“Thank you,” he said to a woman’s gushing admission she’d loved his lecture.
“Thank you for coming,” he said above Daisy’s head and Daisy looked behind to see who he was thanking.
“It’s you, dummy,” Michelle spat.
Daisy turned to find his hand outstretched.
She stared at his long fingers and his tanned hands. They didn’t look like academic hands. She’d met a professor in a cafe once and his hands had been white and freckly. Joel’s were strong and masculine.
She grunted as Michelle jabbed her in the back.
She took his hand.
He said, “Hello.” Blue-grey eyes looked down at her. Her gaze slipped to his mouth. A full bottom lip. A beautifully curved top lip. The lips moved. “You enjoyed the lecture?”
“Hi. Yes, I– ”
“Dr Benjamin?” A 30-something suit-attired professional suffering a heady Opium overdose lay her manicured hand on the black leather sleeve of his jacket. “Could you clarify some of the issues you raised over the Greek influence on art in early Rome?”
His jaw tensed a fraction. “My advice is to read the book I mentioned in the hand-out. The university bookshop has copies in stock.”
"Dr Benjamin? Could I take you for a drink afterwards so we could talk more?" another asked.
"I'm sorry," he apologized smoothly. "I'm meeting an old friend."
More women approached and one of them tried to edge Daisy out of the way with an exceptionally bony hip. As she did, panic unexpectedly slammed in Daisy's chest. He’d been talking to her. She needed him back, she needed an ‘in’, she needed an edge, she needed to take a risk in her tame and ordinary life, she needed–
“I know your sister,” she yelled.
His gaze zeroed in on her, settled there. It was intimidating. She wished she’d just kept quiet, and wished she could ignore the trickle of awareness itching up her spine.
But it was too late now. “I know Kate.” She felt stupid. Funny how that made her think of her ex husband.
Joel watched intently. "Do I know you?"
She shook her head. "No. But Kate's one of the customers at my shop."
A dubious smile graced his face. “Ah. You’ll be the one Kate told me she was giving the leaflet to. The one who needs to get out.”
Mortification blushed Daisy's face scarlet. “She actually told you that?”
“Holy crap,” Michelle gasped.
“She says that about me so I wouldn’t get–" He visually raked her face up and down, his gaze settling on her burning cheeks. “Embarrassed by it. You’re the book shop girl, right?” He amended, “Woman.”
“Girl is fine,” Michelle interjected. “We’re not that evolved we object to you calling us girls.” She stuck her hand out. “I’m Michelle Bird. Daisy’s assistant and her very, very, very best friend.”
Joel took Michelle's hand briefly then looked back at Daisy. “Kate’s mentioned your shop a few times.“ He was thoughtful a second. “In fact, I was thinking that considering she's taking leave from work soon to concentrate on this whole baby thing, I might get her some books.”
“She has quite specific reading tastes," Daisy told him.
“I wasn't thinking of fiction. More like…” He shrugged. “Things to do with – babies. Like cooking and sewing and – home type stuff. You’ve got a shop called Pansy’s, right?"
“Poppy’s,” Daisy corrected, and Michelle cut in, “When? What time?"
“Shop hours,” Daisy said above the sudden erratic pounding in her chest, “are Monday to Friday, nine to six. And I’m open Saturdays from ten to four.”
“I'll remember that,” he said, and a moment later a woman thrust her arm around his and breathed her pleasure at his lecture.
Within seconds he was swamped and Daisy and Michelle found themselves on the edge of the crowd.
"Wow," Daisy said. Wow at Joel, and wow at the affect he was having on these women.
Michelle shook her head wearily. “Do you see those women, Daisy?”
“Hard to miss.” It would take a year before the scent of perfume was free of her nasal passages.
“They're ticking clockers,” Michelle announced. “Women who have given up love in the past to focus on their high powered careers and now their biological clocks are approaching midnight, they’re afraid their ovaries are nearly history, and they zero in on men like Joel Benjamin because he’s a genetically fine catch and they’re desperate. And you know what else?" Her eyes were wide with admiration. "They were jealous, Daisy. They were jealous of you.”
