some nonsense about me letting go of my negative self-esteem issues and embracing my inner butterfly.”
Aw, hell! That Mason was constantly surprising Daff. She honestly couldn’t have asked for a better man for her baby sister.
“I’m not keeping them.”
“But I like them,” Daisy insisted.
“You do not. You collected only a quarter of these before everybody else started showering you with the hideous things and you found yourself drowning in them.”
“I’ve grown attached to them. I’m not holding on to them because I have negative self-esteem. Not anymore. They’ve become . . . I don’t know . . . a collection. Mine. I don’t want to part with them.”
“So explain that to Mason,” Daff said reasonably. “He loves you, he’ll understand.”
“I know. But he can be stubborn, and I just want to give my caterpillars a temporary safe haven until I can convince him of that fact. He’s already disappeared three of them and he won’t tell me where they’ve gone.”
This was absurd. But kind of cute, too.
“I suppose I can keep them for a while.”
“Oh thank you . . .”
“Not for long,” Daff warned her sharply. “You don’t sort this out soon and I’ll start disappearing them myself. So you and Mason find a way for caterpillars and butterflies to safely coexist.”
Daisy grinned cheekily at that and nodded.
“Definitely,” she said and hugged Daff before taking a step back to peruse her appearance. “You look nice. Are you going out?”
“Yes.”
“On a Tuesday night?”
“Yes, Mom. I have a social life even during the week,” Daff said with a roll of her eyes.
“Jeez, no need for sarcasm, I was just asking.”
“It’s just a . . . a meeting, kind of. With Spencer,” Daff confessed, trying not to look or sound self-conscious.
“Spencer? Really?” Daisy looked inordinately pleased by that news, and Daff smiled. “That’s great, Daff.”
“We’ve been planning your crazy mixed ‘last glorious days of singledom’ party,” Daff elaborated, and Daisy smiled widely in response to that.
“Thank you,” she said and then surprised Daff by enfolding her into another warm hug. “I know you guys don’t always get along and I’ve been worried, even though Mason has been telling me that I’m stressing for nothing. I’m so glad to know he was right.”
“We love you guys,” Daff said into Daisy’s neck. “And we want your wedding to be perfect and stress-free. That’s more than enough reason for us to set aside our differences.” She tried not to wince as she showered her sister with comforting half truths, but who knew, maybe tonight would be the night they actually, for real, set aside their differences.
Daff still had no idea why he had asked her to dinner, or—more pertinently—why she had accepted. In fact, she shouldn’t have texted him in the first place, but once her smugness in provoking a reaction from him had worn off, she’d immediately felt bad for pushing him like that. She’d felt the need to end their lunch on a more positive note. She certainly hadn’t expected a dinner invitation after the way they had left things.
“What time are you meeting him?” Daisy asked, stepping out of the hug.
“He’s picking me up in about ten minutes.”
“Oh gosh, and you were getting ready? I’m sorry I disturbed you.”
“It’s nothing.” Daff shrugged, feeling a bit awkward. “It’s not like it’s a date or anything.”
Except she’d been fussing over her clothes and makeup almost exactly like it was a date. She now found herself grateful for Daisy’s interruption, because it put everything back into context.
“Maybe not, but I’m sure you still want to look nice.”
Daff lifted her shoulders casually. “Makes no difference to me. I mean, we’re probably just going to Ralphie’s or MJ’s. Not exactly fancy.”
“Well, you still look very pretty,” Daisy said warmly, and Daff looked down at the black jersey knit dress that she’d fully intended to change before her sister’s untimely interruption. It was too low in the neck, too high in the hem, and definitely clung to her slender curves a little too lovingly. It was entirely inappropriate for a casual dinner with Spencer Carlisle. An authoritative rap sounded at the door and Daff stifled a sigh. It was too late to change now. She squared her shoulders, smoothed her hair, and moved toward the door. She swung it inward just as he lifted his hand to knock again, and he lowered his arm and his eyes ran over her body solemnly.
“You look nice,” he observed, his voice so neutral he might as well have been commenting on the weather. His regard shifted from Daff to a point beyond her left shoulder, and his mouth quirked while his eyes wrinkled at the corners.
He smiled with his eyes. Daff had never noticed that before. It was as distinct as an actual smile—his expression warmed and his eyes shone. It was devastatingly attractive and she was quite taken with it. Sadly, the warmth wasn’t directed at her but at the person standing behind her.
“Daisy, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Hi, Spencer.” Her sister moved toward him and stood on her toes while he hunkered down, allowing her access to kiss his craggy cheek. “I was just dropping something off. I’m on my way again. I just wanted to thank you for going the extra mile with Daff. Mason and I really appreciate it.”
His eyebrows lifted to his hairline and his scrutiny moved to Daff, who lifted her shoulders behind Daisy’s back.
Go with it, she mouthed, and his head dipped for a very brief instant, acknowledging her words.
“We just want your big day to be cool,” he mumbled, and Daisy wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him for good measure. The embrace was over before he could figure out what to do with his comically outstretched arms and Daff bit back a grin, loving how flustered he looked.
“Anyway, happy planning, guys. I’m sure whatever you come up with will be awesome. Daff, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure,” Daff responded and waved her happily smiling sister off. The silence after Daisy left felt weighted with both expectation and uncertai
nty, and Daff wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“I should probably drive myself,” she said, voicing the thought that had occurred to her just seconds after their text conversation the previous evening. “More convenient that way.”
“Convenient for whom?”
Whom?
“You? Me? Both of us?” she supplied, her voice breathless.
“Since I just drove here with the intention of picking you up, it wouldn’t be convenient for me,” he pointed out.
Daff couldn’t fault that logic.
“Ralphie’s or MJ’s?” she asked, reaching for the coatrack alongside the front door. He beat her to it and grabbed her double-breasted cashmere coat—not the one she would have chosen considering the rain—and held it open. Damn it. She would not be charmed by his unconsciously courteous little gestures.
Deciding not to say anything about his choice in coats, she slid her arms into the armholes and buttoned and belted it efficiently. She tensed when he unexpectedly dropped a hand onto one of her shoulders and slid the other beneath the hair at her nape, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin there as he lifted the shoulder-length fall from the neck of the coat. He smoothed a gentle hand over her hair, patting it in place before stepping back without a word and reaching past her to open the door.
Still staggered by the alarming intimacy of his previous action, it took Daff a moment to readjust and even out her jagged breathing and erratic heartbeat. This was crazy. It was Spencer, he was harmless . . . he wasn’t the kind of guy who normally attracted her.
Then again, considering how spectacularly all her previous relationships had crashed and burned, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.
She shook herself. Allowing herself to think like that was dangerous. Spencer Carlisle wasn’t someone with whom she could have any kind of romantic interaction. When it failed—and it would fail—she wouldn’t be able to simply erase him from her life. He’d always be around, at family gatherings, in town, at work . . . reminding her of yet another failure in her life.
“Daff?” The gruff sound of her name in his voice didn’t help. Why was everything about him suddenly so damned sexy?
The Best Man (Alpha Men Book 2) Page 7