“Any particular reason? Aside from him being a pompous ass?”
“He’s not good enough for my sister. And I’m pretty sure he’ll wind up hurting her, but how do I tell her that when he’s been nothing but charming and loving to her?”
“And less than charming to you.” How the heck was he so astute? Or was she just that transparent? It was a little unnerving.
“Somewhat.”
“In what way?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.” His green eyes pinned her to the spot, and she felt unable to even blink. “And more importantly, it does to you.”
“It’s just little things really.” She didn’t want to tell him about Clayton’s creepiness. What if Mason dismissed her fears as her imagination too? Clayton was good looking and successful and engaged to Daisy’s very beautiful older sister. Why would he even look twice at dumpy little Daisy? So she settled for vagueness, not wanting to see the disbelief in his eyes if she told him the main reason for her dislike of Clayton. “I don’t believe he’ll be good to her.”
“Have you tried telling Lia how you feel?”
“Yes. Both Daff and I have. But it’s hard to put a damper on all that happiness. She seems genuinely in love with him, and whenever we say even the slightest negative thing about him it hurts her.”
Well, Mason could kind of relate to that; after all, he’d avoided telling Spencer about his bitch ex-girlfriend for similar reasons. But then again, they’d already broken up and telling Spencer would have achieved nothing, while it seemed like Dahlia McGregor was on the verge of making the biggest mistake of her life. Mason for damned sure wouldn’t have kept his mouth shut if Spencer and Tanya had stayed together.
“Okay, so the groom’s a douche bag, anything else I need to know?”
“His best man, Grier Wentworth Patterson, is an elitist snob who thinks that anybody from an even slightly lower income bracket is there only to serve his drinks and pander to his needs.”
“Charming.”
“Most of his other groomsmen are cut from the same cloth. I met some of them at Lia’s engagement party,” Daisy said and tried to keep her tone neutral as she thought back to that party. Shar had let it “slip” that the guys had drawn straws to see who would be partnered with Daisy. The toxic cow had then held a hand up to her lips in faux regret and tittered that she “hadn’t meant” to reveal the demeaning information. Of course she hadn’t.
“They’re all going to want to foster a friendship with you,” Daisy warned, and Mason grimaced.
“What the fuck for?”
“Well, look at your résumé, Mason. From war hero”—he snorted at that, but she ignored him—“to underwear model, to bodyguard for the stars, to millionaire playboy. They’ll be wetting themselves to get chummy with you.”
“What? A ghetto rat like me? How goddamn flattering.” He sounded anything but flattered, and Daisy bit her lips to keep from laughing at the sheer disgust that clouded his words.
“It’ll do wonders for their street cred.”
“Street cred? Street cred? What does that even mean?”
“These guys think they’re God’s gift, and you’ve become something of a celeb around these parts. They’re going to want to induct you into their ranks.”
“Like a cult?” he scoffed.
“Yep,” Daisy affirmed with a little grin, secretly entertained by how off-putting he seemed to find the notion. She had no idea if anything she’d just said were true, but it was fun to watch him squirm.
“You’re bullshitting me again, aren’t you?” he asked with suspiciously narrowed eyes, and she giggled.
“Of course I am. How would I know what that sneak of weasels are thinking?”
He chuckled and then trumped her. “Don’t you mean that crevice of assholes?” Her eyes widened, and she burst into laughter, immediately drawing attention to their table.
“Oh, that’s good,” she chortled, and he grinned again.
“I would have gone with forest of dicks, but forest sounds too damned impressive.”
“A d-dribble of dicks?” she suggested, still laughing, and that set him off.
“Jesus woman, that’s just wrong!” he chastised between hearty chuckles.
“But effective . . .”
He flashed her another one of those devastating smiles and proceeded to ask her about the other bridesmaids, her sisters, and her parents. He had such an easy manner about him, that she found herself opening up to him unreservedly, which was unusual for her. They laughed often, and Daisy knew that they gave the appearance—to anyone who happened to be observing—of a couple enjoying each other’s company immensely.
“So are you busy tomorrow?”
His change in subject was so abrupt that Daisy answered without thinking. “Not really.”
“Great, I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Wait. What? Seven? In the morning?”
“Yeah. Dress warmly and comfortably.” His words barely registered because she couldn’t quite get past the time.
“The sun isn’t even up at seven yet.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be asleep.”
“No, you won’t, you’ll be awake, because I’ll be picking you up at that time.”
“Why? What could you possibly want to do that requires getting up at the butt crack of dawn on my one and only day off?”
“You’ll see,” he said mysteriously, and her eyes narrowed.
“I won’t be able to see much of anything with my eyes closed,” she groused.
“Drink lots of coffee; you’ll be fine.” She eyed him speculatively for a moment, wondering what he was up to. She knew that this was just another part of the pretense and knew she had to play along, but that cravenly part of her was once again pleading with her to back out. She tamped it down firmly. There would be no backing out from here on out.