The Best Man (Alpha Men Book 2)

by Natasha Anders

  And then, one night, a year ago—shortly after his breakup with Tanya—he’d tried to flirt with her again. And because Shar and the rest had been around, Daff had toyed with him and then rebuffed him again. Old habits.

  But she’d been interested and flattered. Then, later, she’d been furious and indignant when she discovered that he had asked his brother to distract—and “pretend” to like—Daisy while Spencer attempted to flirt with Daff.

  She’d borne an irrational grudge against him since then, even after Daisy and Mason had fallen in love, though Daisy bore Spencer no ill will whatsoever. Daff had taken it very personally.

  “Anyway, I’m not proud of the way I treated him in school. Their circumstances were difficult beyond our imagining.” Daff shook her head in self-disgust. “I was a bitch and a bully.”

  “We allowed Shar and Zinzi”—Shar’s best friend—“to influence our lives for way too long. You weren’t the only one guilty of that, Daff.”

  “Daisy never bought into their bullshit, and she was relentlessly bullied by them because of it. And you were never a total bitch, Lia. You never lost sight of who you were. In this last year, since we stopped hanging out with them, I’ve come to see that everything I thought I’d achieved was just . . . I don’t know . . . an illusion. I was so focused on shallow shit like being with the right guy, wearing the right clothes, saying the right things . . . that I don’t know who I am without all that crap.”

  “I know who you are,” Lia said, delicately nibbling away at a strawberry. “You’re my sissy. You’ve always had my and Daisy’s backs. You’re fiercely protective and loyal. You’re freaking smart, never mind what the aunties say. You’re ambitious, but you’ve never found a focus for that ambition. Once you do know what you want, you’re going to be unstoppable.”

  “There are . . . other things, too,” Daff admitted uncomfortably, remembering the moment she’d invited Spencer to squeeze her neck. “But I can’t discuss them with you. Yet. Maybe never. I don’t know. It’s something I have to work out for myself, but I think Shar may have had a hand in that, too.”

  “Gosh, she’s like a supervillain. I mean, if not for her I’d never have met Clayton, either,” Lia said, wrinkling her nose, thankfully not pressing Daff on the secrets she wasn’t ready to divulge.

  “Well, at least we don’t have to deal with her any longer,” Daff said. “We just have to figure out how to cope with the fallout of having her noxious presence in our lives for so long. And really, we can’t blame her for everything. We have to own up to our own mistakes. We may have allowed her to manipulate us, but every decision we made was our own.”

  “True.” Lia was quiet for a moment while contemplating her half-eaten strawberry. “So are you going to eat that tasty-looking soup, or are you just going to sit here moping all day?”

  “Shut up.” Daff grinned and finally popped the lid off the container.

  “Knock, knock.” Spencer looked up from his income and expenditure spreadsheet, close to the end of the day, to meet Daff’s smiling eyes. She stood framed in the doorway of his tiny office, looking fantastic in a pair of faded skinny jeans, combined with a ruffle-fronted blouse, a slouchy cardigan, and scuffed brown cowboy boots. Her pretty hair was up in a ponytail. Her grin widened.

  “Ah, the Clark Kent glasses. Nice.”

  “Hey?” he greeted cautiously. Not sure exactly where they stood at the moment. One thing was for sure—while it was frustrating as hell, it was never boring around Daff.

  “I wanted to personally thank you for lunch and to tell you . . . one last time, so don’t you dare roll your eyes, I’m sorry. You had nothing to apologize for. I was—” She looked off into the distance for a moment and shook her head with a smile. “Crazy. I mean, completely nuts this last week. And you bore the brunt of that. And—I’m going to say it again, brace yourself—I’m really, really sorry.”

  She looked . . . different. Lighter somehow, like the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. It made Spencer happy just to see her like this. He wasn’t sure what had changed, but it seemed to be a step in the right direction, and it suited her.

  “May I sit?” she asked, indicating the rickety chair opposite his desk.

  “Of course. Be careful, it’s a little wobbly.” She sat down cautiously and then met his eyes again. Sincerity shining from hers.