Daisy glanced sideways at Michelle. “I can’t see why, when I haven't got a show of competing with them, even if I wanted to. They spend as much on their mascara as I spend a year on clothes and did you hear what he said, that I need to get out?" A shudder went down her spine. "I’m going to kill Kate when I see her next.”
“You can’t compete?" Michelle jabbed her finger in the direction of the women. "Daisy, you just friggin' did compete. They were jealous when he was talking to you because you had an ‘in’ and you used it.”
“Saying ‘Hello, I know your sister,’ should not be considered an ‘in’. It’s an embarrassment.” Heat rushed her face again. She needed to get out?
“You are so wrong.” Michelle patted her tote. “The A to Z of Guys and Girls says it’s exactly those ‘ins’ that give you the edge and you would be wise to never, ever underestimate them.“ Her shoulders slumped. “I‘m beat. Watching the ticking clockers has eroded me of the pitiful amount of enthusiasm I came in here with and I could kill for a cigarette. But since I’m trying to cut down, I'll settle for a moccachino at Starbucks.”
The air was still suffocatingly strong with perfume and Daisy figured Joel would undoubtedly be right at home with that. He’d spent the last year researching in Paris. She should have splurged on the Dior she’d sprayed herself with in Smith and Caughey last week.
Michelle nudged her and Daisy took one last look at Joel but a second later he was gone from view, surrounded by women, and she thought, yeah. She was right. She could never compete with that.
Even if she, Daisy Miller, who'd failed at education, marriage and quite possibly business, even wanted to.
The lecture had been a success and he'd gotten out alive. Albeit only just. Joel fumed some more when he remembered the picture of himself in that insane gladiator costume. It had been taken two years ago at the department's annual Christmas do. He'd had a bad experience wearing a toga the year before and had vowed he'd wear more protection next time round.
There were moments he was grateful his body had been endowed with extra padding in his nerdy teen years. Much as he would have wanted girls to like him as a sixteen-year-old, the reality would probably have been frightening.
Not that his sixteen-year-old self was the issue. A certain Associate Professor position, due to an elderly colleague's death, was the issue.
Joel wanted that job and that gladiator picture was not going to help his cause given the nature of the conservative fellows interviewing in a few week's time.
He glanced across at Rob – his best friend – clutching a beer and looking agitated.
At least the Vulcan Lane bar was quiet. Joel glanced around. Although he could have bet he'd smelt French perfume a moment ago. No doubt his own paranoia.
"Joel, are you listening?" Rob demanded.
"No. What were saying?" Joel took a long gulp of beer, and tried to focus.
"The network is bringing back Mystery Date."
"A reality TV show?"
"No. No. It is not reality TV." Rob banged his fist on the wooden table top. "This is the return of the old fashioned dating show. It was the top rated show ever. It launches in three weeks. You must have seen the promotion."
Joel shook his head. "I don't watch TV. But congratulations. My brother-in-law's got himself a TV show."
Rob gave an anxious smile and began tapping the table with his finger tips. "I'm also co-producer. It
's my baby. It's the job of a lifetime."
"Who'd have thought it?" Joel mused. It was amazing to think how they'd met at university, how Rob had ended up in TV and Joel had ended up with a doctorate.
His mind flipped back to the job again. For as long as he could remember it had never been enough just to be a lecturer or a senior lecturer. He had wanted more...
"The initial launch," Rob cut in, "is a charity show. Viewers will be asked to text a ten buck donation. We're choosing child cancer."
"A worthy cause."
Rob stopped tapping. "It's a celebrity edition."
"Yeah. I heard you say that."
Rob eyed him squarely. "We want you to go on."
Joel shook his head as he reached for his beer. In his gut he'd figured Rob had been angling to ask something like that. "Nope, sorry. I've no desire to be a contestant on a TV show. I don't want to find myself a date. Mystery or otherwise." And definitely not in a 'go-on-TV-and-embarrass-yourself-in-front-of-the-nation' way.
