Getting Lucky in London

Chapter One

Danielle

Rolling my suitcase behind me, I stepped inside my brother’s flat in Chelsea, just outside central London, and then right into his outspread arms. Three years had passed since Dominic left New York after I graduated from college, and though we talked once a week, it wasn’t the same. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you, too, Daisy.” His use of my nickname was as warm and comforting as his embrace, and it soothed my guilt for intruding at such short notice. Only he had ever called me Daisy, never Danielle like our mother did or Dani like my friends and coworkers.

He kissed the top of my head and stepped back. “You look great.”

“You’re sweet, but look at you .”

His tall, lanky frame had filled out, more man now than the boy he’d been before moving. He looked like the pictures of our dad when he was young—jet black hair, deep brown eyes, and chiseled features that rivaled the angels. But telling him that would put a damper on their reunion, and the nervous energy rolling off him was bad enough.

“I’m sorry, Daize. I feel really bad about not picking you up at the airport. And for leaving on your first day here.”

“You couldn’t have predicted Sarah’s father would have a heart attack this morning.” I folded my arms across my ribs and gave him a you’ve-been-keeping-secrets-from-me look. “I didn’t realize things were that serious between you two.”

“Neither did I.” A lopsided grin split his face. “But I can’t let her go alone.” He grabbed my hand. “Come on.”

He led me past the living room and into the small kitchen at the back of the house. He’d only been dating Sarah a few months, so if he was willing to miss work for her, he had to be head over heels. He never missed work. “So is she the one ?”

“I think so.”

I draped the sweater I’d worn on the flight over one of the backless barstools at the counter. “I hope so. You deserve to be happy.”

His head tilted to one side. “Are you?”

“Well, if I get the job,” I said, placing my purse on top of the sweater, “I’ll be happy to be closer to you. It’s too long between visits.”

He grimaced. “I know, but I promise I’ll have my fingers and my toes crossed tomorrow, whether I’m still in Cape Town or back here.”

“I’m really sorry for coming at such an inconvenient time.” The job interview had come out of the blue on Tuesday, and they’d demanded an in-person visit by Friday.

“Stop apologizing.” He waved a hand, dismissing my guilt. “I’m just happy to see you.”

I hadn’t even considered changing jobs, but when this one opened up, I jumped at the chance to live closer to Dominic. All we had was each other. Well, except now, he had Sarah.

The last few days had been a whirlwind. I’d managed to take off work, secure the seven-hour midnight flight out of New York last night so I’d have time to catch my breath before the interview tomorrow, and now, it was—

I looked at my watch. Two p.m. London time. “What time is your flight?”

“Five.”

“You’d better get a move on. You don’t want to keep Sarah waiting.”

As if I’d lit a match under his ass, he disappeared up the stairs, giving me time to look around his new Chelsea digs. This flat was bigger than the tiny place he’d lived in the last time I visited. Definitely nicer. The bottom floor had been remodeled into a popular open-concept design. He’d worked hard to move up the corporate ladder and far beyond the little rundown shack we’d grown up in.

A minute later, Dominic came down the stairs, his luggage clank, clank, clanking on each step.

“Your room is the first door off the landing.” He left his suitcase and joined her in the kitchen. “There’s food in the fridge. I stocked it when you said you were coming. I might not be here when you leave, so”—he pulled his keys from his pocket—“take my car if you want to go anywhere you can’t get to by foot or by taxi. Sightseeing in the country or whatever.”

I’d seen the flashy trophy car parked out front. “Ha! These people drive on the wrong side of the road. I’m not risking your new baby.”

“Oh thank God.”

I chuckled at the relief on his face. I was a terrible driver and had the record to prove it, so his feelings were totally justified. Besides, sightseeing alone was boring, but I wouldn’t tell him that. He’d just feel guiltier than he already did for leaving. Another thing we had in common—guilt for everything and anything.

Dominic tapped an envelope on the counter. “Sarah and I wanted to take you out tonight. I bought four tickets to an art exhibit at a local gallery. We thought you’d like it. I gave one to Michael, but there are three left if you want to ask someone from the museum.”

My heart thudded to a stop and then thundered into a gallop. I swallowed. “Who?”

“Michael Winters. You remember him, right? We played football together.”

Remember him? Like I could ever forget. He’d been the love of my life as a teen, though only from afar. I’d met him once but hadn’t seen him in eleven years. And he was here in London. “How did you two reconnect? I mean, you haven’t talked about him in years.”

“He was the architect on the remodel for this place when I bought it, and we’ve been hanging out, getting to know each other again.” His gaze scanned the two rooms. “I thought I told you.”

“No.” I definitely would have remembered.

