The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

“I need you to leave.”

“Daisy, me leaving would be the wrong move,” he said, his hands tightening on her elbow. “It would just confirm whatever the hell people are thinking. I should stay, make them doubt whatever it is they heard. We should keep up a united front.”

“Why are you doing this?” Her voice was as fractured as her heart, and she clamped her trembling lips together in an effort to regain a modicum of dignity and control before she spoke again.

“I’m doing this because I care about you,” he confessed hoarsely. “Because I don’t want you to go through this alone. Because I want to show them that nothing about what we have is fake.”

“It’s all fake!” At the end of her tether, her voice rose sharply until she was practically screaming. The volume shocked both of them, and she inhaled deeply before speaking again. “I want you out of my life, Mason. This little sideshow is over.”

“Daisy.”

“Permanently out of my life, do you understand?”

“No!” he yelled back. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Did you tell Shar about us?” She didn’t know why she even bothered asking. She could no longer deny the truth. Mason was a good guy. She didn’t know how Shar had learned the truth, but it wasn’t Mason who had told her. All Daisy knew was that the question would drive a wedge between them, and she desperately needed to put some distance between them. She needed him to leave because it was time for Daisy McGregor to get back to the real world. The words dropped between them like lead, and Mason took a horrified step back from her.

“What?” His voice was soft and lethal, and she couldn’t read his expression at all, but something in his eyes sent a shudder of sorrow down her spine. She swallowed and calmly repeated the vile question.

“Did you tell Shar about us? She knows every detail, and I certainly didn’t tell her.”

“Shar?” The woman’s name sounded harsh on his lips, and Daisy winced when she heard it. “You think I told fucking Shar about our arrangement?”

He dropped her elbow and stepped away from her, and Daisy felt the loss of his body heat keenly, even while she despised herself for her neediness.

“How the fuck can you think that? How can you think that I would hurt you . . . you of all people, like that?” His voice hitched, and he swore softly before turning away from her and striding to the closet to grab his duffel and his garment bags. Daisy stood frozen and watched as he efficiently repacked the duffel bag within mere minutes, every movement of his beautiful body looking stiff and furious. When he was done he strode to the door, turning to face her only after he had opened the door.

“You need to grow up, Daisy. You’re still way too hung up on shit that happened when you were in high school. You’ve allowed petty teenage crap to cloud your vision of yourself and affect the way you live your life. Call me once you’ve grown up.” He paused before shaking his head irritably. “On second thought, don’t call me. I’ll have moved on from this situation by then.”

Daisy didn’t have a response to that. She felt immeasurable loss at the thought of never seeing him again.

“And you may want to find out who the hell really told Shar about our agreement,” he advised, his tone harsh. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t me.” He slammed the door behind him, and Daisy released the shuddering breath she’d been holding and sank down onto the bed as her legs gave way. She curled up into a ball, feeling wounded and broken as she tried to keep the tears at bay. She hugged a pillow to her chest; it smelled like him, and her throat ached as she continued to fight her tears.

The door opened, and for a wild moment she thought it was Mason returning, but it was Daff, the spare key card in her hand.

“Mason stopped by my room on his way out,” she said softly. “He gave me this and told me you needed me.”

Oh God. There was no holding back the tears after that, and—thanks to Mason—Daff was there to hold her and comfort her.

“Mason? What are you doing back so soon? Isn’t the wedding tomorrow?” Spencer stepped aside, and Mason stormed past him furiously, pausing only to greet his ecstatic dog.

“Lia called it off,” Mason told his brother, and after another affectionate hug for Cooper, he made his way to the kitchen and straight to the fridge. “Is this all the beer you have?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re going to need more.”

“There are a dozen beers in there,” Spencer protested, and Mason glared at him, before taking both six-packs out of the fridge and carrying them into living room. After placing the beers on the coffee table, he sat on the nearest lounge chair and then shook his head.