  “You were right, I was never fully on board with our arrangement. And I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of having sex with you. And that’s through no fault of yours,” she hastened to say. “It was all me. I do like you and I am attracted to you and the stuff we did . . . when I was in the moment, it was all phenomenal. Better than anything I’d ever experienced before. I wanted you to know that. But at the same time, after thinking about it, I’m really grateful that you didn’t take it further. Clearly, I have a few issues to work out. But I do hope that we can be friends, Spencer.”

  “I’d like that,” he said quietly.

  Her eyes went suspiciously bright before she blinked a few times and cleared her throat.

  “So guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I handed in my notice today.”

  “That’s bloody fantastic. I’m happy for you, Daff.”

  “Everybody’s been congratulating me on being unemployed.” She chuckled. “It’s bizarre.”

  “It’s a fresh start,” he corrected. “So what’s next?”

  “No clue. I have to figure out what I enjoy doing.”

  “There must have been aspects of working at the boutique that you liked and maybe could focus on.”

  “I’ll think about it. Right now I’m just enjoying the feeling of having a whole world of possibility open to me. I feel optimistic and excited and ready to take on anything.” No wonder she looked so damned radiant.

  “I’ll miss having you just down the road.” He tried not to wince as he wondered if that was an entirely friendly thing to say. He was going to be second-guessing his every word from here on out.

  “I’ll still be here for another two months, so you’ll have plenty of time to share lunch with me.”

  “And you wouldn’t mind that?” he asked uncertainly, and she shook her head.

  “No, but I think we should take turns bringing lunch. My turn next week.”

  “Like proper food? No salads. As a side it’s fine, but don’t give it to me as a meal.”

  “I know. Don’t worry, I won’t starve you.”

  “You’re sure about this?” Somehow he had never pegged her as someone who enjoyed cooking, but maybe he was mistaken.

  “Yep. Absolutely.”

  “You done for the day?”

  “Uh-huh, just thought I’d pop in on my way home.” She got up and smiled at him. “Thanks for listening, Spencer. I really want this to be a clean slate for us.”

  “It will be,” he assured, getting up as well. He debated whether he should hug her or not but decided against it. It was too soon to touch her after everything that had happened between them. First he needed to retrain his body not to react whenever he touched her. Until he had his responses under control, they should probably stick to formal handshakes.

  “Great.” She hovered awkwardly for a moment, obviously debating whether to hug him as well before seeming to come to the same conclusion. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Tomorrow night, if I’m not mistaken,” he reminded her.

  “Oh yeah, the dinner. With everything that’s happened, I’d almost forgotten. Anyway, see you then.”

  “Hmm.” She grinned at the noncommittal sound—reading God knew what into it this time—and turned away. He tried his damnedest not to let his eyes drop—they were friends now, after all—but for fuck’s sake, he was a red-blooded man and her ass looked spectacular in those damned jeans. He waited until she disappeared down the winding staircase before groaning and adjusting himself. This was not going to be easy.

  We’re having a girls’ night! You’ve GOT to come over
!!!

  Daisy’s text a couple of hours later was almost instantly followed by another, this one filled with crazy emojis—dancing chick, fireworks, beers, martini glasses, champagne bottle, more beers, wineglasses. Okay, Daisy seemed to be implying that there would be drinking involved. Daff rolled her eyes.

  Maybe I’ve got plans, she replied. She didn’t, of course. Her evenings had once again opened right up since she’d ended her no-sex sex thing with Spencer.

  Ooh, with the Dick? Well, at least Lia hadn’t blabbed. Daff hadn’t been certain, since Lia really was an appalling liar. Luckily her fear of Daisy’s reaction had been a great motivator to keep quiet.

  I’ll see you later, Daff responded, not bothering to reply to Daisy’s question.

  Crying face emoji.

  You never tell me anything.

  Nothing to tell. It’s over.

  Another sad, sad little face.

  Fine! Bring tequila. Daff snorted in amusement—look at baby sister trying to be a badass. One shot of tequila and they’d probably have to scrape her off the floor.

  I’ll be there in an hour, she promised.

