The Wingman Page 15

  “I didn’t know . . .”

  “What? Perfect Dr. Daisy missed something? Maybe you’re not as sharp as everyone thinks?” Daff’s voice had lost its edge, and Daisy offered her a conciliatory smile.

  “Well, you’re not as dumb as everyone thinks, so maybe there’s more to both of us than meets the eye.”

  “I’ll say. I mean, my baby sister is hooking up with big, bad Mason Carlisle. I never saw that coming.”

  Ouch. Not great timing, considering the revelations of the past few minutes.

  “I’m not exactly hooking up with him.”

  “Then what’s going on between the two of you?”

  “It’s complicated,” Daisy hedged, not wanting to lie but not sure the truth was the wisest course of action here either.

  “Well, then . . . uncomplicate it.” Daisy sighed. Daff wasn’t the type to just let stuff go.

  “We just like hanging out together.”

  “Daisy . . .”

  “I-kind-of-blackmailed-him-into-being-my-date-for-the-wedding.” The words just seemed to pour out of her like a river, powerful, unstoppable, and completely unexpected.

  “Wait. What?” Daff looked as stunned as Daisy felt. She hadn’t expected to confess, but now that it was out she felt as if a huge load had been lifted off her shoulders. Daff grabbed hold of her upper arm and pushed her into a chair before sitting down across the kitchen table from her.

  “Tell me everything . . . from the very beginning.”

  The story didn’t take very long to relay—especially with Daisy leaving out a few of the more confusingly intimate details—and Daff said nothing until Daisy stammered to a miserable halt. And even after that she continued to remain silent for several moments. When she eventually broke the silence, it was to say something so foul Daisy actually blushed.

  “That rat bastard motherfucker,” Daff said. “I’m going to hang him from the ceiling by his tiny, tiny balls.”

  “Whoa, Daff. I’m the one who coerced him into this.”

  “What? No, not Mason . . . although he’s not entirely innocent in all of this either. I meant Spencer. How dare he? How dare he try to hit on me, while devaluing my sister at the same time? Who does he think he is?”

  While it was flattering that her sister was so outraged on her behalf, her absolute fury was a little overwhelming, and Daisy needed to rein it in before Daff unwittingly revealed the whole humiliating incident to their parents.

  “Daff, you need to calm down. I have it under control.”

  “Yeah, and while I’m proud of you for having the stones to extort the asshole into being your date, are you sure this is the course of action you want to take?”

  “Auntie Ivy,” Daisy replied succinctly, and Daff winced. “Auntie Gert, Auntie Helen, and Auntie Mattie. Every single time I see them, I hear about how lucky our parents are to have me to take care of them in their old age.”

  “Ugh. I always get the pinched cheeks and a reminder that I should find a man while I’m young, because my looks won’t last forever and I won’t be able to look after myself when I’m old and alone.”

  “And then there are Shar and Zinzi and their little minions. Mason was amazing last night. He made me feel so special. And preferred. Please don’t tell anyone; it won’t be for long, and Mason is . . . well, fully on board. I wanted to back out last night, but after the Shar incident he practically insisted on going ahead with it. He’s a nice guy, Daff.”

  “Even nice guys can hurt you, Deedee.”

  “I know that, but the beauty of this entire situation is that he’s already hurt me, so I’m immune to him now.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “It does. I fell for his act once, and I was burned before he could do too much damage. Now, even though I’m constantly exposed to his charm and good looks, I’m armored against it. It’s kind of like chicken pox.”

  “Daisy, I love you, but for an intelligent woman you’re frighteningly naïve sometimes. That man is sex on a stick, and nobody is ever entirely immune to that.”

  “I am,” Daisy said, while trying not to think of those delicious, drugging kisses she had conveniently left out of her confession. Some things were too personal to talk about. And besides, it wasn’t ever going to happen again, so there was really no point in talking about it.

