The Best Man's Proposal (The Hamilton Sisters)

by Wynter Daniels

  Tristan’s face brightened. “What’s the source of the light?”

  Niki scrutinized the closest arrangement. “Fairy lights—tiny LED lights on gold wires, powered by a small battery.”

  The delivery man nodded. “I have extras in the van I’ll leave with you.”

  But who had…? Taking the clipboard to sign for the delivery, she quickly scanned the sheet for a name.

  Grant. Her hero. How in the world had he pulled that off? He was a firefighter, not a florist. How had he managed to produce these? All the nervous energy that had been playing hockey in her ribcage quit. Whew. Whatever the source of the miracle had been, she owed him big time. She let out the breath she’d been holding.

  After Tristan paid the bill, she led the delivery man to the elevator and directed him where to put the centerpieces. That done, she found a quiet corner and phoned Grant. “You are amazing,” she said when he answered. “Part of me doesn’t even want to ask how a firefighter managed to design a bunch of perfect floral centerpieces for fear that they’ll vanish, and I’ll find I’m just dreaming. I owe you so much.”

  He chuckled. “Remember that next time I forget to lower the toilet seat, would you?”

  Warmth wrapped around her like a soft, comfortable cloak. “You have a free pass on that for…forever. Thank you so much. You have no idea how you saved me. But how—”

  A loud buzz filtered through the phone. Niki held it closer to her ear. “What was that?”

  “A call-out. I’m at work. Got to run.” And he was gone.

  Could he be heading to a fire? A dangerous accident scene? What if something happened to him? She’d never considered the perils of his job before. Not only was he protecting the citizens of Miami, but he’d saved her ass while doing it.

  And soon he’d be gone from her life. She’d miss their late-night Fred and Ginger movies, and how tenderly he took care of his old cat. Most of all, she’d miss his company and his smile.

  “Niki?” Tristan shouted from the office, jarring her back to the moment.

  When she went in there, he looked her over and shrugged. “Why haven’t you changed into the bloody uniform yet?”

  She glanced at the uniform over the back of a chair. “Because I was…fielding a call from…another reporter.”

  Luckily, he accepted her excuse. “The arrangements are quite lovely. Perfect for the VIP lounge.” He motioned for her to sit at the desk across from him.

  Had he figured out that she wasn’t the one who ordered the flowers? She sat on the edge of the chair, heart thumping against her ribs. “I think so, too.”

  “Running a nightclub is all about the details. Once this place is fully operational, it’s time to turn our attention to the London location.” He tapped his finger on a photo on the desk. “My solicitor is finalizing the contract on this property in Camden, which is one of the hottest nightlife areas.”

  The two-story brick building didn’t look particularly impressive, merely old. “Great.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he smirked. “Not being familiar with London, you couldn’t understand the significance of the location, but trust me, it’s prime. What’s more, my vacation flat is within walking distance.” He steepled his fingers. “You’ll love my flat. There’s a terrace that overlooks the canal.”

  Did that mean that a promotion was in the works? That he’d let her live at his vacation place while she was there? Since he’d be in Miami, why wouldn’t he? Her breath caught. “I-I’d love to see it.”

  He stuffed the photo into a folder then opened his laptop and began punching keys. “I’ll need to meet with my solicitor next week. Guess it’s high time to book a flight. You have a passport?”

  “Yes.” Hopeful thinking had led her to get one when she was dating Brandon, the ex who’d broken up with her at Lucy’s wedding. Was Tristan taking her with him to England? She sat on her hands to keep herself from biting her fingernails and thought about all the places she wanted to go in London, all the sights she’d always dreamed of visiting—the Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey. In her head, she ticked off the outfits she’d pack, the things she’d have to get done in order to get ready for a trip to Europe.

  Tristan shut his computer and faced her. “I’ll need an assistant manager for that club, and someone to take over this one, as I explained when I hired you. You’ve impressed me, Niki.”

  “Thank you.” She bit her lip, tried to contain her excitement. Until she realized that meant saying good-bye to Grant that much sooner.

