Twisted Love

by Piper Lawson

20

  Since Daisy came to the office last week, we've both been looking for excuses to see one another. At least, in the moments we can find around work and her being home for Lil.

  I’ve dreamed up new places to put Jet so I can text her pictures.

  I've canceled work lunches, breakfasts, for an excuse to see Daisy.

  Those handful of moments across from her at restaurants are nowhere near enough.

  All I can think of is being inside her again. Since the Vineyard more than a week ago, it’s all I can think about.

  * * *

  Ben: We’re still on for our adventure this afternoon?

  * * *

  I send the text from the office kitchen at lunch.

  Dots appear a moment later.

  * * *

  Daisy: Only if you bring Jet.

  * * *

  Ben: You sound as if you like him more than me.

  * * *

  Daisy: You sound as if you’re jealous of a three-inch toy.

  * * *

  Ben: My masculinity is under zero threat. I have a lot more inches than that to offer.

  * * *

  Someone bumps my shoulder, heading for the coffee maker, and I look up. My eyes narrow.

  “Your assistant quit again?”

  Holt slams down his mug and hits the dispenser. “No.”

  There’s still time. It’s only lunch.

  The new tech investment got delayed a week thanks to an emergency, so this morning we finally voted.

  He smiles tightly. “You think you won today? It's one investment. Xavier might be infatuated with you, but I can see through it. You’ve been distracted, and I’m sure he wouldn’t approve of you using your office for lunchtime quickies. I’ve seen your girlfriend leaving this office looking worked over.”

  My shoulders tighten. “If you’re questioning my commitment, don’t bother.”

  He shrugs, reaching for the fridge door. “I’m just saying I could’ve given her something more than five minutes on my desk.”

  I slam the refrigerator door shut hard enough, the appliance hits the wall. The anger that rises up is forceful and immediate, taking both of us by surprise. Holt’s face tightens. I’m ready to rip his head off his body, and it’s not even acting.

  “Listen to me,” I mutter. “You can have an opinion on our acquisitions and deals. You don’t get an opinion on my girlfriend.”

  But Holt’s eyes glint in triumph before I turn and head down the hall, then walk in Tris’s door uninvited.

  He points at his phone, which he’s on. I cross to the window.

  Finally there’s a disgruntled sigh behind me. “Let me call you back.”

  The sound of his chair makes me turn.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure, big brother?”

  “Holt is fucking with me.”

  Tris stares at me as if I’m speaking Mandarin. “This is not new. He’s pissed Xavier didn’t side with him.”

  “He’s building a bigger case, trying to make it seem as if I’m not committed to this firm.” I don’t mention Daisy.

  “But you are.” It’s a statement, but it almost sounds as if there’s a question in it.

  “Yes.” I rub a hand through my hair. “I’ve been busy with other things. And I’m going to see Mom with D tonight.” At his look, I say, “What?”

  Tris grins. “When I saw you together at the club, I wasn’t sure. But you’ve been different the last couple of weeks. I see it, Xavier sees it, even Holt sees it. Because that brain of yours is elsewhere and it doesn’t take a genius to know where.”

  I raise a brow. “Excuse me?”

  “You two together. She wants to climb into your lap. You want to drag her somewhere private and defile her. You’re falling for her.”

  The words have the hairs lifting on my neck. I remind myself that’s precisely the impression we’re going for. What we want to present to the world for the final twelve days of our arrangement.

  Not that I’m counting.

  “She’s the real deal,” he goes on. “You won’t be a shark anymore, but if you’re going to lose your heart, might as well be to her.”

  When I head back to my office, I pull out the photographer’s image of Daisy and me. The one where she’s looking at me as if I’m her entire fucking world.

  My face is only half visible, but it’s entirely possible I’m studying her the same way.

  You won’t be a shark anymore.

  That’s bullshit. I’m not losing my edge.

  I’ve seen my mom get taken advantage of, seen how crippling it was for her to want someone that badly, to allow herself to be used. I will never be that kind of fool. I can’t work my entire life only to wind up weak.

  I vow to refocus on my work, leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that I’m the future of this firm. So the rest of the day, I throw myself into reviewing performance analysis of current holdings by our associates, scanning competition, reading submissions for fascinating new tech.

  I don’t race out of the office to pick up Daisy. But once I get my car, and her, the simple joy of seeing her has my abs tightening. She’s wearing a devastating cherry red dress that hugs her curves and makes me want to do wicked things to her.

  “There’s a technology therapy service that uses AI to diagnose issues and recommend cognitive behavioral therapy,” she’s saying when I ask about her day on the way to Jersey.

  “Robot shrinks?”

  “Most people resist it, which is what we’re talking about with them.”

  “I’m not most people.”

  “No, you’re not.” She smiles, and I linger on her mouth before turning back to the road. “How was your work?”

  “I can’t do much else to try to secure Xavier’s support. But Holt’s trying to undermine me.”

  “What’s the latest target of his attacks?”

  “You.”

  She glances my way.

  “He knows he can get under my skin.”

  Daisy shifts as if she’s about to reach for me but stops at the last minute. “Don’t let him.”