  Mason really liked Daisy’s parents. Millicent was a delightful lady who seemed elegant and unapproachable at first but was instead a warm, loving woman who clearly adored her family. And he had always known that Andrew McGregor was a stand-up guy. When Mason was about ten he had found a kitten on the side of the road; the little ginger thing had been malnourished, probably riddled with ticks and fleas and definitely mangy. Mason hadn’t known or cared anything about that; all he’d seen was an animal in need of love and care, one that would love him back, and had lost his heart almost instantly. He remembered walking to Dr. McGregor’s practice, the cat swaddled beneath his thin jacket. It was the end of the day, and the receptionist had looked irritated and tried to send him away. Mason had kicked up a fuss, and the vet had come out to see what the commotion was about.

  Mason remembered Dr. McGregor’s kindness, how gently he had taken the cat from Mason and examined it. The gravity in his voice as he explained that the kitten was very sick and in a lot of pain and the best thing Mason could do as its owner was to let it go. Mason had been only ten, but he had understood the concept of death, had known the cold, hard truth couched beneath the man’s kind euphemisms, but the cat was his responsibility, and as such he had to do right by it.

  He balked when Dr. McGregor had tried to send him out of the room and instead cradled the tiny kitten in his arms as the vet did what had to be done. Afterward, he’d allowed the man to take the cat from him, knowing that he couldn’t bury it at their house because the neighbor’s dogs would probably dig it up. And when Mason offered up the few cents he had in his pocket as payment, Dr. McGregor had left his dignity intact by accepting the money and shaking his hand.

  He wondered if the man sitting across from him even remembered that encounter. He must have had so many patients over the years that one small boy with a sick cat couldn’t have been very memorable. And yet, the same encounter had altered Mason’s life irrevocably. Before that adults hadn’t treated Mason as much more than a nuisance; they had never seemed to see him. Dr. McGregor had not only seen him but had made him feel respected and important. It had made him want to be more than just a worthless kid from the wrong side of town. When he reflected on it now, he understood that Andrew McGregor’s treatment of him that long-ago day had been the first step on his journey toward the man he had become.

  “So, Mason, how do you feel about our daughter?” Millicent McGregor suddenly asked, and Mason choked on his coffee, despite having expected the question long before now.

  “Millie, Daisy says they’re just friends,” Andrew McGregor said, his voice gently chastising.

  “That’s what Daisy says; I would like to hear what Mason has to say,” the woman retorted. She looked sweet and harmless, with a benign smile on her face as she cuddled Peaches on her lap. She was stroking the dog rhythmically but kept her eyes trained on Mason’s face, watching him like a hawk. The unflinching stare was a jarring contradiction to that sweet smile. Mrs. McGregor definitely had a core of steel, if that look was anything to go by, and Mason sensed an ambush.

  “I like her,” he replied smoothly after a long and measured pause. “And I’m working on getting her to like me back.”

  “Why would you have to work at getting her to like you? Seems to me she likes you already,” Dr. McGregor inserted, and Mason swallowed as he heard the edge in the man’s voice, even though he was still smiling benevolently. He was starting to feel like he was being worked over by a professional interrogation tag team. He was almost tempted to respond with his name, rank, and number.

  “Like me in the same way,” Mason said and then nearly bit off his tongue at the dumb answer.

&nbs
p; “And what way is that, dear?” Millicent asked, leaning forward slightly, her smile becoming a little less benign and a lot more sharklike.

  “A lot.”

  “What’s that?” the older man prompted.

  “I like her a lot. She likes me less . . . I’m working on resolving the disparity.”

  “And how do you plan on doing that?” Millicent asked sweetly, and Mason shrugged. They were playing a canny game of good cop/good cop, and it was freaking him the hell out. Good cop/bad cop, even bad cop/bad cop, he could handle, but this was something else entirely.

  “You know, the usual way.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know,” the woman said, taking a sip of tea. “What, pray tell, is the usual way?”

  “Flowers and stuff?” Jesus, he sounded like an amateur. So much for having Daisy’s back. He was coming apart like a wet tissue under the tiniest bit of duress.

  “To what end?” The male voice was almost jarring after Millicent’s catlike purr, and Mason barely stopped himself from starting.

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he hedged.

