Page 43 of Miss Fortune

I had only taken a couple of bites, but the flavors were incredible. “It’s delicious, but I’d argue a flip-flop with enough of this stuff on it would be good. Iowa sweet corn is delicious without needing all the toppings.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

I tried not to envision his plans tonight or of the fact he probably had a date. We’d become friends, and it was for the best. Why would I get attached to someone who clearly didn’t want a future together?

When he pulled up in front of my apartment building four hours later, after the Dodgers had won, I took my borrowed hat off to hand it to him. “Thanks again for today. I had fun.”

“I bought the hat for you, so you’ll always have a souvenir.”

Dammit, there went my heart. Even if it didn’t make any sense, I was falling a little more for him each time we were together like this.

“Do you want to do something tomorrow?” he suddenly asked.

Huh. This was a break in our usual routine, to do something together on a Sunday. I tried to be nonchalant despite the way my pulse raced. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure.” Suddenly, he sighed. “I don’t normally make plans on Sundays because I have so much to do to get ready for the week.”

So now he was retracting the offer? I couldn’t go through his mood swings one moment longer. The alternating hot and cold were wreaking havoc on my hopes. “I understand. Have a good night. See you Monday at the office.”

I was out of the car and shutting the door on his response.

Only then did it occur to me, for the first time since we’d started our Saturday adventures, we hadn’t made our plans for the next one.

Chapter Nineteen

Caleb

Shit. I’d bungled things badly. Daisy got out of my car and walked toward her apartment building without a backward glance, giving me no opportunity to respond.

I regretted the hurt I’d seen in her eyes earlier when she’d asked me to her friend’s party, but I did in fact have another obligation. An obligation which included a date who wasn’t her. Sure, I’d entertained the idea of inviting Daisy as my plus-one to my client’s party, but I’d ended up reasoning it would send the wrong message. Now I had to remind myself I had nothing to feel guilty about. We were only friends.

Unfortunately, it was becoming increasingly difficult to look at her as merely a friend. How could I when I spent an inordinate amount of time fantasizing about her? And the physical wasn’t the only problem. I’d assumed the more I got to know her, the more our differences would come clear. But instead, the more we spent time together, the more we appeared to be connecting.

But despite our connection, Daisy exemplified everything I didn’t. She went out of her way to say hello to strangers, she helped people, she could brighten any room. I avoided people, I did my good deeds only to fill a void inside me, and I definitely did not brighten any room. I hardly wanted to be around people, let alone partake in conversation which wasn’t absolutely necessary. She deserved better.

I’d suggested doing something together with her tomorrow because I’d felt bad about having plans tonight. But then, like an idiot, I’d panicked as to how a Sunday excursion with her would upset my carefully constructed routine. Shit, we hadn’t discussed what we’d be doing next Saturday like we typically would.

I’d figure out a way to apologize tomorrow. For now, I needed to get home, showered and changed for my client’s party.

My date for the night, Ava, was a public relations director I’d met through a colleague a few weeks ago. She was career-driven, and beautiful. Yet I didn’t find myself attracted to her. I dubbed it the “Daisy effect.” Every woman I met paled in comparison.

After picking Ava up at her place, I took her to dinner, a painful affair since she was on her phone for half of it while I struggled for conversation during the other half. Finally, we drove into Hollywood. While she continued to chat on about her job, I gave up trying to pay attention.

The nightclub in Hollywood was already busy when we walked in. Ava placed a complicated drink order at the bar, while I glanced at my watch. Hopefully we could have a drink, say hello to my client, and I could drop her off early.

“What can I get for you, sir?” the bartender queried, shouting above the loud music. This club wasn’t my scene, but supporting my clients was important. Especially clients as powerful and influential as Chance Maxwell.

“I’ll have a beer. An IPA if you have one on draft.”

“Certainly.”

“God, must be nice not to have to watch your carbs,” Ava whined.

My lips twitched as I thought about Daisy’s unapologetic love affair with carbs.

Perhaps I’d call her tomorrow morning. I hadn’t liked the way we’d left things, and I needed to ensure we made plans for next Saturday. I didn’t know how I’d get through my week if I didn’t have our day to look forward to.

Ava and I took our drinks and climbed the steps up to the newly remodeled VIP floor. Even when I’d been in my twenties and my friends had been hitting clubs, I’d avoided the scene. Too much social pressure. My ex, however, had enjoyed dancing and drinks. It had been one more reason we hadn’t been compatible enough to make it work.