The Best Man (Alpha Men Book 2)

by Natasha Anders

  “This week may have been a bit rough and slightly bizarre and ever so surreal. But I have no regrets,” he told her, and her fingers squeezed around his hand.

  “I’m happy to hear that,” she said, and, in what appeared to be a completely impulsive move, gave him a quick peck on his cheek.

  Daisy turned her head to look at them, her curiosity evident despite the car’s dim interior.

  “Are you guys sure you’re just friends?” she asked softly. Her voice was speculative. Daff’s fingers tightened around his once more before she replied.

  “Never been more certain of anything in my life,” she said sincerely, and Spencer swallowed past the lump of emotion in his throat and smiled.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Why are you being so secretive? Why can’t you just tell me what your plans are for this place?” Daff asked, crunching into a crisp green apple while she spoke and peering at Spencer closely. He’d been making vague references to potential changes and expansions to SCSS for weeks now, and it was driving her crazy.

  He was peeling an orange and gave her one of those inscrutable looks that always drove her a little crazy over the top of his glasses. He just looked so freaking hot and stern. He couldn’t seem to maintain the stern expression this time and grinned, looking almost boyish in his excitement.

  “I think I can talk about it without jinxing it now. Since the plans were approved this morning,” he said, his smile widening. “I’m adding a gym and juice bar up here. Top-of-the-line equipment, world-class instructors, and we’ll be offering everything from personal fitness training to Pilates to yoga to kickboxing. I want SCSS to be a one-stop shop for all your fitness needs. Buy the gear downstairs; use it upstairs.”

  “Oh my God, Spencer, that’s freaking amazing!” Daff enthused, and his chest expanded at her praise. He looked prouder than a new father.

  “Better still, I’m opening a second branch in George early next year. Claude will run it for me.”

  Daff squealed, genuinely excited for him. She knew how much the store meant to him. After weeks of shared lunches, she still learned something new about him every day, but his pride in this store was something that had always been evident.

  She leaned back in the rickety desk chair that she had claimed as her own and stared at the ceiling.

  “You know that once you start renovating up here, you’re going to lose Nelly, right?” she asked, referring to the elephant-shaped stain above his desk. She had named it Nelly the very first time she’d brought him lunch here.

  “Nah, I’ll ask them to save that ceiling board for me and frame it or something. I need something to look at when I’m concentrating.”

  They talked about the expansion plans a bit more, while at the same time spitballing ideas for Daff’s future career.

  “Maybe you could be a yoga instructor,” Spencer speculated. “You’re constantly wearing yoga pants in your free time anyway.”

  He’d noticed that, had he? Since they’d put an end to their no-sex sex thing, he’d been really good about not flirting or treating her in any overtly sexual way, but she’d caught him staring at her ass a few times. Mostly when she wore yoga pants, come to think of it. It made her feel better about the hankering she felt for him every time she got within five feet of the man.

  “I’m sure it would be a great career opportunity for me if I didn’t suck at yoga,” she dismissed, and his eyes widened.

  “For someone who’s not very good at it, you own a shitload of yoga pants.”

  “Yeah? I also own a ton of jumpsuits, but that doesn’t mean I want to be a fighter pilot.” He choked at her words and then laughed.

  “I’m picturing a fighter pilot in some of those jumpsuits women wear these days,” he elaborated, and she giggled. “In all seriousness, when Claude leaves this branch, I’ll be looking for a new manager,” he said pointedly.

  “Keep looking, mister,” she said, taking another bite from her apple. “Because I’m leaving the whole managing gig behind permanently.”

  She just wished she knew what to do instead. The two months had practically flown by and she had just a week of work left. She was already training a new woman to take her place, but Daff still had no clue what she wanted to do.