  And wait, did he just say he’d need someone to take over in Miami? So that meant he was planning to be the on-site manager at the London Heatwave, something she was sure he hadn’t mentioned before.

  Which meant that if she got the London job, she’d be working under Tristan, not someone else, as she’d hoped.

  Suddenly, London didn’t seem half as fun as she’d thought.

  Closing his eyes for a long moment, Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose. Finally, he looked at her. “You Yanks enjoy a big shindig for your July Fourth holiday, yes?”

  What? “Um, yes.” They needed to talk about London, not summer holiday plans.

  “Tell you what. That’s about three weeks off. Plan an event for Heatwave that’ll really wow me. I want the club full to capacity. If you pull it off, we’ll talk about installing you as assistant manager of the London property.” He took a nail file off his desk and filed his pinky nail as if he’d just told her it was raining outside.

  Conflicting emotions swirled in her head. Her dream of going abroad was within reach, but losing Grant—and continuing to put up with Tristan on a daily basis—was the price to be paid. “So you want me to start that after we get back from London?”

  “We?” He let out a deep laugh.

  A sucker punch landed square in her gut. Okay, so she wasn’t going with him, this time. But soon enough she would. “I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood.”

  Another laugh. “I’ll say.” He tipped his chin toward the door, dismissing her. “You’d best hurry off and change your clothes, love.”

  Afraid her voice would fail her, she nodded as she got up.

  “Oh, one more thing,” he said.

  Niki stopped. “Yeah?”

  “Would you mind looking in on Melanie? She hates it when I go away.”

  “Melanie?”

  He opened a desk drawer, fished out a key ring, then removed one of the keys and handed it her. “I’ll write down the address.”

  Why hadn’t he ever mentioned that he had a woman in his life?

  “Every other day would be fine. Just so long as you feed her.”

  Some of the tension in her shoulders eased. “Oh, Melanie is your…fish or something?”

  “Turtle.”

  Ick. She had no love for reptiles, but she’d do it because she was a team player. If she was the one member of his team to really stand out, maybe, just maybe, he’d see how much more she could do and be. Then she’d get that promotion, and the chance to live in and travel from one of the greatest cities in the world, a place where she was no one’s sister, no one’s daughter. It would be a fresh start as just Niki, exactly what she’d been dreaming of. Wasn’t it?

  Chapter Four

  It was still dark when Grant parked his truck in the garage at five thirty in the morning. After a twenty-four-hour shift with more than the usual number of calls, he was beyond ready for some shuteye.

  “Grant?”

  His elderly neighbor appeared next to his passenger door and nearly gave him a heart attack. He unsnapped his seatbelt and spoke through the open window. “Mrs. Rodriguez, is everything okay?”

  Wearing a faded housecoat and slippers, she gave him a sheepish grin. “My Alfred had an accident under the dresser again. I hate to bother you, but I can’t get down there on the floor since my knee surgery.”

  Tamping down a yawn, he climbed out of the truck and followed the eighty-year-old into her house. Alfred, her C
hihuahua, growled at Grant as he cleaned up the offending pile of dog poop.

  “Remember that baby gate I bought you?” He bent to give the octogenarian a kiss on her cheek before he left. “Maybe Alfred’s telling you to keep him out of your bedroom.”

  Mrs. Rodriguez nodded. “You might be right. We’ll see. Thank you, Grant. I’ll make you some pastelitos later.”

  His mouth watered at the thought of the delicious Cuban pastries, but more than anything, he needed sleep. He could barely keep his eyes open as he made his way across the street. When he entered his house, he took off his boots at the door so he didn’t wake Niki. With the club’s opening last night, she probably didn’t get home until late.

  “Finally.”

  Niki’s voice startled him. He found her stretched out on the sofa under a blanket, her face lit by the indigo glow of the TV.

  Pointing the remote at the screen, she muted the volume. “I’ve been waiting for you. I was worried. You haven’t been gone this long on a call since I moved in.” She threw aside the blanket and stepped closer to him, reaching up to brush his hair off his forehead. “Wow, you look like a wreck.”

