Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Daisy sat in a conference room pretending to listen while Carol, her boss, droned on about a new event at the opera house in a few months. It was important, and Daisy was trying to pay attention.
But it wasn’t work that she had on the brain. Not even close. Nope, all she could see was Diego’s face from earlier, just before she’d walked away.
He’d gone from boy to man in the past ten years.
It didn’t help that he still had a way of drawing her in, even by just standing there on the dock, eyes lit with a restrained temper.
Even pissed off, he was all kinds of hot.
His body was hard and muscular, with an ass that looked amazing both in and out of jeans.
He was six feet plus of pure sexiness, with black hair that fell over his forehead and curled around his collar when it got too long—which it always was.
He had eyes the color of well-aged whiskey that darkened whenever he felt something deeply, like anger.
Or arousal…
“Are you even listening to me?” her boss asked, sounding unhappy.
But since that was Carol’s default mood, it was hard to tell. The woman was in her seventies, but thanks to ‘good genes”—AKA the best plastic surgeon in the city—she looked mid-fifties. She catered mostly to her own generation, which meant that she wasn’t getting younger clients.
That’s what Daisy had supposedly been hired for. But it turned out that Carol really didn’t want younger clients.
Which left Daisy working a whole lot of fiftieth-anniversary parties. She’d tried to bring in Rocco’s wedding, but Carol hadn’t been comfortable with it, saying that the timing was too tight.
Which left so much lace and buffet salmon in her life, she could cry.
So, Daisy had happily taken on Rocco’s wedding as a side job. Planning a good friend’s wedding seemed infinitely more appealing than some huge IT tech company’s annual employee party and the opera event her current workload consisted of.
“That’s what I thought,” Carol said coolly, moving on with her notes.
Daisy jerked upright. “I’m sorry, caffeine hasn’t kicked in yet, but I really am listening.
” She tried to focus, really she did. But her thoughts slid right back to Diego — to the way his voice had dropped low when he’d said her name, the way he’d looked like he wanted to say something and bite it back at the same time.
Apparently her body remembered what her brain had tried to delete.
“…the opera house,” Carol said pointedly. “Your thoughts?”
“Yes,” Daisy said quickly. “I agree wholeheartedly. The opera event will be wonderful, thank you for trusting me with this event.”
Carol sighed, long and weary. “You’ve been distracted lately. That’s not like you.”
“Just processing,” Daisy said. “Big week. A lot of moving parts.”
Carol gave her a look. “You’re thirty. You’ll live.”
Ah yes, mentorship via mild emotional scarring.
When the meeting finally ended, Carol gathered her files, but paused at the door. “I count on you, Daisy. I hired you because you’re focused and you work hard.”
“And because you know I don’t have a personal life, so I’ll work all the overtime you need,” Daisy said before she could stop herself.
Carol’s mouth twitched — the closest she got to humor. “Exactly. So don’t go getting a life on me now.”
Too late, Daisy thought. Diego Stone had already crash-landed back into it.
Carol hesitated, then said softly, “Keep doing good work, Daisy. It might pay off in ways you never expected. You never know.”
This was true. One never knew. When Daisy was young, the future had been some intangible thing that she couldn’t begin to grasp because she’d been too busy worrying about surviving the present.
Thirty years old, still running on caffeine and survival instincts. She’d mastered the art of looking fine while barely hanging on — a skill honed from years of growing up as the scrappy underdog.
“I’ll need the specs for the new job by the end of the day,” Carol said, turning to walk away. “Hope you don’t mind working late tonight.”
“Actually, I can’t tonight.”
Carol stopped and raised a brow.
Daisy worked at not quailing. “I’ve been working since five a.m. because we had that UK phone meeting.”
Carol didn’t look moved. “And?”
“And…it’s going on six p.m.” Daisy didn’t have a set of balls, but she liked to think the equipment she did have was even tougher. “I’ll get back on this first thing in the morning.”
Suddenly looking thoughtful, Carol nodded. “I wish I’d had your fiery spirit when I was your age. Things might be different.”
“What things?”
Carol turned to look out the window. “Sometimes, I think about giving it all up,” she said quietly. “And retiring to a warm beach somewhere.”
Daisy blinked in shock. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m tired,” Carol said. “There’s got to be an easier way to live. Somewhere with palm trees and a cabana boy named Raúl. And when I do, I want you to take over.”
