A sex addict as the face of a baby company.
I can see why this may be a little problematic, but I have to put my best foot forward.
“She’s going to do great,” Daisy says with a bright smile. She slings her arm around my shoulders.
Daniel’s eyes finally migrate to her, and they intensify in a different way. My sisterly guards rise about a hundred feet. No. No. No.
“You’re charming,” he says like he’s filing the note in the “positives” category. Jonathan said the men thought as much about Daisy.
The ends of her blonde hair are dyed a muted orange, like the sunset, and she styled her locks so they cover the scar on her cheek. “You’re upfront,” she tells him.
“Honey,” he says, “all fourteen of us aren’t going to beat around any bush. Jonathan likes it that way.” His gaze descends down her long, long legs. “If you were ten years older, you’d be perfect.”
“Story of my life,” Daisy mutters under her breath.
I wish I was taller. Even though I stand between them, they can easily have a conversation over my head. She’s wearing high heels. He’s past six-feet. And I’m only five-five and a little bit extra. Ryke would not appreciate Daniel’s lingering gaze, and now my friend instincts take over.
I cough into my hand, disrupting his staring.
“Yes?” he asks me.
“I’d like it if you stopped ogling my sister.”
“She and you better get used to it,” Daniel says. “You’re both going to be ‘ogled’ from here on out.” He even uses air quotes, and his eyes drift to my belly. “And don’t be surprised if some of the women fawn over you. You’re not only our target audience, but you’re carrying Jonathan’s grandson. They’re all excited.”
I flinch in shock that these women would be excited to meet me. “That’s a strong adjective,” I say softly.
“It’s a correct one,” he tells me. “Most everyone loves Jonathan, and if we could repair his image, we all would. But it’s too late for that.”
The elevator suddenly pings. We’re here. The seventy-fifth floor.
When the doors slide open, we see four women, the rest men, holding champagne flutes, servers wandering around. They all turn and stare right at us. Their expressions are severe, no-nonsense, poised and confident. They size us up immediately.
Daniel watches our stunned reactions and says, “Welcome to Hale Co.”
*
Lunch begins, and I almost instantaneously lose my sister in this meet-and-greet. The high tables are lined with small sandwiches and tapas. I pinch the stem of a wine glass, filled with chilled water, and linger by a table in the corner, away from the limelight.
It’s safe here. I chew slowly, using food as an excuse not to talk too much. I just nod a lot. All four women have flocked me, and they ask me about baby things, which Hale Co. product I like the best. Easy stuff, but I suspect they’re mentally jotting notes about my “personable” skills.
“I like the rocking chairs,” I say between bites of cucumber sandwich. The women stare at me like a mouse has spoken. I take a large gulp of water. I secretly want to raise my hand and say, introvert in the building! But that’s not going to help me.
They want someone like Daisy.
The men seriously love her. She already learned the art of schmoozing from her modeling career. Seven middle-aged men surround my little sister across the spacious conference room, floor-length windows overlooking Philadelphia.
“If we have a press conference, how would you handle personal questions?” the oldest woman asks me, redirecting my attention. She wears a conservative blue dress, has short blonde hair and an intimidating scowl. Irene, she said her name was.
“I’d answer them to the best of my ability,” I say, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear.
“Don’t do that,” Rachel tells me, a five-foot brunette woman. “The press will think you’re uncomfortable.”
I am uncomfortable.
“She is uncomfortable,” Irene points out.
Shit. “It’s just pregnancy stuff. I’m not one-hundred percent.” I almost want to touch my belly and thank Maximoff for the escape.
Irene doesn’t buy it. “So if I asked you how Loren is, what would you tell me?”
“He’s great,” I say, my cheeks heating.
“Do you always turn this red?” Rachel asks.
I nod, eating slowly. After a swallow, everyone still looks at me for an answer. “It’s uh, a thing.” Oh my God. I need someone to bail me out of this. I search the room, and I stop myself, realizing I’m looking for Lo.