The Wingman

by Natasha Anders

  “And will you?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not my scene. What do I have to say to a bunch of teens?” He looked uncomfortable and more than a little embarrassed at the thought.

  “You’ve done really well for yourself, Mason,” she said. “And you came from such humble beginnings. A lot of the students come from similar backgrounds. You and your brother could inspire them to do more with their lives.”

  “It wasn’t anything special. We worked hard. I had three jobs, and I saved every cent I earned so that I could afford the airfare out of here. That meant no dates, no social life during my entire adolescence . . . no kid wants to hear that.”

  “They might not want to hear it, but it’s exactly what some of them need to hear.”

  He cleared his throat and fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers, before reaching for the menu.

  Their young waitress drifted over to their table.

  “Oh, hey, Dr. Daisy,” she greeted when she saw Daisy and then stared at Mason with open curiosity. “Do you want your usual drink?”

  “Hello, Thandiwe,” Daisy greeted the teenager with a friendly smile. “I think I’ll have a glass of your house red tonight.”

  “Make that a bottle of your best Pinotage,” Mason said, and the girl nodded, her riot of beaded braids bouncing pertly. She was a pretty girl, with a warm smile, and one of those troubled teens Daisy had just been talking about.

  “Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes with your wine and to take your order,” Thandiwe said, and Daisy nodded.

  “So what’s your ‘usual’ drink?”

  “I’d rather not say; it’s embarrassing.”

  “As embarrassing as the chicken dance?”

  She snorted and shook her head. “Nowhere near as bad as that.”

  “So come on, tell me.”

  “Virgin piña colada,” she confessed, keeping her eyes on the red-checkered tablecloth and wincing when he laughed.

  “A little rum never hurt anybody,” he said.

  “‘A little rum’ leads to a lot of rum leads to the chicken dance.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Don’t ever watch my parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary DVD. It’s . . . epically awful.”

  “Hell, you shouldn’t have told me that,” he said, an element of unholy glee in his voice.

  “I doubt you’ll ever get to know them well enough to see the horribly embarrassing family DVD collection, so I think I’m safe enough,” she said smugly.

  “Challenge accepted.”

  “It wasn’t a challenge.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “Mason . . .”

  “Your wine,” Thandiwe said, interrupting what was proving to be the most frustrating and entertaining conversation Daisy had had in a long time. The girl popped the cork on the wine with a flourish and decanted a portion for Mason, who took a sip before nodding at her to go ahead and pour.

  “Are you ready to order?” Thandiwe asked, reaching into the kangaroo pouch in the front of her black apron and pulling out her notebook.

  “Not quite yet,” Mason told her with a smile, and she nodded.

  “Just call when you need me,” the girl said before flouncing off to a neighboring table.

  “So was I mistaken or did the lovely Thandiwe call you Dr. Daisy earlier?” Mason took another appreciative sip of his wine and stared at her with those beautiful and unsettlingly penetrating eyes of his.

  “I’m a vet,” she said, trying to remain unaffected by that all-seeing gaze of his.

  “No shit? That’s great. Just like your dad, huh?”

  “Yes, I can’t remember ever wanting to be or do anything else. I spent my childhood tagging along behind my dad as often as he’d let me, and when I was a teen, I helped out in reception. I’ve only been a qualified veterinarian for a year now and in partnership with my father.”

  “And? Is it everything you thought it would be?”

  “It’s hard work and often gut-wrenching, but it can heartwarming and rewarding as well. I started a free clinic at Inkululeko about six months ago, and it’s my favorite part of the week. I feel like we’re really making a difference with that clinic. We run it on Wednesdays and half days on Saturdays. We’re always slammed on Saturdays, but I love it.”

  “You worked today?”

  “Yes. That’s why I was stuck walking Peaches at such an impractical time.”

  “And what do you do for fun, Daisy McGregor?” he asked with a smile, and Daisy’s breath caught when she noticed the sexy dimple winking at her from his left cheek.

