and show him you don’t give a damn about him, about his stupid column, about anything... He’s going to regret his decision the second he sees you.
While Tricia-with-the-perfect-smile-and-body was reciting the rules for voting, Daisy was coming up with her very own plan. Colin Forsythe might not regret canceling their date, but he would regret meeting her. Daisy was going to make sure of it.
* * *
HOLY SHIT!
Daisy Sinclair was here. She was certainly easy to pick out in that incredible red dress of hers, looking like a 1950s pinup girl. Of course, that could just be his dirty mind imagining her in sultry poses, as it had all week. Didn’t matter. There was no ignoring the fact the woman was a sight to behold in her red dress with the full skirt and narrow waist. The bodice was low and fitted—holy hell, was it fitted. It was a dress to go dancing in, and he could see himself leading her around the dance floor, hand on her waist, her skirt spinning so high he’d catch a glimpse of whatever pretty panties were hiding underneath.
She hadn’t seen him yet, because her gaze was focused on his brother up on the stage. She watched him the way a hungry lioness watched an antelope, her cheeks flushed, her eyes blazing, her lips moving as if she was plotting his takedown. Oh, and she was drinking champagne like it was iced tea on a hot day.
What the hell had Colin said to her to get her so riled?
All Jamie wanted to do was go over there and explain the situation. At the very least, she deserved the truth. But he’d promised Colin, and now that he realized Colin’s soon-to-be new boss was cohosting the evening with him, Jamie understood how delicate the situation was. It was while Tricia was extolling the importance of the Arts Council of Chicago and all the group did for the arts community that Jamie felt his phone vibrate in his tux jacket.
He pulled it out, not surprised to see a text from his brother.
She’s here.
Who? Jamie texted back, in the mood to torture his brother, particularly while he was up on stage pretending to be listening to Tricia and not texting.
The Sinclair woman. Red dress. Impossible to miss.
You sure?
Yes, I’m sure.
So?
Do something.
I’ll tell her the truth.
No!
Pretty hard when there are two of us here.
There’s a break in five minutes. Do it then.
Are you serious?
No scenes.
Sometimes Jamie felt the very thing his brother needed was a scene. But then he remembered the pain and fear in Colin’s voice when he spoke to him on the phone the other night. He thought about the possibility that his brother might have a tumor. What if it was cancer? The Cajun chicken taco he’d just eaten churned in the pit of his stomach. His brother might drive him crazy at times, but he was the only family Jamie had left, and the idea of the world without his brother in it was too much for him to contemplate. It couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let it. Not after he’d lost Sarah. Jamie wasn’t about to lose another sibling.
In the meantime, he would do what he had to do to make sure the lovely Daisy Sinclair didn’t create a scene...or worse, commit murder.
* * *
DAISY HAD JUST consumed enough liquid courage to approach the stage, except as she neared, Colin ducked out a side door. Damn. Now she’d have to chase him. Not that he should be hard to find. The guy towered over most everyone. Once out in the lobby, however, Daisy realized she needed to make a stop at the ladies’ room first, as the champagne had gone right through her.
And she needed to compose herself.
Standing in front of the restroom mirror, Daisy stared at her reflection, practicing the words she was going to say. She noticed her lipstick had worn off, so she reapplied it—though it took a couple tries before she got it straight—and she found she had to hold on to the counter as the room began to spin.
“Are you okay?” An older woman using the sink beside Daisy peered at her with concern. “You didn’t eat those raw oysters, did you? They’re food poisoning in a shell is what they are.”
“No,” Daisy said, her stomach feeling queasy at the thought.
“A cool cloth to the back of the neck should help.”
Daisy hung her head for a second before splashing cold water on her cheeks, thinking how much the woman reminded her of Nana. When she lifted her head, the woman was gone. Strange, Daisy didn’t hear her leave. That was a bad sign because it meant she was on the too side of tipsy.
When she walked out into the hallway, there was Colin, leaning against the wall, looking casual and handsome and sexy with his longish hair tamed back for the evening. His presence was such a shock that even though it had been Daisy’s intention to look for him, now that he was here, apparently waiting for her, she experienced an irrational urge to flee.
“Daisy Sinclair. What a nice surprise.”
“Really?” She lifted her chin and crossed her arms over the snug bodice of her dress. “Somehow I got the impression you didn’t want me here.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Hmm.” She tapped her lips. “Could have been when you said it was a mistake to ask me to come.”
“Oh. That.” At least he had the good grace to look sheepish. “Bad day. Let me take you home.”
“I’m not going home. I haven’t even eaten yet.”
“We’ll stop somewhere on the way.”
“What are you talking about? You’re the emcee. You can’t leave.”
Colin made a dismissive gesture toward the ballroom. “Tricia can handle it.” His laissez-faire attitude reminded her of the first day they’d met.
Daisy cocked her head and stared hard at the man. While he was a little fuzzy around the edges, he wasn’t that fuzzy. “What is going on?”
“Nothing.”
Taking a step closer, Daisy leaned in. She didn’t know what possessed her, but she sniffed him. She closed her eyes and sniffed again. His cologne was the same as the day in the bakery. Except there was a hint of Cajun spice on his breath, too. She took a step back and squinted up at him. When had Colin had a chance to eat? He’d been up on stage all evening. Daisy turned her attention to his face and hair. Something was different about his hair. The longish bits curled around his ears, soft and inviting.
“Daisy? Is something wrong?”
“You know,” she said tentatively, “you’ve got the most interesting hair.”
“What do you mean?”
“It