  “So has Charlie loosened up about moving?” Daff asked, changing the subject, and Spencer winced. It was a bit of a sore subject. Charlie was still living with the McGregors and, after a rocky start—she’d attempted to run away twice—seemed to be settling in nicely. Mason and Spencer had contacted an attorney, and because Charlie had no other living relatives, there was no disputing their claim to dual guardianship. They’d had social workers in for interviews, undergone rigorous evaluations, and had both been deemed fit guardians for the girl. It was a lengthy process, but the ball was rolling.

  The only hitch was Charlie. She refused to accept that she required any form of care and barely gave Spencer the time of day. She was getting along well with Mason now, thanks to Daisy, and had even spent a weekend with them, sleeping on the new sofa bed Mason had acquired especially for her.

  Daff knew that the girl’s rejection troubled Spencer. It was clear that he desperately wanted to find a way to communicate with her, but every word he said to her sounded like a command, and Charlie didn’t respond well to orders. It was painful to watch. Daff had attended a couple of his youth outreach sessions, and it wasn’t like the man didn’t know how to speak to teens. He just sucked at talking to Charlie.

  And Daff was beginning to understand that when someone meant more to him, his attempts at communication became even clumsier. It made her view all those past aborted attempts at flirtation in a whole new light.

  “I asked her if she wanted to choose the decor for her room. She told me she didn’t care, since she wouldn’t be staying there anyway.” His dark brows furrowed at the recollection.

  “Did you ask her? Or tell her?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Spencer, when you speak with Charlie, you have this tendency to”—how to put this tactfully?—“bark orders at her. She doesn’t seem to respond well to that.”

  “She doesn’t seem to respond well to me,” he said somewhat morosely. “She hates me. Leaves the room every time I enter it. But of course, she and Mason get on like a house on fire.”

  And he felt excluded.

  Her stupid heart just about broke at that revelation. And she wasn’t sentimental. Except, where Spencer was concerned, she found she had a sentimental and emotional streak a mile wide.

  “You just have to be patient, Spencer,” she said. “She doesn’t hate you, she just doesn’t know you very well yet. And you have to use a different approach when speaking with her. Suggest instead of command. Request, don’t order.”

  “She’s a kid. What good are suggestions and requests when she has no idea what’s good for her?”

  “She’s a teenage girl. A confused one. She went from being an only child to a youngest sister, with just about everyone telling her what she can or can’t do. She undoubtedly feels powerless. You and she are more similar than you know. And I’m not just talking about those matching glares . . . think about it. From the bits and pieces she’s revealed over the last few weeks, it’s safe to assume that she ran the house, took care of her dying parent, and kept things from falling apart. That was your job growing up. Of course you’re going to butt heads now. You’re both used to steering the ship . . . oh my God, I sound like my father.” She raised a horrified hand to her mouth. Her father—unhappy that she would be unemployed soon—had been giving her his seafaring-themed pep talks/lectures, pretty much like Lia had predicted he would. Apparently Daff had absorbed more of his words than she knew.

  Still, Spencer looked thoughtful. Something she’d said clearly resonated with him.

  “Think about what approach would work on you and go with that,” she suggested.

  He rested his elbow on the desk and his chin on his thumb and absently stroked his index finger ove
r his lower lip. Back and forth, back and forth . . . Daff was mesmerized by the movement and longed to run her own finger and then definitely her tongue over the firm softness of that lip as well. He was staring up at Nelly while he considered her words. He started plucking at the lip with thumb and index finger, and Daff bit back a groan.

  The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted him. She couldn’t recall ever really desiring a man this much, and she couldn’t be sure if it was because he was now off-limits or because every moment spent with him was quite wonderful, really.

  He was so easy to be with. She never had to put up a pretense with him. In his own gruff way, he always had something kind to say. Just last week when she had sprouted a zit, he had grinned and told her she looked cute, even though Daff had known she looked downright hideous. She didn’t feel the need to dress up; he always had a gleam of appreciation in his eyes no matter what she wore. It was nice. He was nice.