  “Uh . . .” She lost her train of thought, distracted by the dimple. And she tried to gather her thoughts as she fought to regain her composure. “Nothing much, really. Work takes up a lot of my time right now, what with us still trying to get the clinic properly running and funded. When I do have a moment to spare, I bake.”

  His eyes flared with interest.

  “Yeah? Like cakes and stuff?”

  “All kinds of cakes, biscuits, pies . . .”

  “I happen to like pies,” he said without subtlety, and Daisy laughed.

  “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  “I’m partial to cakes and biscuits too.”

  “I’m sure you are.” She giggled, and he returned her smile.

  Daisy McGregor might not be the cute one or the pretty one, but she sure as hell was the adorable one. How nobody else could see that was beyond Mason. He wanted to keep that wide, gorgeous smile on her face, but it was already fading to be replaced by her more habitual earnestness.

  He saw their waitress, Thandiwe, approaching and shook his head slightly to indicate to her that they weren’t ready yet, before lifting the menu.

  “All this talk of confectionaries has made me hungry,” he confessed as he perused the menu. His eyes widened as he stared at the all-too-familiar items listed on the laminated paper. “This menu is still exactly the same.”

  “I know.”

  “Exactly the same, Daisy,” he repeated, waving the plastic card in front of her face. “Seriously, and I don’t just mean the content. I’m almost sure this is one of the actual menus they had when I was working here. See this water stain?” He pointed to the blotch beside the M in MJ’s. It was on the paper that was sandwiched between the thin sheets of plastic and had to have been there before the menu was laminated. “I know I’ve seen it before. How have all of you not died of boredom yet?”

  “Most of the younger people leave as soon as they’re old enough. They move to Knysna, Plettenberg Bay, Port Elizabeth, or sometimes further afield to Durban or Cape Town. Or in certain extreme cases . . . the UK.” The last was said with a pointed glance over the top of the menu, and he grinned again.

  “And why didn’t you leave?” Especially since the people in this town were so set in their ways, they hadn’t even noticed that she was a captivating woman in her own right who didn’t deserve to be forever unfavorably compared to her sisters.

  “I went to university in Pretoria, but I always wanted to come back here and join my dad’s practice. Still, that taste of independence was what led me to move out of my parents’ house and buy my own place. My sisters are so content living there, and I get so—” She stopped talking abruptly, and he wondered if she felt guilty about whatever she’d been about to say. She did seem fiercely loyal to her family. She put down her menu and folded her hands over the piece of plastic. “I already know what I want to order.”

  It was a pointed change of subject, and he allowed it only because he really was famished, and he didn’t want to push her in case she clammed up. As it was he was just grateful she hadn’t again started talking about how going ahead with her plan was a bad idea.

  He waved Thandiwe over, and they placed their orders—pasta arrabbiata for Daisy and a rare steak with baked potato for him—before he turned his attention back to his dinner companion. Her hair was starting to slip out of that knot and beginning to resemble a soft cloud
around her face. The heat from the place added a becoming flush to her cheeks.

  “What about you?” she asked, and he blinked, startled out of his perusal of her pretty face.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you do for fun? Especially now that you’re back in our boring little town. I can’t imagine you’d find it that interesting being back.”

  “You’d be surprised,” he muttered under his breath. He was finding her more and more fascinating with every passing moment, but he didn’t think she was quite ready to hear or believe that. “I haven’t been in town long enough to get bored yet. I’ve been on the go for the last year. I like camping, hiking, off-roading, parasailing, and I do a bit of surfing when it’s not fucking freezing.” He paused and then winced. “Sorry, all those years in the military with a bunch of crude guys didn’t do much for the vocabulary.”

  “And what are your plans now that you’re home? Do you intend to settle down here? Stay permanently?”

  He fiddled with the stem of his glass as he considered the question.

  “Not entirely sure, really.”

  His answer surprised Daisy. Mason Carlisle struck her as a man who always knew what he wanted and when he wanted it. The indecisiveness seemed out of character. “After selling my half of the company, I thought I’d try something I’ve always wanted to do.”