He shrugged. “Anyway, I told him you’d be there with us, but I’ll let him know you’ll be alone. I’m sure he’ll be happy to show you around.”

The last thing I wanted was Michael Winters obligated to hang out with me, to babysit Dominic’s little sister.

“You should go to the show,” Dominic went on. “Get out. Have fun.”

Panic bubbled inside me, but I tamped it down. I’d never told my brother about the silly crush I’d had on Michael. Dominic needed a friend back then, and I couldn’t jeopardize that with a teenage infatuation.

I faked a yawn. “I’ll probably just crash. It’s been a long day…er, night.”

“Well, if you change your mind, there’s money in here, too, for a cab.” He gave the envelope another tap.

“What am I? Twelve?”

He picked up his keys and put them in his pocket, then shook his head and pulled them out again. Flipping past the little black fob and a half dozen keys, he picked out the square one. “This opens the deadbolt. Be sure to lock up when you leave and especially while you’re here alone.”

I started to tell him I was twenty-four fucking years old, a grown-ass woman, and he knew full well I’d taken over the parenting role as soon as he left for college. And I’d moved to New York and been living on my own since our mother died of alcohol poisoning, just before he’d taken off three years ago to finally live his dream.

He held up a hand. “It’s a safe neighborhood, but you never know.”

He’d been overprotective since our father skipped out on us when I was five and he was ten. I’d picked daisies every day for a year and plucked the petals to see if my daddy would come back.

Every day, Dominic would ask, “Well, Daisy, what do you say today?”

No matter the answer, my father never came home. Dominic had donned the role of man of the house, and I had become Daisy.

“Would you just get out of here?” I gave him a teasing shove.

He snagged the handle of his suitcase and made his way to the door. He was halfway out when he turned around. “Love you, Daisy.”

“Love you, too.” Following him, I shooed him with both hands. “Call me when you get there.”

“Will do.” He started to shut the door, then added, “Lock up behind me.”

I leaned against the casing as he jogged the four steps from the tiny porch to the sidewalk. “Tell Sarah I hope her father recovers quickly and that I look forward to meeting her.”

“I will. Bye,” he said with a wave as he climbed into the waiting taxi and shut the door.

“Bye,” I whispered, knowing he didn’t hear me but needing to say it anyway. I waited for the taxi to pull away, then closed the front door and exhaled a long sigh.

I could feel the jet lag setting in, but I shook it off and went back to the kitchen to collect my things. Unpack first, then a nap. Odds were Dominic didn’t own an iron, and my suit probably looked like Grandma Moses’ face.

Dominic’s key ring caught my attention. Three inches of pewter, it had large chunky letters carved into it and painted with the Union Jack pattern. Curiosity beckoning, I flipped the key ring toward me to read, Britain’s Bitch .

I smiled. Someone had a sense of humor, but it certainly wasn’t Dominic. Sarah? I hoped so. He needed someone to yank the serious out of him now and then.

My fingers brushed the envelope containing tickets to the exhibit, but it wasn’t the art on display that made my insides swirl. Michael Chandler Winters, Three Time All-American Wide Receiver turned highly sought-after architect.

Dominic had received a football scholarship at a university five hundred and fifty-some-odd miles away from our little hometown near Tulsa, Oklahoma, and I’d missed three seasons. I’d only been able to watch him play on TV if the network picked up the game. My mother blew every penny she received from welfare on booze and cigarettes.

His third year in college—my junior year in high school—I took on a part time job, scrimped and saved where I could, and finally earned enough money for a round-trip bus ticket, a hotel for one night, and a ticket to his game. He’d been so excited to have me there, to watch him play in person, but the second he introduced me to his teammate, Michael, I hadn’t seen anyone else on the field that day, the rest of that season, or the following.

So silly, the teenage heart. Michael hadn’t even noticed me that day, given the fact he had a gorgeous, sorority blonde on his arm.

“Hmph.” I tapped the envelope with my index finger. “I hope he’s gone bald and fat.”

But…what if he wasn’t fat or bald? What if he was still as delicious as I remembered? And what if I showed him I wasn’t the same little girl with stringy hair, crooked teeth, and threadbare clothing? What was the worst thing that could happen?

He could have another gorgeous blonde on his arm.

Or he could be alone. He only had one ticket.

Hmm. Michael Winters all to myself, with no one to keep my naughty in check. That could be dangerous…and a whole lot of yum.

A smile tugged at my lips and excitement scrubbed at the edges of my exhaustion. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to finally put my teenage infatuation to bed…literally.

I grabbed my sweater, purse, and suitcase and headed up the stairs for a shower and a little—make that a lot—of primping. I had a fantasy to fulfill.