Rob shook his head. "We don't want you to go on as one of the contestants. We want you there as one of the guest celebrities."
Joel frowned. "Me? A celebrity?"
Rob looked at him as if he were an idiot. "You dated Christiane Lautrec."
"No one in New Zealand has ever heard of her." No one in France had six months ago.
"But they will. You know darned well The Last Centurion is on world wide release next month and everyone will know who she is then."
Joel gritted his teeth, wished he'd never agreed to advise on the movie.
"You will be a celebrity," Rob said.
"No one gives a damn that I advised on that movie, Rob. The actors can have all the fame. They want the celebrity. I'm just a nobody in their hyped-up world and that is exactly how I want it to be."
Rob's eyebrows shot up. "You're nuts if you think that. Your name will be on the credits. The gossip rags will find you. And you're a celebrity in your own little academic world."
"With students maybe," he said wryly. He was on shaky ground with his colleagues. The head of department had considered advising on the new blockbuster to be a step down. Joel had decided it sounded like fun since he was in France on sabbatical anyway. And it had been fun. For the most part.
If he'd known Associate Professor Lindsay Winkleman's heart was that weak, that it was going to give out the way it had, that there was now a gaping hole in the department which meant there was a new, prestigious Associate Professor appointment up for grabs...
Rob suddenly sighed. "Look, Joel. Here's the thing." He rubbed his hands up and down his face." We've hit a hell of a speed bump. We can't get too many real celebrities. We had a couple lined up but they've had to pull."
"I'm not surprised. Cold feet?"
"Marriage."
Joel's own eyebrows shot up.
"And that," Rob said, "leaves us in a giant heap of sewerage. We're in a real bind."
"It's the network's problem. Not yours."
"I'm co-producing. If this fails, my head is on the block and the network is nervous about this as it is. The advertisers are nervous. And the b-grade celebs we could have had from the local soaps are prostituting themselves to the women's mags and the public is getting bloody sick of them so they're out." He winced. "We've got a celebrity launch coming up with no freaking celebrities."
"I am not a celebrity," Joel repeated through gritted teeth.
"You dated Christiane Lautrec. You advised on The Last Centurion. The movie that is set to be the biggest thing this year."
Joel buried his face in his hands.
"Joel. Mate." He breathed in deep. "Brother-in law."
Joel shot him a glare.
Rob said, "You just need to take a day out of your life to sit in the TV studio with a live audience."
Joel shuddered and Rob added, "And of course the live TV audience at home."
"It's going out live?" This was even worse. There were no re-takes if it fell apart. He gulped down more of his beer. "Rob, I've got a schedule while I'm back in Auckland. I'm doing lectures. I've got the galleys of a new book to proof. I've been landed a couple of Ph.D. students about to have nervous breakdowns." I'm on the cusp of getting Associate Professor and those roles do not come along every darned day.
"It's six hours. Well." Rob shrugged. "That and the date with the lucky contestant."
"I actually have to take this woman on a date?"
"It is called Mystery Date for a reason. And the sponsors and the network pay."
Joel sighed.
He was loathe to turn Rob down because his mate rarely asked him for anything. He was the first friend Joel had made when he left Auckland for Sydney. Rob had taken Joel under his wing and helped him fight genetics and a penchant for too much pizza and beer. Twelve months later, the flab had gone and the memories of his father's fatal heart attack made sure it never came back.
"There have got to be better men than me," Joel said.
"There is no one," Rob said, "And face it, Joel. You're a doctor with a bod even I'd kill for and looks that make girls swoon. You dated Christiane bleeding Lautrec."
Joel gritted his teeth.
Rob sat back, clasped his hands behind his head and observed him. "For a smart guy, you've got your head in the sand. When that movie comes out there's going to be no one hotter in New Zealand and you can't hide. You know how much we Kiwis will claim any success by a New Zealander on the world stage, and your part in the movie might be nothing to you but to the public out there, it's gonna be a big deal."
He blanched. It was going to be a big deal. Though not in the way Rob was inferring. This was not going to look good on his CV.