  “Ah, thanks.”

  She pulled the blanket she’d been using off the couch and whipped it through the air, wrapping it around his shoulders. “Stop it. You know you’re ridiculously good-looking.” She pushed him gently toward the couch. “Sit.”

  With a sigh, he sank into the plush cushions and propped his feet on the coffee table, leaning back. He hadn’t even realized she’d left the room until she reappeared before him, a steaming washcloth in her hands.

  “Here. For your face.” She held it out to him, and he took it. She was wearing the tank top and pink cotton shorts she normally slept in. Her sleepwear was plain, but it hugged her curves in all the right places. He felt a little sorry that he didn’t have enough energy to do more than appreciate the view.

  “Thank you. That’s… really thoughtful, Niki.”

  She shrugged. “I have to live here, too. I don’t want your sweat and ash all over where I need to sit.” The wink and smile she threw him let him know she was joking.

  “So you really think I’m ridiculously good-looking?”

  Her eyes rolled so far up, he thought they might disappear into her head. “I fed the monster ego. Heaven help us all.” She reached into the fridge and got a bottle of his favorite beer, popped the top off with his bottle opener magnet that was always stuck on the fridge door, and handed it to him.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” She took the washcloth he’d finished using back from him and tossed it over to the kitchen sink.

  “Nah.” He shook his head and murmured his thanks as he accepted the bottle. “Warehouse fire. Our unit was first in. No casualties, thank God, but it was a huge building, so it took forever to put out.”

  “And, no doubt, keep the rest of the neighboring warehouses from going up in flames, too,” she added. He just stared into his beer. She was right, so he didn’t feel the need to say anything else. “You’re entirely too modest about your skills, Captain Save the World.”

  Now that comment, he could handle. He gave her his best exaggerated lecherous grin and wagged his eyebrows. “Oh, I’ve got all kinds of skills, Niki. At least, that’s what the ladies tell me.”

  He was rewarded with a bark of laughter. He really had come to love that loud-as-hell laugh of hers.

  “I swear, Grant, next time, instead of handing you that beer, I’ll pour it on your head.” Her laughter tapered off, and then her expression grew serious. “You must be exhausted. Can I make you a sandwich, or do you just want to go to bed? Do you even have the energy to get to your room?”

  He leaned his head back against the sofa cushions once more and closed his eyes. “Actually, I’d just like to not move for a while, other than the hand that’s bringing my beer to my mouth. Why don’t you tell me about the club opening?”

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

  He shook his head. “No, seriously. Tell me. I want to hear all about it.”

  “Well, all right, but stop me if you want to go to bed.” She came around the kitchen island to sit beside him. He readjusted the blanket so it was on top of him instead of around his shoulders and offered her some.

  She tucked her feet under a corner and left him the rest. “You should have seen all the celebrities—actors, musicians, politicians, you name it. Almost everyone on the VIP list actually showed up. I’ve never met any celebrities before, but tonight I spoke to at least a dozen.” She put her feet up on the coffee table. “I think the centerpieces you ordered might have saved my London promotion, and maybe even my job. I’ve been dying to ask you all night: how in the world did you get a florist to do them on such short notice? Do you double as a fairy godfather on your off hours? Bibbidy bobbidy flowers?”

  “Ha. A few months ago, we responded to a call at Beachside Flowers,” he began slowly. Truthfully, he hated talking about calls after they were over, but he did owe Niki an explanation. “The owner’s mother had suffered an ischemic stroke. We were able to get her to the hospital very quickly, which is important to lessen the long-lasting effects. The owner told my partner and me that any time we needed anything to just ask. So I called him.”

  Her smile slipped a little. “Oh, Grant, that was really sweet of you. Knowing what little I know about you, I’m guessing that it wasn’t easy to actually call in a favor like that. You’re a real life hero.”