  “Which is?” she asked, lifting her glass for a sip of wine.

  “Nothing.”

  She choked on her drink and squinted at him.

  “What?”

  “I’ve always dreamt of being rich enough to do absolutely nothing,” he elaborated with a sheepish grin. “Granted, I was about seventeen and working those aforementioned three jobs when I wished for this, but I thought I’d give it a go.”

  “And how’s it working out for you? Doing absolutely nothing, that is?”

  “Honestly?” he asked, dipping his head and looking up at her through those gorgeous eyelashes of his. She found the almost shy gesture incredibly appealing and fought back another one of her embarrassing blushes.

  “Yep.”

  “It’s boring as hell. I’ve always had something to do, and all this leisure time is driving me crazy.”

  “Well, you’ve kept yourself busy with the hiking and climbing and stuff, so you haven’t been completely idle.”

  “But that was fun and unproductive, and for someone like me, it’s damned near decadent to be able to do anything I want, without any sort of regimen. I’ve lived my entire life according to a schedule, sometimes mine, mostly someone else’s—so this just feels”—he stopped as he searched for the correct word—“wrong. It feels wrong. And I feel selfish.”

  “You’ve spent your life helping others, Mason. Cut yourself some slack.” She would have continued if Thandiwe hadn’t chosen that moment to bring their food. Mason looked a little relieved by the interruption, and once their bubbly server had left, he very determinedly changed the subject.

  “Ah, now this is one thing I’m happy remained the same,” he said with an appreciative sigh, after giving his steak a long and lusty look. “The food at MJ’s has always been awesome, despite the lack of variation in the menu.”

  “Or maybe because of it,” Daisy suggested. “Why change something that’s working perfectly fine in the first place?”

  “Touché,” he said, before slicing off a sizable chunk of the—much-too-rare-for-Daisy’s-liking—meat and shoving it into his mouth. He groaned, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes as he chewed on his meat. He looked incredibly sexy and—quite uncharacteristically—Daisy found herself wondering if he showed this much enthusiasm and sensual appreciation during sex. She would assume so. Mason Carlisle just seemed like the type of man who did nothing by half measures. He enjoyed every sensual, physical, and cerebral aspect of life. The type of man who took action and went after the things he wanted, rather than standing on the sidelines watching all the important experiences in life pass him by.

  He opened his eyes and caught her staring, her fork halfway to her open mouth, and Daisy quickly averted her eyes, despite knowing that it was already much too late to pretend she wasn’t completely riveted by him.

  “Sorry, I appreciate good food a little too much sometimes. Bad table manners, I know.” He was smiling as he spoke, inviting her to share his self-deprecating humor. She forced an answering feeble smile in return, but her expression froze at his next words. “I’ll be on my best behavior at your sister’s wedding, though. I promise not to act like a starving man at a banquet and embarrass you.”

  Embarrass her? A man of Mason Carlisle’s caliber couldn’t even begin to grasp the concept of embarrassment. But, that aside, it was time to address the elephant in the room, and Daisy sighed as she placed her fork neatly on the side of her plate.

  “Mason, I really appreciate the fact that you were—are—willing to help me out like this, but the inherent dishonesty of it is making me feel really uncomfortable, and I don’t think I can, or even want to, go through with it.”

  He said nothing, kept his focus on his plate as he sliced off another piece of steak and speared some steaming potato along the way as well. He shoveled the contents of the overburdened fork into his mouth and watched her closely while he chewed. He ate like a man, no delicacy or artifice about him. He washed the food down with some wine and sucked at his teeth before finally making a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. It sounded like a lion’s purr and unsettled Daisy more than she was willing to let on.

  “So you’re uninviting me?”

  “Well, I mean, it wasn’t like it was an official . . .”

  “Daisy? I thought that was you!” The loud, overly sweet voice had the same effect on Daisy as fingernails on a chalkboard, and she girded herself to face the owner of that voice.

