I had almost made it to the kitchen when Daisy caught up with me. Her hand on my elbow, the insistent way she tugged me around, the unhappiness on her face? Should have meant solidarity or a show of sisterhood. Instead, she glared at me like this was all my fault.
“They’re Emile’s friends,” she said, like that made everything all right or something. Trust me, he was going to hear about his choices the next time I saw him. “The Hawthornes are from New York, and I hope you have the courtesy to be polite to them.”
Um, what? “Just as soon as they return that courtesy,” I snapped at her.
Daisy, now visibly flustered, her honey blonde hair in those perfect curls of hers, gray eyes sparking with irritability that just wasn’t my best friend at all, tightened her grip on my arm. Good thing my heavy coat was between her grasp and my skin because she wasn’t holding back.
“You know how much Emile means to me,” she hissed in my face, my Daisy disappeared into this strange, new creature who didn’t seem to resemble at all the woman I adored and cared about. Who had, just two days ago, tucked me in and giggled with me over a silly meme we found online. Had the arrival of these two obvious trust fund kids somehow altered her personality that quickly? “Don’t screw this up for me, Fee.”
What did me being polite to his friends have to do with Emile? “If you know anything,” I said, keeping my voice low even as I jerked my arm out of her grip and leaned in, “it’s that I love you and I only want what makes you happy.” Hello, Daisy’s guilty conscience. I see you lurking there behind those narrowed eyes. “And if Emile calls those two friends? I’ve clearly misjudged him and so have you.”
Day stepped back, glaring now at the floor, entire body tense with pent-up something, perfect bow lips pulled into a tight, unhappy line while the wafting scent of whatever Mom was baking—it had vanilla in it, from the yummy smell—lingered in the air around us as though attempting to soften the zinging conflict I now felt.
I had already gone through too much time with Daisy and her lack of confidence thanks to Rose Norton. I would not tolerate her being twisted up inside by a brother and sister duo whose association with him meant Emile needed his head examined.
She didn’t comment, finally turning and leaving me there, the sound of the front door opening drawing her away. I caught sight of her fiancé entering the foyer, almost marched out there and gave him a piece of my now intensely irritated mind, holding frozen instead while he greeted the Hawthornes who fawned over him, Scarlett hanging from his arm, Sloane’s sly smile on Daisy who stood off to one side, face cold and masked.
While I debated interfering, knowing I would likely only make things worse (I was well aware of my bull in a china shop tendencies, thank you, no need to remind me), the sound of laughter from the kitchen decided me. Look, I know what you’re thinking of me as I turned instead and pushed through the door and into Mom’s domain, choosing the happy sounds of my parents over the dismal despair and simmering nastiness in the foyer. But Daisy chose Emile, loved him, and if she was going to let someone like Scarlett Hawthorne get in between her and the man who adored her so much he was willing to put up with Reading to have her?
Sorry, not my problem. It was time Daisy learned to stand on her own two feet and for me to finally—finally!—mind my own business for once.
Didn’t mean I was struggle-free while I passed into the kitchen and forced a smile for Mom, hugging her while Petunia danced around her feet, a bit too portly to manage jumping up, eyes bugging out when my mother smiled down at her and offered her a pat, then a small morsel of something from her pristine apron.
Petunia gulped whatever it was, licked her lips and waited for more in the endless dance that was her bottomless pug stomach’s need for gratification.
Mom was used to her, though, ignored her for the moment, returning to the peninsula in the middle of the room, the stainless-steel surface covered in cupcakes while my father, perched on a stool at the far end, carefully iced a small confection from the tiny piping tip of a bag full of pink frosting held delicately in his big hands.
“Hey, kid,” he said with a grin. “You’re just in time to help.”
I set aside my coat, slipping Petunia’s harness off her before going to the big industrial fridge for her snack of strawberries and banana. “You know I suck at decorating,” I said. “Looks like Mom has you well trained.” I’d never seen him assist her before though, from the way he wielded the icing, he’d performed this task more than a few times in the past.
Ah, the unplumbed depths of John Fleming. Ex-sheriff, private eye, man’s man. Icing aficionado.
“Did Daisy get back?” Mom wiped her hands on a towel before returning to stirring the big bowl full of pale blue icing in front of her. There were enough cupcakes cooling, lining the counters and the full peninsula, I knew she had to be working on a catering order for someone. Likely a baby’s gender reveal, though if the pink and blue was any indication, the lucky couple was having twins.
Made me think about me and Crew and that big house we were building and his thoughts about how many children it would take to fill it.
“You could say that,” I said, knowing I sounded grumbly but unable to help myself. Mom drew a breath to comment, her forehead creasing in that way of hers that usually preceded her subtly delivered disapproval of something, so I knew she’d met the Hawthornes. Thing was the ding of the front desk bell interrupted, and instead, she tilted her head at the exit before turning her attention back to me.