  Watching him with the teens he tried to help was also eye-opening. The patience and care he exhibited. She recalled how willing he’d been to put his entire life on hold to help Charlie, even before he knew what she was to him. The man would give the clothes off his back to help a child in need, and Daff often felt a little intimidated by his sheer goodness. She wasn’t good. She wasn’t kind. And even though she wanted him, she knew that what they had now was best. Spencer needed someone like him. Someone who was kind and decent.

  “What time’s the meeting tonight?” she asked in an attempt to break free of her melancholy thoughts. He was still dead set on building the youth center and would be meeting with the town committee that night to pitch the proposal he and Mason had been working on for weeks.

  “Seven.” His eyes dropped back to hers and he stopped worrying at his lip.

  “How do you think it’ll go?”

  “I know Oom Herbert, Principal Kane, and your dad are on board. I think Father O’Grady would be keen on the idea, too, but I’m not too sure about Alderman Motlaung and Mrs. Salie.” Mrs. Salie was the librarian.

  “I don’t think Mrs. Salie is a concern. But you may have your work cut out with the alderman. There’s been talk about him being a mayoral candidate next year, and a lot of his party’s campaign sponsors probably won’t support the youth center.”

  “Hmm.” He went back to worrying his lip, and Daff stifled a moan.

  “Anyway,” she said, starting to pack up the remnants of their lunch, “I should get back to work.”

  “Hmm.” He was staring at Nelly again and only shifted his attention back to her after Daff got up to leave. “Daff?”

  She stilled and watched him cautiously.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think Charlie would like a day out? Maybe to explore and shop and stuff?”

  “I think she’d like that.”

  “Would you . . .” He paused as he considered his words carefully. “Could you join us? She probably won’t go if it’s just me.”

  “When are you thinking of doing this?”

  “Sunday?” Just two days away. The thought of spending an entire day with him definitely appealed.

  “Suits me,” she said, striving for casual, and he looked relieved. As if she weren’t at the point where she would move heaven and earth for this man.

  “Appreciate it.”

  “I’ll see you soon,” she promised him and turned to leave again.

  “Daff?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m glad we’re friends.” The words were soft and heartfelt and yet left Daff feeling hollow and disheartened. Because it didn’t matter if what they had now was best—she definitely no longer wanted to be this man’s friend. She wasn’t sure what she wanted, but it was definitely more than what they currently had.

  “Me too,” she said, her voice muted and her smile an effort.

  She left without another word.

  Spencer watched Daff leave and heaved a frustrated sigh before running both hands through his hair. The woman was driving him crazy. Her warm smiles, so scarce in the past—and never aimed at him—were ever present these days. Sometimes it physically hurt not to reach out and touch her. He still wasn’t able to convince his body that they were just friends, and the amount of self-relief and/or cold showers he’d been forced to submit to over the last six weeks was becoming ridiculous. He had to consider the possibility of lessening his exposure to her.

  Maybe depriving himself of her company, going cold turkey, as it were, would be the eventual solution to his dilemma. But it was something he could only consider doing after the wedding. Luckily, that was just a month away now. After that he’d be sure to keep his distance. It would be easier once she was no longer working down the road and the lunches stopped.

  And he definitely wouldn’t be seeing much of the McGregors after Mason and Daisy left. Which was why he had to get Charlie comfortably situated at his place before that happened. If she didn’t wind up going to Grahamstown with Daisy and Mason after all—something that was starting to look like a distinct possibility.

  Asking Daff to join him and Charlie on Sunday probably hadn’t been the wisest move, either. But if he asked Mason and Daisy to come, Charlie would give all her attention to Mason. He’d noticed her doing that more and more lately. Mason and Daisy had suggested a small family dinner, just the four of them, a couple of weeks ago, and the girl hadn’t said a single word to Spencer the entire evening. And yet, she and Mason seemed to have hit it off immediately.

  Spencer felt left out.