  “What will you do after you get her to like you a lot?” How the hell was he supposed to answer that question? He had no intention of marrying Daisy or getting into a serious relationship with her. He wanted to have sex with her, sure, but even that wasn’t in the cards, and if it were, it wasn’t exactly something he’d tell her parents. So where exactly was this fake relationship supposed to go?

  “I don’t know.” He finally opted for honesty. “It’s much too soon to tell. We’ve only just started going out.”

  Bizarrely, that answer seemed to please them both, and they sat back with relaxed smiles as if the last couple of minutes hadn’t happened at all. Daisy and Daff chose that moment to return, and it was all he could do not to glare at Daisy for abandoning him to her ruthless parents.

  They all immediately noticed the difference between the two younger women when they entered the room. They had clearly resolved the tension between them and were a lot more relaxed in each other’s company, but Mason was getting all kinds of sidelong death glares from Daff. And he immediately knew the reason for them. Daisy had clearly blabbed their secret to her sister.

  Goddamn it.

  Luckily the after-dinner coffee didn’t last too long, and because it was a work night, the evening ended soon after. Mason was relieved to say good-bye to the smiling older couple and their malevolently frowning oldest daughter.

  “Tell your brother I’ll be seeing him really soon,” she hissed into Mason’s ear under the pretext of giving him a hug, and he winced. Spencer wasn’t going to be too thrilled to have the object of his desire pissed off with him. He said nothing in response to Daff’s words and instead moved on to kiss Mrs. McGregor on her cheek and shake the doctor’s hand.

  He walked Daisy and Peaches to her tiny Renault coupé—she had insisted they come in separate cars—and leaned in to give her a kiss on her cheek, putting on a show for the still-watching family. Peaches, snug and secure in Daisy’s arms, growled a tiny warning, but Mason ignored her.

  “You told Daff?” he asked on an angry whisper.

  “I couldn’t help it. The occasion called for honesty.”

  “While I was tasked with sitting in that tiny room with your hardcore parents, undergoing a grueling interrogation, you simply caved at the slightest hint of pressure?”

  “Tiny room? The family room is huge.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “And don’t be silly; my parents aren’t hardcore and don’t interrogate people!”

  “Shows how much you know. Any government organization anywhere in the world would be lucky to have Dr. and Mrs. McGregor do their interrogations for them.” They were both smiling, keeping up the pretense for her family, while they had their hushed conversation.

  “You’re being ridiculous,” she scoffed, and he glared at her.

  “You’re having dinner at my place tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at six thirty.”

  “Fine!”

  “Fine.”

  “I like that young man,” Andrew McGregor said as he watched his daughter say good-bye to Mason.

  “He seems nice enough. A little rough around the edges but decent and sincere.”

  Daff said nothing, merely watched her sister lean into Mason while they had a hushed conversation. She was beyond pissed off with that idiot Spencer Carlisle for his role in this debacle. If—no, when—Daisy got hurt because of this crazy plan, Daff was going to have that blockhead’s guts for garters. He’d never been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he had always been almost charming in his clumsy attempts to pursue her. Using Daisy to get to her was just an unforgivable breach of the unwritten rules of their longstanding non-relationship. He pursued, while she rebuffed or ignored, and everything was right in the world. He had stayed away while he was with Tanya as was proper, and Daff had known he would start trying again after the breakup. But she hadn’t known he would do so at the expense of her sister’s feelings.

  Mason wasn’t exempt from her anger either, but she felt a bizarre sense of betrayal mixed in with her fury at Spencer, and boy was he going to pay for this.

  “Hey, Dr. Daisy. I hear you got a new boyfriend!” The enthusiastic words were offered as a greeting when Daisy swung by the local grocery store after work the following evening. She just smiled at the cheerful cashier, who was ringing up her wine. “Mason Carlisle. He’s so handsome, hey? You’re a lucky lady.”

