Chapter Twenty-Six #2
Late that night, Daisy couldn’t sleep. New places took her two nights minimum to acclimate.
She grabbed a blanket and slipped onto the back patio.
The ocean’s salt hit as she slid open the glass door.
It was chilly when she rounded the corner of the expansive deck and she was instantly met with the subtle smell of smoke.
As she continued closer, she found a figure sitting in a patio chair, a small orange ember blinking and flickering around their mouth.
Margot.
“Sorry for interrupting,” Daisy uttered. “Didn’t know anyone was out here.”
“It’s fine.” Margot stubbed the cigarette in the ashtray. “Sit. The sound is good for the soul.”
They were quiet, the waves doing the talking, until Margot’s voice threaded the dark.
“I don’t hate you,” she said softly. “I only hate what you did.”
Daisy went still.
It came out of nowhere… her admission. Daisy assumed Margot was no fan of hers, but she was also the type of woman who did indeed beat around the bush.
Guess not anymore.
“But I get it. Part of me even respects it. When he told me what he’d done to you, what he’d pushed you to do, I was sick.
I thought I’d raised a good man. Then I heard my own history in his: his father wanted the same from me when I was pregnant with Jameson.
Desolately funny, isn’t it?” She exhaled.
“The man chose drugs over his family… he’s barely been in my son’s life and still… ”
Margot looked over. “What he did must have broken your heart, because it sure broke mine. But he’s changed.
The man in there is resurrected. Sobriety rearranged his priorities.
Finding out about Amelia finished the job.
I haven’t seen him this happy in years. You and your daughter did that.
So while I don’t like that you kept her from us, I want to thank you—for raising a wonderful child.
” She paused before saying, “And for bringing back my boy.”
The shiver that ran through Daisy wasn’t from the breeze. It was from the words she hadn’t known she needed.
“And, Daisy… I’ll only say this once because I’m British and we don’t pry.
” She frowned. “I may have no right to ask, especially due to the nature of your previous separation with my son and his horrible actions. But please, please don’t break his heart.
If you give him a sliver of hope, he’ll take it and never give it back.
If it breaks this time, I fear, deeply, that he may never recover. ”
The next morning, Daisy found her way to the kitchen and was surprised to see a pot of coffee already brewing. As she helped herself to a cup, she heard a sound behind her and assumed Margot was up, only to turn and find a petite, unfamiliar woman step inside.
Startled, Daisy sloshed coffee over her hand. “Ow!”
“Oh no!” The woman rushed toward her. “Let me help.”
Daisy pulled her hand away.
“I’m sorry, but who are you? And why are you here?”
“I’m Alice. Jameson’s assistant.”
Daisy eyed her suspiciously, backing a step. “Funny. He’s never mentioned an assistant. Or an Alice.”
“I promise I’m not some psycho fan breaking in.”
“That’s exactly what a psycho fan would say.”
Alice rolled her eyes and disappeared, phone pressed to her ear. “Jameson, get down here. Daisy thinks I’m an intruder,” she barked, then hung up.
“How do you know my name?” Daisy demanded.
Jameson’s groggy voice came from behind her. “Because she actually is my assistant.”
Relief and mortification collided inside Daisy. She turned to Alice, wincing. “I’m an idiot. Sorry.”
“At least you’re cautious.” Alice smiled kindly. “Now, let’s get that hand under water.”
Jameson’s brows knit. “What happened?”
“She spilled her coffee. She thought I was one of your stalkers.”
“Are you okay?” he asked, eyes only on Daisy.
“I’ll live.” She rinsed under the tap, then shot him a look. “Why didn’t you ever mention Alice?”
He shrugged. “Never came up.”
“Gee, thanks,” Alice teased, pouring herself a cup. “Good to know where I rank.” She nudged him playfully in the arm.
Daisy watched, trying hard not to bristle. Alice was gorgeous—dark curls, carved cheekbones, and smooth caramel skin. The type of woman anyone would notice.
“You’re high up there, Alice,” Jameson said, half apologetic. “But between the press and, oh right, finding out I have a kid, forgive me for letting it slip my mind.”
Alice grinned, patting his back.
Don’t touch him, Daisy thought, teeth clenched.
“How long have you worked for Jameson?” Daisy asked, voice pleasant, though she was feeling anything but.
“About four years now. Gosh, it feels like so much longer than that,” Alice said.
Daisy folded her arms. “Are you quitting soon, since Jameson is moving back to the Bay?”
“I can work anywhere. Jameson would be lost without me.”
“But the travel… that must be hard on your family. Assuming they’re local.”