  Every night he went home yearning for Daff, missing his brother, and longing to spend time with his new sister. Occasionally he went out to Ralphie’s, often inviting Mason, who always joined him but rarely stayed out longer than a couple of hours. The younger man was too distracted with wedding and moving plans. So Spencer was usually left to finish his drinks alone. Someone would occasionally stop by for a word, but for the most part everyone left him alone. He felt like a fucking island, being buffeted by heavy winds, rain, and waves from all sides and at risk of disappearing completely beneath the raging waters.

  On the bright side, his plans for expansion were steaming ahead, and the youth center looked like it would become a reality soon. At least that was something in the huge ocean of nothing his life had become.

  He shook his head firmly. God, he was turning into a morose fucker. It was time to get his life back under control. And he would start with Carlotta “Charlie” Carlisle. A fourteen-year-old little wiseass who had seen way too much shit in her life wasn’t about to get the better of him.

  Daff was at Daisy’s later that evening, helping her sisters and mother with seating arrangements for the wedding, when Mason came striding in. Charlie was idly fidgeting with the little magnetized cards, looking bored out of her mind. They all—with the exception of Charlie—sat up expectantly and watched Mason’s face closely. His expression gave nothing away and he dropped a kiss on Daisy’s neck on his way to the refrigerator for a beer.

  “Well?” Daff prompted when he twisted the cap off, leaned against the kitchen counter, and took a thirsty drink, still without saying a word.

  “The project got the green light,” he said with a grin, and the women squealed in excitement. Daff’s eyes went to the front door, looking for Spencer. He would be thrilled and shouldn’t be left to celebrate this momentous occasion alone.

  “Where’s Spencer?” she asked. “He must be ecstatic.”

  “Whatever that looks like,” Charlie droned, and Daff shot the girl an irritated look, even though it was probably exactly what Daff herself would have said just a few months ago.

  “Watch it, Carlotta Carlisle,” she warned, and the girl glared at her. Daff had sussed out pretty early on that Charlie absolutely hated her given name—join the club, sister—and had filed that useful bit of knowledge away until she could use it.

  “He stayed behind to go over a few additional details with the committee.”

  “What was the overall reaction?” the
ir mother asked.

  “Pretty good. A few naysayers as we expected, but when Captain Van Breda wholeheartedly backed the project, saying he was all for something that was likely to keep problem teens off the streets, most of the town got behind it, too.”

  “That’s fantastic,” Lia exclaimed. Daisy couldn’t stop grinning, and Daff felt quite uncharacteristically giddy with happiness. She knew how much this meant to Spencer and had desperately wanted it for him. She’d wanted to attend the town meeting and voice her encouragement but had promised Daisy ages ago that she would help with the seating arrangements. They’d considered changing their plans, but Spencer wouldn’t hear of them postponing anything and their father had promised to be very vocal in his support of the project.

  “So how’s this going?” Mason asked, coming up to focus on the seating chart on a mini whiteboard. “Need my help?”

  “Not this time,” Daisy said with an easy smile. Mason had proven invaluable when they’d been struggling over the same task for Lia’s wedding. Because of her asshole ex-fiancé’s extended family and her need to please everyone, Lia had invited some problematic guests, and it had been a nightmare trying to find the right tables for them. Mason had sorted it out with admirable efficiency.

  Fortunately, Daisy’s guest list was smaller and her guests less complicated. Everybody started discussing the wedding again, and Daff bit back a frustrated groan. She wanted to hear more about the youth center and to ask what Spencer’s reaction had been. It was annoying that everybody else seemed to have moved on from something so momentous.

  She got out her phone and checked her messages. Nothing from Spencer. Why hadn’t he texted to tell her his news? Surely he’d want to share it with her?

  Congratulations! So happy for you!!! She sent the message hastily and waited. But the message remained unread. Disappointed, she watched the screen a moment longer before shoving the phone into her pocket. And then dragging it back out a second later to check it again. Still nothing. She checked the alert volume and put it back into her pocket.