She didn’t even have to ask. “I’ll be right back,” I said, returning to the foyer to find that not only had Daisy just up and left with her new so-called friends and that fiancé of hers who needed a good talking to, but she’d done so while a guest waited at the sideboard, waiting to be checked in.
Um, not a serving girl, you know. Growl.
The woman with the short, black hair, shining in the light with the thick ribbon of green hanging longer on one side, her asymmetrical cut bisected by that brilliant shade accenting her dramatic color, didn’t seem overly impatient, but she wasn’t what I’d considered friendly, either, rather cool to me as I greeted her.
Mind you, knowing my mood I wasn’t helping matters.
“Jade Saito,” she said, gorgeous Asian features unreadable, her black eyes blinking slowly at me. While I wasn’t a giant or anything, she felt tiny in front of me, barely five feet to my five-seven, almost swallowed in the big, fake fur coat she wore, tall, shining leather boots to her knees and what looked like scales tattooed on the fingers she extended toward me, credit card ready. Made me wonder what the rest of her ink looked like while I checked her in and handed over her key.
“I hope you enjoy your stay, Ms. Saito.” There, I could be pleasant.
She barely acknowledged my words, again not precisely impolite, really, but focused, intense, even distracted. I caught a whiff of some spicy something from her as she turned away, the young staffer appearing as if by magic—she couldn’t have checked in the guest? Sheesh—to assist with luggage.
I know it wasn’t the poor girl or the indifferent woman with the cool manner that had my back up. I wasn’t that unaware of my present state of mind. I did note, as Jade reached the bottom of the stairs and Eldon descended, the pair grinned at each other like old friends. Though I half expected them to embrace, they instead kept distance between them despite their smiles, Jade’s tight and delighted, Eldon bowing to her.
They didn’t stop to talk, the elegant older man continuing down the stairs and out the front door while Jade continued to her room. Clearly, she was part of the tournament as well and it was obvious to me Jameson’s idea to steer clear of the lodge and the tension that had to surround the event location wasn’t original.
Jade’s next encounter, however, happened just within sight and earshot as a second visitor almost collided with her on the way down. Wasn’t lost on me where the young woman’s first meeting had been a happy one, the sight of Gabriella Kale wasn’t so much to the poker player’s liking. She did smile, though, this time with an edge, pausing to look the older woman up and down before smirking.
“Mom,” she said, before moving on while Gabriella spluttered and stared before rushing down the stairs so fast I feared she’d slip and fall, barreling right for me with a furious expression that meant nothing good.
“My son has a restraining order against that, that…” she could barely spit out the word she was looking for but finally did, “woman, and I demand you evict her. At once.”
Um, yeah, lady. “I’m sorry, Ms. Kale,” I said. “That’s a police matter and not the responsibility of The Iris. If you have an issue with one of our guests, it’s up to you to deal with it. Your room will still be charged if you choose to vacate.” That was fun. Mean and a bit vindictive, but it made me feel better.
Not a nice person today, apparently.
Gabriella didn’t seem to get it. “I demand you call the police immediately,” she said, wide-eyed like she didn’t hear a word I said.
“And I already informed you that’s at your discretion.” Mom did not need this kind of drama and if Emile’s hiring of me was tied to this little crap show? I understood why he’d asked me to be his eyes and ears. “If you’re going to be a problem, Ms. Kale, or make trouble for other guests at The Iris, I will, in fact, involve the local sheriff’s department.” Empty threat since my dear and darling (gag) cousin, Sheriff (choke) Robert Carlisle wouldn’t come if I called even if I was on fire and he could watch me burn in person.
Daisy’s return, appearing from the living room with a tense expression on her face, did little to soften my attitude, and only increased my own need to assert my aggression while she placed herself between me and the fuming Gabriella Kale.
“I’m certain everything will work out just fine, ma’am,” she said, though the bright and sparkly that was my Daisy was gone, replaced by a rather dull and lifeless version of herself only faking the charm and charisma that typically won over every single soul she met.
Instead of responding, the older woman spun and marched back upstairs, leaving me with my best friend who spun on me the moment Gabriella was out of sight.
“Thanks for the help,” she snapped.
“You’re welcome,” I snarled back.
“You can go now.” She crossed her arms over her chest, jaw set, eyes angry.
While I choked on the hurt those words delivered. “Well, excuse me very much for doing your job.”
Daisy didn’t respond, abandoning the foyer once again, closing the sliding doors to the living room firmly behind her, the sound of Sloane Hawthorne’s braying laughter cut off by the heavy wooden portals.
Shutting me out.
We’d just see about that.
***