The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

“They won’t if we just showed up together without warning, but if we appear to be dating for a couple of weeks beforehand, it would seem more plausible.”

“I don’t want it to seem plausible,” she protested irrationally. “I just want a date for the wedding.”

“Look, I feel shit about tonight, and this is the least I can do. But if I’m going to do it, I’ll for damned sure be doing it right. We’re having dinner at MJ’s tomorrow night.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” she said vehemently.

“I say it is. It won’t be of any benefit to you if I’m seen as some bastard who just carries on a one- or two-night stand with a woman and then dumps her immediately afterward.”

“I could be the one doing the dumping,” she pointed out, and he stared at her levelly for a long while, remaining insultingly silent in response to her statement. Okay, so nobody would believe Daisy had done the dumping after just one weekend together. Maybe his idea had merit. Appear to be dating for a bit—no matter how unlikely it seemed—and that way their inevitable “breakup” would appear a little less humiliating for her.

Mason didn’t know why he was pushing this. He should consider himself lucky that all she wanted from him was one weekend. But, despite all her protestations to the contrary, he knew that she had been hurt by the evening’s revelations. He figured this would help her salvage some pride and ease his conscience a bit in the process.

She mulled over his words for a long moment, before nodding to herself as she obviously made up her mind about something.

“Okay. MJ’s. Tomorrow night.”

“Great,” he said, flashing her a smile, before getting out of the car and rounding it to help her out of the passenger side. He walked her to the front door, and a dog started frenziedly barking on the other side of it.

“Thanks, Mason,” she said while she fumbled for her keys. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Right.”

They stood there awkwardly for a moment before Daisy turned away and unlocked the door.

“So . . . bye,” she said, but he didn’t respond, he just kept staring at her. He was freaking her out a little. Why was he just standing there? She cleared her throat, stepped into her house, and, with a quick apologetic smile, shut the door in his face.

“Hello, Peaches,” she greeted her excited toy Pomeranian. “Did you miss me?”

She bent to pat the affectionate white furball before straightening to peek out of the peephole, wondering if Mason had left yet. He was slowly making his way back toward his car, and she ignored her dog’s faint whines for attention as she watched him throw another lingering glance back at the front door before getting into his car.

Daisy heaved a sigh of relief and turned around to slump against the door. She listened to his car engine start up and then grow fainter as he drove away.

What a weird evening. She slid down the door and sank onto the floor, finally giving Peaches the welcome she deserved. The dog was in raptures as she wriggled into Daisy’s lap and laved her face enthusiastically.

“Ugh, enough, Peaches,” Daisy finally decreed after the dog’s tongue managed to squirm up one of her nostrils. She shuddered and set Peaches down before levering herself up from the wooden floor.

She shrugged out of her heavy coat and casually tossed it over the coatrack along with her shoulder bag.

“I’m not sure I made the right decision tonight, girl,” she informed Peaches conversationally as she moved through the tiny living room to the open-plan kitchen. Peaches trotted faithfully along behind her. “I mean, I’m not exactly sober, am I? It’s never wise to make big decisions when you’ve had one too many.”

She glanced over at Peaches; the little dog had jumped onto the sofa and was staring at Daisy with a tilted head, looking for all the world like she understood every word. Daisy sighed. She needed a few more dogs, a couple of cats, and possibly a hamster or two before she could be considered a true spinster, but having full-on conversations with her dog certainly was a step in that direction.

Still, it beat talking to herself. Which was exactly what she had found herself doing after moving into her own house and before getting Peaches. She preferred talking to the dog; it just seemed less . . . sad.

Her thoughts turned back to the situation with Mason Carlisle. Propositioning him the way she had tonight was so far from her usual behavior that she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that she’d done it. And that he’d agreed to it.

There was no way they were going to be able to maintain the dating façade. Nobody would believe it for a second. She would contact him in the morning and call the whole thing off. And she was confident that once he had time to think about it, he’d be relieved to get out of the obligation.