Daisy stared at her. “You want me to—what?”
“Run the company,” Carol said matter-of-factly. “You’ve got the talent. And the stamina.”
Stamina. Great. She’d been promoted for her ability to survive workplace trauma.
Still, the words landed deep. “I… don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll think about it.”
“Of course.”
When Carol left, Daisy stood and gathered her laptop, her bag, and what was left of her sanity.
Still feeling dazed, she grabbed her things and headed out.
She didn’t lose it until the elevator doors had closed.
Only then, knees a little weak at her bravado, she leaned back against the wall and took a few deep breaths.
She’d grown up the perpetual scrappy underdog, so she was good at survival. But standing up for herself? That was new territory.
When the elevators opened on the ground floor, she squared her shoulders and strode across the lobby and out the front doors of the building to the center of the financial district of downtown San Francisco.
The city pulsed—horns, chatter, the metallic tang of bus brakes, the comforting chaos of San Francisco at quitting time. She loved it here. Loved New York too, but this was home.
Her reflection in the window looked tired but capable. She’d made a life for herself here. A small apartment. A job. Friends. Control.
She was good.
Really good.
And if she kept thinking it, maybe she’d believe it. She bussed her way to her apartment in the Pacific Pier Building of the Cow Hollow District. Not coincidentally, the same building that housed The Canvas Shop, the tattoo parlor that Rocco had taken over from his and Diego’s father.
Diego, who’d showed up and wrecked her equilibrium like a storm surge.
Seeing him today had rattled her more than she wanted to admit. Ten years since he’d broken her heart, and still her pulse had gone haywire the second she saw him.
And then he’d had the audacity to act like she’d done the breaking.
Classic Diego — beautiful man, terrible memory.
She’d known he would be there, of course, but nothing could have prepared her for coming face-to-face with him ten years after he’d broken her heart and then stomped on it for good measure.
Just thinking about it had her stewing all over again. She rubbed her chest. “Stop it,” she muttered. “You’re a muscle. You pump blood. That’s your only job.”
It would have helped if he’d aged terribly. A little paunch, lost some of that thick, sinfully wavy dark hair of his so her fingers hadn’t itched to sink into it—anything to make him mortal. But no. He’d turned into every bad decision she still wanted to make.
The way he’d looked earlier — older, broader, sharper.
He’d gone from reckless boy to the kind of man women mentally undressed without permission.
That stubborn jaw, that scruff, those eyes.
Still that deep whiskey color that always gave away more than he wanted it to.
Even angry, especially angry, he’d been devastating.
The boy she’d loved was gone. In his place was a man — leaner, harder, sharper. Built like sin and carrying enough attitude to make her want to throttle him and kiss him in equal measure.
He would stay a stranger.
And maybe if she said it enough times, she’d start to believe it.
The bus dropped her at the cobblestoned courtyard of her building — Pacific Pier, the same one that housed The Canvas Shop.
Getting off the bus, she walked through the courtyard. Usually, she took her time here, enjoying the glorious old architecture, the corbeled brick and exposed iron trusses, the big windows. But the evening was chilly, and her feet hurt.
She passed The Canvas Shop. Just inside the big picture window, she could see Rocco bent over a client’s arm, Sadie and Mini Moe, two of his best tattoo artists, working nearby. Sadie’s better half, Caleb, was there too, making everyone laugh.
Sadie had become a dear friend, and usually Daisy would stop in for takeout and a round of good natured chaos.
Tonight, though, she just wanted solitude, carbs, and Netflix judging her life choices.
Her heels pinched with every step as she rode the elevator up to the fourth floor. Beauty had lost another round to comfort.
Inside her apartment, she stripped out of her work clothes, pulled on pajamas, and raided her fridge like a woman training for the apocalypse. Then she grabbed ice cream, queued up Netflix, and collapsed onto her couch.
Some days just called for emotional triage.
Step one: pajamas. Step two: sugar. Step three: denial.
She’d just gotten comfortable when a knock came at her door.
Damn.
Setting aside the ice cream, she peeked through the peephole.
And froze.
Diego.
She stepped back and had a pep-talk with herself.
Okay, remember…you are not the sweet, innocent little twenty-year-old you once were.
You are not the girl who melted every time he smirked.
You are a grown woman with a 401(k) and boundaries.
You are not going to fall head over heels for that crooked smile—