From the corner of her eye, Daisy saw Jameson tilt his head, a sly, knowing look that called her out without a word.
“My husband’s fine with it,” Alice said cheerfully. “He works remotely and joins me when he can.”
Daisy exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “You’re married?”
“Six years in August.” Alice’s phone rang and she slipped out to answer.
Jameson turned, a grin tugging on his lips. “Nice interrogation. Surprised you didn’t spot the rock on her hand.”
Daisy hadn’t. She had been too busy choking on her jealousy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I can see right through you, darlin’. You’re transparent to me.” He stood and crossed the room, closing the space between them.
“I don’t know what you think—”
“Don’t gaslight me, Daisy. I know you feel this, too. You can keep pretending, but eventually that conscience of yours is going to spill out from under you.”
Daisy didn’t know what to say. Had she started to warm to him? Yes. Was he still the reason she carried trust issues like scars? Also, yes.
He stepped closer, close enough that she felt his breath. “If I kissed you this second, would you push me away like I deserve, or would you finally let yourself stay?”
Her pulse jumped. She tried to look away, but his blue eyes pinned her in place. He reached up, brushing a lock of hair from her shoulder, fingers lingering too long.
Her chest tightened, lungs betraying her. She hated that he was right.
Jameson’s hand slid to her cheek and whispered, “Stay.”
Her eyes fluttered shut, her body leaning toward him—
“They’re almost here!”
Both of them jolted back.
Alice strode in. “Stylists are here. Time to fit Daisy and Anna for their dresses tonight.”
“Right,” Jameson muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Alice launched into details, but Daisy barely heard her. Her pulse still thundered from how close she’d come, how close she still wanted to be. Margot’s plea from last night echoed sharp in her mind: Don’t break his heart.
And yet, God help her, she had nearly kissed him.
While their dresses were being altered, Anna decided to spend her day shopping in LA, while Daisy, Jameson, and Amelia changed into their beachwear and headed down to the ocean. Jameson’s backyard opened onto a strip of private beach, and Amelia had been begging to explore it since they’d arrived.
Under the shade of a wide cabana, Daisy sat her daughter down and began lathering sunscreen onto Amelia’s little shoulders. The moment she was finished, Amelia bolted across the white sand, shrieking happily as she dipped her toes into the water.
Jameson pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. “Do you mind?” he asked, handing her the bottle.
Shivers. Not fair.
His body was leaner now, more cut than the boy she remembered, and inked in the places she’d never forgotten.
“Sure,” she managed, though it came out like a gulp.
She worked the lotion across his shoulders and down his arms, moving quickly, hoping efficiency would hide her trembling.
It didn’t.
The harder she tried to keep her focus clinical, the more her hands betrayed her, dragging over muscle she remembered too well. By the time she was finished and the shivers hadn’t subsided, Daisy knew she was in trouble.
“Your turn.”
“No, I’m fine,” she said too fast, shaking her head.
“Daisy,” he pressed, “I’ve seen the way you sunburn. You look like an overcooked chicken. Just let me.”
Overcooked chicken. Gross.
“Fine,” she muttered, slipping her cover-up off her shoulders and onto the lounger.
The sound he made—barely a breath, a sharp inhale—wasn’t meant for her ears. But she caught it anyway. When she turned her head, she found his gaze locked on her.
Her black bikini suddenly felt microscopic. Her body had changed since she was eighteen. Her hips were fuller, her skin marked by motherhood, but Jameson didn’t notice any of that. His eyes darkened, hungry and reverent.
“Damn,” he whispered, so low she almost convinced herself she’d misheard it.
Heat crawled into her cheeks, and she turned quickly, giving him her back. “Just put it on.”
“Sorry,” he said hoarsely. Then, after a pause: “But not really.”
His hands were warm and careful on her shoulders, smoothing lotion across her skin. Every brush of his palms was deliberate, almost too slow, like he was memorizing her again. His touch felt… natural. As though his hands belonged exactly where they were.
Daisy tried to hold still, but a smile tugged at her lips despite herself.
His hands drifted lower, tracing down her back until he reached the dip of her waist, skimming precariously close to the curve of her bikini bottoms. Her breath hitched, then his hands froze.
“Shit,” he growled.
She spun to face him, confusion flashing before she caught sight of his expression—rage, not desire. Jameson snatched up his phone and stormed toward the rocks. Daisy blinked, then squinted. That’s when she saw it, the glint of a massive camera lens peeking out.
The vultures.
She rushed to Amelia, shielding her with her body.
“What’s he doing?” Amelia asked, eyes wide.