  Daff let herself into Daisy and Mason’s cabin and was greeted by a cacophony of female laughter and Peaches’s high-pitched yapping. She made her way into the living room, where her sisters and a few friends—Tilda Stanford, Nina Clark, and Billie Greenspan—were all sprawled on the shaggy throw rug in front of the fire and guzzling down red wine like it was water. Tilda, Nina, and Billie were a few of the high school friends the McGregor sisters had won in the custody battle after their acrimonious split from Sharlotte Bridges and Zinzi Khulani. It hadn’t been worth staying in contact with the rest. They were always on about materialistic crap. Daff had once bought into that nonsense, as had Lia, to a certain extent, all to fit in with a shallow group of women. Thankfully they were past that now.

  “Ladies, I come bearing tequila and sours!” Daff announced as she entered the room, and the women all squealed.

  Daff went to the kitchen, already familiar with the layout of the cabin, and grabbed the shot glasses, lemon, and salt before rejoining the rest and sinking to the floor with them. Peaches and Cooper immediately came over to give her a few slobbery welcome kisses before Cooper retreated back to his bed and Peaches crawled into Lia’s lap.

  “So what are we all talking about?” Daff asked as she poured the tequila shots and handed out the salt and lemon wedges.

  “Tilda was saying Mason and I should have a blended name, like Kimye or Brangelina. Something like Daison.” It reminded Daff of Spencer’s attempt to blend his name with Daff’s, and she smiled fondly.

  “I said Maisy,” Tilda corrected, and Daisy waved her wineglass at the other dismissively, spilling red wine all over the lovely cream rug. Lia grabbed the glass from Daisy before she could do more damage.

  “Daison, Maisy . . . they’re both awesome. I don’t think Mason’ll go for it, though, he’ll say something boring like ‘We’ll just call ourselves the Carlisles, angel,’” she said in a gruff imitation of his voice. Which was sweet as hell and probably exactly what Mason would say. “But I don’t mind being just the Carlisles. Or maybe the McGregor-Carlisles. We’re still thinking about it.”

  “Would Mason double-barrel his name?” Lia asked, taking a tiny sip of wine. She was a cautious drinker.

  “He says we’ll have the same name no matter what, so that everybody can know I’m his and he’s mine.” Daisy said the words matter-of-factly, not even noticing the swoony sighs coming from the women around her. Even Daff barely prevented herself from sighing at the words, and she didn’t have a romantic bone in her body. She shook herself and lifted her shot glass.

  “To the future Mrs. Carlisle . . . or McGregor-Carlisle or Carlisle-McGregor. I wish you a life filled with nothing but love, Daisy Doodle.”

  “You had to spoil it, didn’t you,” Daisy complained, referring to the nickname, but still looked misty-eyed at the toast. Everybody—even Lia—licked their salt, downed their shot, gasped, and sucked on their lemons before upending the glasses on Mason’s expensive, handcrafted coffee table.

  “Where’s Mason, anyway?” Daff asked.

  “Suh-suhpensher took him out. Boysh night! S-sh-sho? Sho I figured we should have a la-la . . . girlie night!” The shot had definitely pushed Daisy over the limit, and she started giggling uncontrollably. “Sho? Izz not right. Sho . . . ?”

  “God. How many drinks did she have before I got here?”

  “A crapload of red wine,” Tilda said. “And then that shot. I think the shot’s knocked her on her ass.”

  Daisy was flat on her back and still giggling. Lia and Daff helped her sit up and propped her against the sofa. Her curly head lolled, and she still continued to giggle quietly to herself.

  “Daisy, you’re being a terrible host,” Daff said sternly, trying to hide her amusement. They didn’t often see their studious, earnest little sister let her hair down like this, and it was entertaining as hell. Daisy mumbled something in response and then chuckled again.

  Ladies’ night was a roaring success, even if their hostess was an incoherent mess and passed out on the floor. Mason returned home a little after one, looking a bit wasted as well, but by that time only Daff and Lia were still there. The other women had been picked up by Tilda’s boyfriend about half an hour before. The dogs greeted Mason exuberantly and he took the time to give each one a couple of scratches before looking up and surveying the room. His brow furrowed when he saw Daisy passed out on the carpet.