  Daisy made a noncommittal sound. The woman hadn’t exchanged more than the usual polite pleasantries with her before now, so this show of camaraderie was unusual to say the least. She’d been dealing with similar comments all day—some tactful and some not so tactful. It was ridiculous how quickly rumors spread in a small town like this. Nearly everybody, from the janitor to the receptionist at the practice to her patients’ owners, had mentioned her “new boyfriend.” For Daisy, who was used to being overlooked, it was an uncomfortable experience to be so unceremoniously thrust into the limelight. She really hadn’t expected everybody to take this much interest in her love life. It was getting really tiresome and emotionally draining.

  She paid for her wine, the enthusiastic encouragement of the cashier still ringing in her ears, and hurried home before she could be accosted by random people on the streets wanting to know about her relationship with Mason.

  “Coop, quiet,” Mason admonished his barking dog. Cooper had dashed for the front door before the doorbell had even rung, and now his nose was buried at the bottom of the door as he tried to get a whiff of their visitor, his tail frantically waving like a surrendering flag.

  Mason opened the door and grinned at Daisy, who was peering up at him through her wet lenses, her hair a frizzy mess around her face and her nose and cheeks pink from the cold. She looked frazzled and completely out of sorts, if the irritated frown on her face was any indication.

  “Hey.” He dropped a kiss on her cold cheek—partly in case anybody happened to be passing by but mostly because he wanted to—and stepped aside to let her in. Cooper, who had been happily sniffing away at her feet and legs, making little whines of approval, suddenly yelped and comically leaped away from her to duck behind Mason’s legs.

  “You brought Peaches, didn’t you?” he asked, looking for the little fluff ball but not seeing her. Daisy opened her coat to reveal the contented-looking pooch nuzzled up against her breast, and Mason felt a surge of envy for the lucky dog.

  “I didn’t want to leave her alone again; she’s been on her own too much over the last few days. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Nah. Gives Coop a chance to overcome his irrational fear of her.” He aimed a disgusted glance down at his trembling dog, who was still hunkered behind Mason, tail tucked between his hind legs.

  Daisy put her weird little dog on the floor, and Peaches delicately started sniffing around the room, totally ignoring Cooper in the process. Daisy escaped from all the accoutreme
nts of winter—handing her scarf, beanie, gloves, and coat to Mason in the process. She smelled fantastic, and the sexy little black dress she wore beneath the coat emphasized her lush curves rather magnificently.

  She was looking around his foyer curiously, her eyes darting to and fro as she took in every detail. Mason was rather proud of the house, which he had designed—and later decorated—himself. Other people’s opinions rarely mattered to him, but he found himself wanting her to like his home. Rather desperately, actually.

  “This is lovely,” she finally breathed after an interminable amount of time had passed. “I’m not going to lie, I’ve been curious about this house ever since they started building it. I think most of Riversend has been.”

  The house was built on a large hill overlooking town and offered magnificent views of the ocean. As schoolboys, Mason and Spencer had often trekked up the hill and sat in the exact spot the house was now, smoking cigarettes and watching the people in town as they went about their business. Back then they had taken pleasure in denigrating the hardworking citizens of Riversend, had pretended to be hard-asses even though both had an unacknowledged desire to be accepted and considered equals. They had been rebels because it was easier to be bad than considered the poor kids in need of charity. So they had stolen to eat, and when they were older, they had both found other ways to get by and eventually climb out of the rut they had been born into.

  Buying this forgotten tract of land and later building his home here had been Mason’s way of finally laying those old feelings of inadequacy and desperation to rest.

  Daisy was happily poking around his living room, making appreciative sounds as she ran her finger along the furniture.

  “It’s so cozy in here. Warm and masculine,” she said with a smile, and Mason looked around the room in an attempt to see it as she saw it. The house was his take on a traditional log cabin with a peaked roof. It wasn’t very big and featured an open-plan living and dining space with a large, separate modern kitchen. A guest bathroom was tucked away beneath the staircase. The sizable loft upstairs housed his bedroom and master bathroom. The high-vaulted ceiling gave the impression of space and airiness. He had a few tall windows downstairs, but his favorite feature was the wall of windows in the loft. It felt like he was sleeping in a treehouse, and he could see for miles without lifting his head from his pillow.