  He grimaced involuntarily, and she nudged him with her toe. “Although I kind of love the image of you flitting around going, ‘Bibbidy bobbidy flowers.’”

  “I think Sarge would beg to differ about who’s the true hero in the house,” he said, gesturing with his chin toward the fat orange ball of fluff sitting on the arm of the couch next to Niki, staring at her adoringly. “You’re the one buying him toys and who knows what else? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you allowing him licks of your ice cream.”

  “Yeah, right. The mouse was on sale.”

  “Mm-hmm. So, come on. Tell me more about your night.”

  Swooning, she leaned her head against the back of the sofa. “It was everything that makes Miami’s night life so amazing—high energy, cutting-edge fashion, music, and mayhem.” She practically squealed with excitement as she spoke about the event.

  Grant bit the inside of his cheek to keep from falling asleep, although Niki’s contagious energy should have been enough to do the trick. He really did want to hear about her night.

  “…And the best part is that Tristan’s going to move me to London. Well, if I pull off a fabulous Fourth of July bash at Heatwave. Which I will, of course.”

  Disappointment washed over him. She was leaving. So soon? Of course she was; that had always been the plan. He tried to infuse his tone with the appropriate enthusiasm. “Yeah?”

  She nodded. “I’m sure he will. I had hoped he was going to take me with him to the London site next week, but…he’s got a lot to do, so I’ll be running things on this end.”

  He sat up. Something in her overly cheerful voice didn’t ring true. “What things?”

  Keeping her gaze downcast, she monkeyed with a loose string on the arm of the sofa. “Like taking care of his…turtle.”

  There it was. Her lower lip quivered. She laughed, but it sounded more like she wanted to burst into tears. God, that boss of hers was a piece of work.

  Grant slid closer to her, trying to ignore the pull of arousal inside him. “You’re disappointed that you’re not going to England.”

  Finally meeting his stare, she gave him a half shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

  Damn it. Why should it bother him that Niki’s asshole boss wasn’t flying her to London with him? Or maybe he was just pissed off because she was taking steps to leave, and he didn’t want her to go. “You’ll get there.”

  “I’m sure I will.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Tristan called me into the office right before the opening and had the nicest
things to say about me. He told me all about the plans for the club in London. Why would he have done that if he didn’t intend to give me the job?”

  Grant gritted his teeth. “Tell him if he hurts you or lets you down, he’d better run his sorry ass all the way across the pond before I catch him.”

  That earned him a laugh. She planted a chaste kiss on his cheek as she got up from the sofa.

  Breathing in her scent as she brushed past him, he forced himself to ignore the pull of arousal. Didn’t help matters when she bent over to pick up the remote from the coffee table giving him a glimpse of the lower outline of her butt. Did her legs have to be so damn long and shapely?

  Niki turned up the sound, and music played on the TV. “I love this number.” She shut her eyes and swayed to the song as Ginger and Fred danced the dream sequence on the screen.

  For several seconds, he merely watched her, mesmerized by her slow, graceful movements. And turned on.

  She hummed “I Used to be Color Blind.”

  Grant couldn’t help himself. Somehow, he got his second wind just looking at her. He went to her, took her in his arms, and she didn’t even flinch when he started twirling her around the room. When Fred Astaire kissed Ginger Rogers at the conclusion of the dance number, Grant stilled.

  Niki’s lips parted; her eyes were hooded.

  His heart drummed in his ribcage.

  On the television, Ginger woke up, and Niki backed away so their bodies were no longer touching, even though she was still holding on to him. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. “I know,” he said.

  They stood there for several minutes, holding each other, breathing each other’s breath, unable to let go.

  “We’re doomed, Grant,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “We want different things in life. I could never be happy on a farm, and you’d hate London—traffic, smog, subways, and probably no stars. Light pollution.”

  He closed his eyes, nodded. She was right. Damn it. Damn it.

  “And if we sleep together now, it’s just going to hurt worse later. At least for me.” She cupped his cheek, traced her fingers along his jawline. He leaned into her touch, wishing the bittersweet moment would last a little longer.