The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

“Yes, but you’re not going to work now, are you?” Daff piped up, and Daisy glared at her. As far as she was concerned, her oldest sister had committed the ultimate sin in calling their mother, and Daff knew it too. She returned Daisy’s glare with an unrepentant grin, and Daisy—refusing to be charmed—focused her attention on Lia, who at least looked sympathetic.

“So tell me more about this young man of yours,” Millicent McGregor said as she continued to brush Daisy’s hair with long, hypnotic strokes.

“Oh, for God’s sake. He’s not my young man,” Daisy muttered. Her mother tugged one of her curls sharply, and Daisy sucked in a pained breath.

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” the older woman reprimanded.

“Sorry.” The word was surly, and Daisy sighed inwardly, disgusted that she always allowed her mother and sisters to drag the latent teenage drama queen out of her.

“So what’s he like?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only had one conversation with him. But he wanted to . . . to discuss his dog with me.” The lie tumbled over her lips without thought, and her mother’s brushing stopped for a millisecond before she continued on.

“But he can do that during office hours,” Lia pointed out.

“I got caught in the rain this afternoon, and he gave me a ride home. We were talking about his dog, and he suggested we continue the conversation over dinner.” Oh God, where were all these crazy half-truths coming from? Daisy wasn’t exactly a master of subterfuge, which made her plan with Mason even more insane. She would never be able to keep up the pretense.

“So you see, it’s more like a business dinner or something. No need to get all dolled up.”

“Daffodil, hand over your hair clip,” her mother commanded, ignoring Daisy’s words, and Daff reached up and tugged a pretty, ultra-feminine floral crocodile clip from her hair. Her sleek hair, which had been held out of her face by the clip, slid forward like a silk curtain, and Daisy sighed in envy. Her sisters both had perfect hair. Naturally.

“There,” her mother announced happily as she stepped back. “Lovely.”

Daisy glanced at her reflection in the mirror, and her jaw dropped. How did her mother always do that? It hardly seemed fair that no matter what Daisy tried, she couldn’t work the same magic on her own hair. It looked like such a simple fix too: her mother had dragged back the hair that usually just hung on either side of her face and pinned it back, while at the same time twisting it into an exotic, slightly off-center loose knot. The rest of her hair feathered down in soft, dreamy little curls that made her round face look a little less plain.

“Now we can see your pretty face,” her mother said fondly, her expression softening as she gently stroked one of Daisy’s cheeks before stepping back.

“Next we need to do something about this top,” she said, immediately back to business. She took a step back and perused Daisy from head to toe before gasping in horror. “Oh, good grief, Daisy! Are you wearing one of your father’s shirts?”

“Men’s shirts are all the rage now,” Daisy said, pretending indifference, when really she was mortified. She had grabbed the first thing she could find, and she now saw that it was one of her dad’s shirts. She often borrowed his shirts if she went to her parents’ place for dinner after work. God knows she couldn’t fit into her mother or sisters’ clothes.

“It’s an old flannel shirt,” her mother said. “And it would probably have been repurposed into a dust rag by now if you hadn’t taken it.”

Daff was riffling through her wardrobe and making disgusted sounds as she went through Daisy’s clothes.

“These are all awful,” she said, and Lia and their mother both went over to have a look.

Humiliated and getting more than a little pissed off, Daisy had finally had enough.

“I know you all have good intentions, but I’d like you to leave now,” she said sternly, but they ignored her and just continued to mutter among themselves as they went through her personal things.

“Hey, enough!” Daisy’s eyes widened in surprise when she heard the unfamiliar voice bellow in fury. Wow, was that really her? She sounded awesome. No-nonsense and a little scary in a cool take-charge kind of way. It definitely got everyone’s attention, and their heads—even Peaches’s—all swiveled toward her in unison.

“Please leave. I’m sorry that I’m not pretty enough or skinny enough or well-dressed enough to pass your exacting standards. I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you all.” She sucked in a deep breath and softened her voice but was unable to keep the wobble out of it. “Look, I love you guys, and I know you mean well, but I’d appreciate it if you were all gone by the time Mason gets here.”