  I don’t answer for a long time.

  “Thank you for coming with me,” I say at last as we’re crossing the bridge.

  “I’m glad you asked me.”

  When we pull up outside the facility, Daisy shifts out, her heels clicking on the concrete. I take a second to watch her, her hips swinging as she starts up the walkway with a kind of easy energy I can’t summon when I come to this place.

  She looks back when she realizes I’m not at her side. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I take her hand, reminding myself I’m looking the part of the dutiful boyfriend and son and not focusing on how soft her skin is on mine.

  “You don’t have to be. Not with me.”

  Her calm words have my gaze finding hers again.

  The problem is, the better we get at acting, the less it feels fake.

  She’s beautiful, and in this moment with no one watching, it’s not even about sex. I want to crawl inside her, have her crawl inside me.

  I brush the hair out of her face and rest my forehead against hers a moment before pulling back and starting toward the doors, our hands still linked.

  We go to my mom’s room, and she welcomes us with a look of delighted surprise. “Daisy, it’s so good to see you.”

  “You too, Ramona. It’s been a while.”

  “MBA graduation,” I say.

  “No,” Daisy and my mom say at once.

  “We all went to that fundraiser at the Met,” Daisy adds.

  “You remember everything,” I tease her.

  The smile wavers. “Too much sometimes.” Daisy turns back to my mom. “Love that pantsuit.”

  Mom preens under Daisy’s approval.

  “I heard a rumor they’re rebooting your show. Can you tell me anything about that? In confidence of course.”

  Mom smiles slowly. “Of course I couldn’t tell you anything about that. But…” She goes to the
desk and produces a sheaf of papers. “There might be a script.”

  I stare in astonishment. “You smuggled a script into rehab?”

  “Literature is good for the soul.”

  I excuse myself and head down to the main desk. I find a receptionist at the desk and ask, “How long will my mother be here?”

  “She can leave any time.”

  The gut-twisting is back. “That’s what I figured. Thank you.”

  I head back down the hall.

  My mother’s voice drifts out the doorway when I approach. “Salvatore! You can’t.”

  I frown, trying to place it, before realizing it’s her old show.

  “But I already have, Anita. It’s done.”

  My head drops back at Daisy’s artificially lowered voice. I laugh as I listen to them. Eventually, I hear the rustling of pages.

  “That was fun, thank you,” Mom say warmly. “I haven’t had someone to read with in ages.”

  “My pleasure.” Daisy’s voice is back to normal, and she really does sound as if she enjoyed it.

  I’m about to walk in when Mom’s next question stops me.

  “Have you shown my son the dress you’re wearing?”

  “Not yet. But I can show you.”

  I strain to hear, but there’s only the sound of shifting.

  “Oh. It’s beautiful. You know, I had a few designers send things over to my apartment. But I haven’t tried them on yet.”

  Mom likes to be here, being waited on, but it’s good to hear my mom so engaged and genuinely happy. She is, right now, and I wonder when the last time was I heard her sound so light. Or maybe it’s a projection of how I’m feeling.

  “I’m sure we could have them bring the dresses here. Though there’s not much room to try things on.”

  When I go back in, Daisy smiles and my mom beams. “We were just rehearsing.”

  “I see. D, could you give us a second?”

  “Of course. It was so nice to see you, Ramona. Call me if you need someone to read a script with. What I lack in acting talent I make up for with discretion.”

  We wait for Daisy to go before my mom turns back to me.

  I sit beside her. “The staff said they don’t have any concerns about your well-being. You could move back home.”

  “I can have my things ready tomorrow.”

  I blink at her in surprise.

  “As Daisy said, I need to be finalizing my dress choice for this event. Though her dress is quite special.” She leans in, smiling.

  As we work to make arrangements to get Mom back home, my throat tightens.

  “When was the last time you brought a woman to meet me?” she asks.

  “You already know Daisy.”

  “I’d like to know her better. She’s good for you, Ben. She softens your edges.”

  When I say goodbye to my mother and head back out to D in the hall, I can’t kick the thought that Daisy doesn’t only soften my edges, she makes me question whether I needed them to begin with.

  “That went well,” Daisy says, seemingly oblivious, as I hold the door for her. “I don’t think she suspected.”

  “No.”

  I follow her out into the twilight and unlock my car. I shift into the driver’s seat and stare out the windshield. My hand reaches across the console and finds Daisy’s fingers without me looking.

  “You don’t have to fix her, Ben. Just be with her.”

  When I look over, Daisy’s face is filled with empathy. Her thumb strokes the back of my hand, taking my frustration down a notch with every brush of her skin on mine.

  “It’s that simple,” I say with a dry laugh.

  “When was the last time you went to visit her when she wasn’t in rehab? Or when you and Tris involved her in your lives?”

  I cut her a look. “All the time.”

  “Give me one.”

  I can’t come up with an example, which makes me more frustrated. “You’re saying this is my fault.”

  Her brows pull together. “I’m saying she loves you. The only thing she wants is for you to be happy.”

  I pull my hand away to grip the steering wheel.