Of course, he could refuse Rob. He hadn't agreed yet and he could say no. Just because Rob was his best friend. His brother-in-law. The father of his sister's soon to be born baby. Heck, he was going to be Uncle Joel to Rob and Kate's kid.
"Look. Joel." Rob was suddenly serious. He drained his beer, and set the glass slowly on the table. "Joel. Look at me."
Joel looked.
Rob said, his eyes deadly serious, "I'm calling in the favor."
For a moment Joel went blank, then he realized what Rob was saying, and he slumped in his seat.
"The favor," he repeated.
Rob nodded. "You remember the favor?"
"Oh, yeah. I remember." Joel massaged his temples against the telltale sign of a headache as his resistance ground to a depressing halt. That favor.
When Rob had run miles with Joel, made him take protein shakes, stood over him as he'd lifted weights and put an end to the tubby Big Ben that Joel had been all his teen life, Joel had said over and over as he'd watched his body change shape, "I owe you for this."
He'd meant every word.
And in the ten years since then, Rob had never once mentioned it. Never once asked Joel for something that came near to getting paid for what he'd done.
Joel glanced at Rob. He'd made a promise and he'd meant it. He owed Rob his life.
Rob sat back in his seat, folded his arms across his chest and his chin lifted a determined notch. "I need you, Joel and you made that promise and right now, like it or hate it, I'm calling it in."
Chapter Two
The next morning, Daisy sat at the table in her apartment with an unopened packet of chocolate biscuits between herself and her sister, Bridget. Of the three Miller sisters, Bridget had the double degrees in law and accounting. With honors. Bridget had also, like her sisters, been named after a flower but had chosen to go by her middle name rather than the much prettier name of Primrose. There had been an extraordinarily high number of girls named for flowers at the time – quite possibly due to the council's push for more inner city gardening. Daisy knew at least three other Daisies and an astonishing number of Rosies, Sages, Pansies, Pentunias, Daphnes and even an Amaryllys. Her other sister was Marigold. Commonly known as Kathryn.
Across the table, Bridget looked at Daisy with sympathy.
Daisy sai
d, "So, Bridge? What's the good news?"
Bridget arched her eyebrows. "The good news?" She whooshed out a breath. "The good news is that at the current rate of sales and with interest on the overdraft and the loan, and if you cut down your living expenses, although to be fair you seem to have cut right back as it is..." Bridget cast a quick glance at Daisy's clothes and hair. "Then you will survive in business for another two months. After that?" She shook her head apologetically.
Daisy slumped. It was that bad? That bad? She knew it was bad but two months? Eight weeks?
"Look, Daisy." Bridget reached across the table and patted her hand affectionately. "I know this shop means a lot to you. I know it has a lot of memories of Poppy."
Daisy swallowed. It wasn't just memories of Poppy. It was more than that. Of the three granddaughters, Daisy had been the closest to their eccentric grandmother. From the age of twelve she had planned this shop with Poppy – a shared dream for a quaint store that sold books about patchwork and knitting and embroidery. A magical shop of crafts.
It had never happened until Poppy's death eighteen months ago. The money Poppy left had been significant seed money. Bridget and Kathryn had taken cruises and Daisy had used it to begin the dream.
She said, "What about another loan?"
Bridget shook her head slowly. "You're asking for trouble and no one would lend it. Even I wouldn't lend it to you."
Daisy's heart plummeted.
"Daisy, you need to seriously think about getting out now. You don't want to go into bankruptcy and I can't see anyone trading their way out of receivership. If you sell your stock just over cost, you wouldn't end up with much debt."
But she wouldn't have anything else either.
And she would lose this apartment. She glanced around. It was a one-bedroom flat above the shop and she loved it but the landlord didn't want to muck around with dual tenancies and sub-letting and besides, her rent was cheaper than market because she rented the shop, too. Of course, she wouldn't be homeless. She could room with Michelle.
Second Chances Boxed Set: 7 Sweet & Sexy Romances in 1 Book Page 65