with his own weakness, Alex gestured her brusquely into the revolving door. “Well, let’s not waste your sacrifice, then. We’ll go in.”
Daisy was in complete control.
She might as well have had a squadron of singing mice and a fairy godmother the way everything had fallen into place. Izzy was keeping Charlie, the glitzy shimmery dress fit perfectly, the sophisticated black dress coat her mother had given her for her birthday was beautifully appropriate. Other than the stupid traffic jam and having to run quarter of a mile and that she could feel her hair slipping from its knot, she didn’t have a care in the world.
Granted her first glimpse of Alex in formal attire, complete with black tie, pristine white shirt, checking his watch impatiently as he waited for her, had made her mouth dry and her heart gallop. But, Daisy assured herself, that was because she’d just been running, not because of the man himself.
Still, once in the hotel, on the arm of the handsomest man in the room, it was hard not to believe she was channeling Cinderella.
Daisy had been to the Plaza before. But she’d never been to An Event.
This was An Event—in a cavernous room that despite its immensity, managed somehow to seem warm and appealing and elegant with matte gold walls, burgundy drapes, glimmering sconces and crystal chandeliers. The dozens of tables wore pristine white damask linens, sported napkins folded by origami experts, and had settings of gleaming china and rows of delicate stemware.
Not a bowl of mac and cheese in sight.
When she worked for Finn, Daisy had gone to plenty of glitz-and-glamour events. In the fashion industry they’d been brasher and flashier, not to mention, thousands of decibels louder than this one. A girl from small town Colorado had been very much out of her league. But after the first half dozen or so, she had become blasé and soon she began waltzing through them without batting an eyelash.
Of course those rarely required her to look suave and elegant and remember which fork to use. Tonight there looked to be a surfeit of forks. But it wasn’t the number of forks that was making her blood race. It was Alex.
“Can I get you something to drink? Wine? A cocktail?”
“I’ll have a glass of wine,” Daisy decided. “Red.”
They’d drunk a smooth dark burgundy when they’d first met. If she was going to rewrite the ending of their encounter, she would begin tonight the way they’d begun before. But this time she wouldn’t let herself embroider the circumstances with airy-fairy fantasies of happily ever afters.
“Burgundy,” Alex said, surprising her. Did he remember? But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—ask.
“I’ll be right back.” He headed toward the bar.
When he returned, drinks in hand, Daisy was standing near the wall right where Alex had left her. She drew his eye clear across the room. The dress he’d glimpsed before she’d shed her coat definitely lived up to its promise. Its blue-green iridescence sparkled like northern lights as it molded her every curve. The short embroidered jacket covered more than he wished, hinting at bare shoulders beneath, smooth shoulders he remembered kissing all too well.
But it was more than the dress that drew his gaze, more than the dress that made the woman. There was a warmth and a vibrant energy in Daisy—as if she were the only person there in three dimensions. Everyone else seemed flat by comparison.
She had been alone when he’d left her, but now she was chatting with hospital CEO Douglas Standish and his wife. Daisy’s expression was animated, interested. He remembered her that way from the moment he’d first seen her. She engaged with people, drew them out. She had drawn him.
Never particularly social, Alex had attended the wedding with the intent of leaving as soon as it was reasonable to do so. He’d drifted around the periphery of the room, keeping his eye on the exit—until he’d seen Daisy.
Then he’d only had eyes for her. It was still that way.
Now he wound his way through the crowds of people, heading toward her as determinedly as he had that long-ago day.
“Here you go.” He handed the drink to Daisy, then turned to Standish’s wife. “May I get you a drink?”
“No, thank you, dear. Douglas will do that. I just wanted to meet your lovely lady—and tell her how lovely you are—” her eyes twinkled merrily when Alex opened his mouth to protest “—and what an amazing gift you’ve given us with the design for the hospital wing.”
“Thank you for saying so.”
She patted him on the sleeve. “Have a wonderful evening. You deserve it. So nice to meet you, dear,” she said to Daisy, before taking her husband’s arm and guiding them into the crowd.
“So,” Daisy said, looking him in the eye when the other woman had left, “you’re the guest of honor. And you couldn’t be bothered to tell me?”
Alex shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”
Daisy’s eyes glittered. “It’s a huge deal,” she contradicted him. “Huge. Apparently your hospital wing has broken new ground in patient services. It’s celebrated worldwide.” She had gone beyond glitter to glare now. “They’re giving you an award.”
“I told you that when you did the photos for the article.”
“An award, you said. You didn’t tell me anything about it. It might have been for perfect attendance at meetings for all I knew! This is wonderful!” And now her wonderful eyes sparkled with warmth and delight, and in spite of himself, Alex felt a rush of pleasure. “Did you tell Caroline?”
“No,” he said, surprised.
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “It’s nothing to do with her.”
“Of course it is!”
Baffled, he shook his head. “Why?” She hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t even known her when he’d done it himself.
“Because you did it! Because you’re her man.”
But he wasn’t Caroline’s man. He wasn’t anyone’s man. But he wasn’t going to have that argument with Daisy now. Fortunately people were beginning to head to their seats. So he just said, “Come on. We need to go sit down.” He took her arm, more aware of touching her than he was whenever he touched Caroline. He led her to the table where they would be sitting, then pulled out her chair.
Daisy flounced down into it, but she still wasn’t done. She looked up at him, her expression annoyed. “She’d be thrilled,” she told him. “And proud. I am—proud,” she said, “and it’s nothing at all to do with me.”
Alex felt a warm flush of pleasure at her admitting that. What he didn’t do was tell her that it wasn’t entirely true.
He would never have taken the commission at all if something she’d said to him hadn’t stuck with him for the past five years. Initially he’d said no. He had no interest in hospital design. He didn’t like hospitals. Hated them, in fact.
After his brother