****

Michael

The sun was out for the first time in days, and the city shone as if it had been washed clean. Yet the bright and cheery view that promised a warm summer afternoon outside my eighth-floor office window did nothing to brighten or cheer my mood as I read my father’s text for the third time.

It was short and to the point. Brandon Winters had never held much use for sentimentality, but news like this seemed to warrant at least a phone call. Didn’t it?

Dad: Getting a divorce. Didn’t work out with Callie.

“Bloody hell.” Not that I had ever liked Callie. Just as I hadn’t liked Jennifer, his third wife. I liked the one in between though—Leeann. She’d been good for my father, made him seem almost human.

The intercom buzzer on my desk turned me from my musings. I spun my chair around to answer, “Yes?”

“Lady Chandler to see you,” Jaycee, the receptionist, answered. “Shall I send her in?”

“Please do.”

A few seconds later, my mother peeked around the flat panel of mahogany that blended with the walls of my office. Her smile instantly calmed the anger roiling in my gut, which was probably the reason for her visit. She knew everything before I did. Probably heard from one of her friends in the States.

“Do you have time for a chat?” she asked but let herself in anyway and closed the door behind her.

“I always have time for you, Mum.” I met her halfway across the room and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “What brings you here?”

Her hazel eyes searched my face as she sat in a chair in front of my desk, smoothing slacks that weren’t wrinkled. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

I rounded the desk, lowered myself into my chair, and tried to hide my frustration with a shrug and a smile. I should be used to my father’s merry-go-round marriages by now. “I’m fine. I’m only surprised it lasted this long.”

My parents’ marriage had been turbulent until they came to an agreement that my mother would turn a blind eye to my fathers’ extramarital affairs until I graduated high school. Not long after I began my first semester at university, they told me they were getting a divorce and my mother was moving back to England. And as soon as I held my diploma in my hand, I joined her.

I loved my father, but I didn’t respect him. And I wanted nothing to do with the family law firm. Instead, I’d made my own way in my mother’s country, in her beloved city of London, and in my own preferred career in architecture.

“Well, I know how much it bothers you.” She eased forward until she perched on the edge of the chair, concern creasing her otherwise smooth forehead.

I looked away for a moment. I should never have shared my greatest fear with her, that I was too much like my father, that I couldn’t have a relationship with a woman longer than it took to learn her name or to hear her moan mine.

That wasn’t quite fair. I’d dated a few women longer, possibly a month, maybe six weeks. I’d tried. I really had. But as soon as I knew—usually right away—they weren’t the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, I saw no reason to drag out a relationship only to hurt them more.

“You are not like him.” She’d never had a bad word to say about my father, but for the first time I could remember, her voice gave a small hint of what I suspected she truly felt—anger, hurt, and disgust.

I sighed and faced the woman I’d seen torn apart every time a new woman took her place in my father’s bed. “I’m trying not to be.”

In the last year, my attempts to date had been fewer and farther between. At twenty-nine, the yearning for a home and a family had grown. I wanted to find a woman I could grow old with. I knew, or at least hoped, she was out there somewhere, but the search was disheartening.

That didn’t mean I was dead. I still had needs, and I’d recently ended one of those temporary distractions. It hadn’t gone well.

“You haven’t been over in a while. Why don’t you drop in tonight?” she asked with renewed determination to cheer me up. “I’ll cook your favorites, and you and Robbie can talk about the design of your new project.”

Robert Townes had hired Michael upon my arrival in London and made me a partner in his firm four years ago. Robert had become the father Brandon Winters could never be. When I introduced Robert to my mother, the attraction between them was palpable. They now lived together, and I’d watched my mother come alive. She was happy, truly happy.

“I’d love to, but I can’t.” I glanced at my watch. Just enough time to get home and change. “I promised Dominic I’d meet him and Sarah and his little sister at the art exhibit.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely.” Her eyes brightened, and she rose from her seat. “I won’t keep you then.”

I stood and followed her to the door.

She rose on tiptoes to kiss my cheek and straightened my tie. “Give Dominic my love and tell him we should all get together soon.”

“He’ll like that. He’s always had a soft spot for you,” I teased.

“That’s because I spent more time with him than with you when I came for your games. I suspect he needed a mother figure in his life.”

“Yes, and you were great with him.” I opened the door for her. “Love you, Mum.”

“Love you, darling.” She left me feeling much better or, at least, not in the doldrums I’d been in before she arrived.

Returning to my desk, I was suddenly looking forward to going out tonight. I checked my phone for Dominic’s reply to my text asking what time to meet him at the gallery. No answer, but it was still early. I’d keep trying. And if Dominic was a no-show, I’d work the room for possible new clients for the firm.

One thing was certain, though. I was bloody well not in the mood for another distraction.