  I reverse out of the spot and start the drive back to the city. She’s silent the whole way.

  I want to tell her it’s one thing for us to vent our bullshit, but I don’t need her opinions on my mom. I want to unload thirty years of shit on her, to tell her I have to be in control because if I’m not, no one is.

  Most of all, I want to kiss her until her calmness, her steadiness, her damn unselfish caring washes over me like a cool wave.

  Tris’s accusation comes back. That I'm falling for her.

  I've seen the fallout from love, the unhealthy dependence, the way love can bring artificial joy and leave you an empty shell, capable of nothing.

  “Do you want to get something to eat?” she asks when we’re on the bridge. “We could go to that restaurant again."

  I imagine being on that rooftop with her. Sitting beside her, tugging her against my hip. Sliding my hand down the inside of her thigh, not to turn her on but to reassure myself she’s really there with me and not going anywhere.

  I shake my head. “I have to get back to work. But I can drop you off.”

  She shifts in her seat. “Okay. I’ll get something for Lil.”

  But her voice is cooler than it was.

  "Say hello to Cara for me," I say when she gets out at the restaurant, but she doesn't answer as she shuts the car door.

  Heading back to my apartment, the life I designed my way, I wait for a feeling of relief that I’m on my own again.

  It never comes.

  21

  The best poker games aren't only in casinos. I promised to drop by Hunter's weekly game to fill in. It's at his and Kendall's place, with few old friends, and it's been going on as long as Daisy and I've been having our own game nights.

  Today the other players are Monty—Hunter's conscience, and the lumberjack-in-a-suit Hunter runs his family's beer company with—and Wes.

  I've heard rumors of some of the dramatic stakes of these games over the years. Apparently they've toned down since Hunter got settled, because he's become more responsible by leaps and bounds in the past year.

  "Where're Kendall and Rory tonight?" I ask as I grab a drink from the full-stocked bar in the penthouse condo and drop into my seat.

  "I got them a cooking class that runs the entire month. Kid could probably teach them," Hunter says, his voice full of pride, "but he likes showing off for his mom. Surprised you're not working or with your girlfriend tonight."

  Monty cocks his head in question.

  "Daisy," Hunter says.

  "Huh." He lifts his glass in a toast.

  I shrug. "Taking a couple nights off."

  They stare me down.

  “Bullshit,” Wes comments mildly. “You’ve been dating a few weeks and you could be with her but you chose us instead.”

  "You fucked up, didn't you?" Hunter asks.

  "What are you talking about?"

  Wes leans in. "When was the last time you talked?"

  "Two days ago.”

  “How’d it end?”

  I survey my cards, strategizing. "We went to see my mom. After, we were going to get dinner, but I told her to go alone because I had to work."

  A chorus of groans goes up.

  I drop the cards on the table, exasperated. "What?"

  "You fucked up. You're going to need to fix it," Monty says.

  It seems like an overreaction, especially since he doesn’t even know us. "I could text her right now. She'd text me back."

  I pull out my phone, along with Jet, and I set him on the table. I take a picture of him with the cards and send it.

  The men watch silently as I reach for my cards. “Come on.”

  But a hand later, there’s no response.

  The feeling in my gut is hard to name—it’s unfamiliar but it sucks. As if I’m second-guessing myself.

  I ne
ver do that.

  I type out a text.

  * * *

  Ben: Was Hunter always this cocky? I can see why he wagered his company at the poker table.

  * * *

  Still no answer.

  I shift back in my chair. "She's probably climbing or with her sister."

  "Sure, she is," Wes says.

  "She's my best friend, and I know her."

  "She's not some prick at the office you can steamroll," Hunter offers. "And she's not your friend anymore either. You have to think twice before you say some shit. It'll come back to bite you."

  “Daisy’s not mad. We don’t fight, and she’s not the kind of woman to lose her shit over something trivial I said or did.”

  But there’s no response to my text, which has me rewinding the time we spent with Mom, the minutes after.

  Damn her for making me overthink this, and damn these guys too.

  Wes nods in agreement with Hunter. "You have to be prepared for an overcorrection in the system. A small error in judgment on your part can cause severe consequences, and there are two ways to come back from it."

  "One," Hunter says, "call her bluff. Remind her she misses you. That one's high risk, high reward."

  I briefly contemplate stopping by her place after we’re done, letting myself in, and making her come before she’s even awake. But we haven’t done much sharing of each other’s personal space since this fake arrangement. It’s like some final line, a last stand. "And the other?"

  Hunter folds his hands behind his head. "You repent."

  "Repent," I echo. The word sounds as foreign as it feels rolling off my tongue.

  Hunter and Wes exchange a look. "Show her you know you fucked up. If it’s really bad, I can get Jake on the phone."

  I frown. "Diamonds will fix this?"

  "It's tough. You can overshoot and come off disingenuous."

  "Do something from the heart," Wes suggests.

  "But don't be afraid to drop some cash either." Hunter winks.

  I shake my head.

  But as the game continues and I watch my phone, seeing she still hasn't texted back, I grow more convinced I need to intervene.