  “Hey, Shar,” she greeted with more of a grimace than a smile, but Shar had already dismissed Daisy and her laser-like focus was pinned entirely on Mason.

  “And look who you have with you. Mason, how wonderful to see you again!” She leaned over, probably giving Mason a generous eyeful of her exposed cleavage, and kissed the air on either side of his face. “It’s been years! I thought I saw you last night, but I was out celebrating my friend’s hen night, you know.”

  She then, to Daisy’s annoyance, dragged up a chair and sat down at their table, turning her body toward Mason and completely excluding Daisy from their exchange. Mason casually continued to eat, saying nothing, but staring at her in interest, occasionally allowing his eyes to stray down to her breasts and then back up to her lovely face. His expression was inscrutable, making it hard for Daisy to figure out what he was thinking.

  “What have you been up to? Are you home for good? What brings you to MJ’s tonight?”

  Mason’s eyes, for the very briefest of moments, slid over to Daisy, and he cleared his throat before putting his knife and fork down. He leaned back in his chair, draping one arm over the back and angling his body toward Shar’s. The woman leaned forward, anticipating his reply, since—with the shift in his body language—she now had his entire focus. Feeling hurt and slighted, Daisy cringed—wishing she could just sink into the floor and disappear. Anything to avoid this.

  “Date.” The word was concise and didn’t exactly invite further conversation. Shar’s eyebrows rose, and she laughed delicately.

  “A date?” She glanced around the restaurant as if expecting to see someone appear, before she allowed her eyes to rest on Daisy. “You mean with our little Daisy? Well, that’s new. Daisy doesn’t date, do you, sweetie? Too busy with her cows and chickens to bother with men. But bless you for getting her out and about. We don’t see enough of you around town, Daisy.” She raised her voice in that condescending way ignorant people had when they spoke to deaf or mentally challenged people. Daisy gritted her teeth, knowing from experience that responding would only delay the unpleasant encounter and invite further bitchiness. “I’ve been telling your sisters you should get out m
ore. Get a little more exercise, you know? Good for the body and soul.”

  “Lady—forgive me, I’m not exactly sure what your name is—but I’m trying to sweet-talk Daisy into a second date, and you’re kind of ruining the moment,” Mason said, plastering an amiable grin on his face while he kept his voice soft and pleasant. “I’m a patient guy—sometimes I’m even a nice guy—but I can’t say I appreciate the interruption. Now if you don’t mind? Daisy and I have some acquainting to get back to.”

  Shar gaped at him in visible shock, her mouth opening and closing unattractively as his words sank in. Daisy had clapped her hand over her own mouth in disbelief halfway through his charming little put-down. Nobody dismissed Sharlotte Bridges like that. Daisy’s eyes swiveled to Shar to see how she was taking it, and she could see that Shar’s shock was wearing off and her eyes had gone cold with malice.

  “I guess you can take the man out of the ghetto but—no matter what his achievements—you can never entirely eradicate the stink of his origins from him,” she hissed.

  “Wow, really?” Mason’s grin disappeared, and his eyes went frighteningly icy. He looked so dangerous in that moment that even Daisy felt a little uneasy. “You’re going to pull this elitist bullshit? In this day and age? Don’t be ridiculous. This is getting tiresome, lady. Why don’t you shove off back to wherever the hell you came from and leave us to enjoy our evening?” He dismissed her with a careless wave and refocused his attention on Daisy, who was having a hard time keeping the mixture of awe and horror she was feeling from showing on her face.

  Shar was too concerned with her image to create a huge scene, and she aimed a fulminating glare at the wide-eyed Daisy before turning and stalking back to her table, where a few of her usual toadying minions sat eagerly awaiting her return.

  Mason shook his head and went back to his meal as if the interruption hadn’t occurred.

  “That was . . .” Daisy’s voice petered. There was really nothing she could think of to say about what had just happened, and Mason shrugged.

  “That chick’s a bitch; why did you allow her to muscle in on your territory like that?”