  “Oh good,” Daff said drily. “Now you can take care of this.”

  Mason’s eyes remained on his inelegantly snoring fiancée sprawled on the floor, and his expression softened.

  “What happened?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper as he went down on one knee beside her supine body. He brushed her tangled hair out of her face and palmed one side of her face tenderly.

  “She’s wasted,” Daff said as she dragged on her coat, while Lia did the same.

  “What did you all get up to tonight?”

  “Don’t ask me.” Daff snorted. “She was pretty much a lost cause by the time I got here. One shot of tequila and she went from hero to zero in about thirty seconds. I barely had time to speak with her. Lia and the rest got her completely hammered.”

  “Please, I didn’t expect it to be a night of drinking. She lured me over here with promises of cocoa and rom coms.”

  Mason didn’t appear to be listening to them anymore.

  “Daisy? Angel, come on, let’s get you to bed.” She groaned and swatted his tenderly stroking hand away from her face, and he grinned at Daff and Lia. “She does hate having her sleep interrupted, doesn’t she?”

  “Since we were children,” Lia confirmed.

  “Always with the ‘Five more minutes, Mommy,’” Daff said with a nostalgic smile.

  Mason slid his arms beneath Daisy’s limp body and picked her up, going from kneeling to standing with barely a wheeze. Daff couldn’t lie to herself—that was pretty impressive. The guy’s core strength was nothing to sniff at.

  He made a few adjustments so that Daisy was more comfortably situated in his arms and then gave both Daff and Lia a pointed look.

  “You’d better not be thinking about driving home. Nobody leaves until I get back downstairs. We’ll organize an Uber.”

  “Lia’s fine to drive, she can take me home,” Daff said.

  “I don’t know if—”

  “Nobody leaves,” he reiterated sternly, interrupting Lia, and Daff cast her eyes heavenward, seeking patience from a higher source.

  “Yes, sir,” she snapped with what she thought was a credible salute, and Mason snorted.

  “Get Daisy to teach you a proper salute sometime,” he advised before heading toward the staircase and carrying Daisy up to their loft.

  Daff wondered how Spencer was after his night out on the town. Was he drunk? She didn’t think she’d ever seen Spencer drunk. Did he lose that quiet reser
ve when he got sauced? Or did he just get quieter? She was so tempted to take a walk over to his house just to appease her curiosity, but even in her slightly inebriated state, with her inhibitions down and her judgment somewhat impaired, she knew that was a terrible idea.

  She sat down on the arm of the sofa, resigned to the fact that she and Lia would have to Uber home and dragged out her phone.

  Are you drunk?

  It took a few minutes for the reply to come through.

  If ciurse

  She lifted a hand to her mouth and stifled a laugh.

  How novel.

  Completely wasted? she prompted.

  Ducking slaufhterd!$$!

  “Who’re you texting?” Lia asked, and Daff jumped.

  “Jesus, what the hell are you? Some kind of ninja?” Lia had managed to come up behind her and was totally reading her texts over her shoulder.

  “That says the Dick! So you’re texting him, right?”

  “Duh!”

  “So what are you guys talking about? Friend stuff?”

  “Oh my God! Go away . . . you’re being such an annoying little sister right now.”

  “Well, I’m curious, you said you were going to be only friends from now on.”

  “I know what I said, and I’m sending my friend a text!”

  “At one in the morning? Do you send your other friends texts at one in the morning?” Lia asked, folding her arms over her chest, looking smug because she seemed to think she’d made her point.

  “I never have reason to send them texts at one in the morning.”

  “But you have reason to send him one, do you?”

  “None of your business. Go sit over there and leave me alone, you obnoxious brat.”

  “Ooh, defensive,” Lia said, sitting down on the chair closest to the sofa.

  “Aargh!” Daff pointedly put her phone away and glared at Lia, but her younger sister just smiled back serenely.

  “I’m just teasing, Sissy. You should keep texting him. You look happy when you’re communicating with him. You had this ridiculous grin on your face.”