Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Then I feel another presence emerge, closer than usual.
Elias.
He clocks the napkin and then looks up at me with a grin that’s entirely too knowing as he approaches. “Wow,” he says, sliding onto the stool beside me. “Daisy leaves you alone for five minutes and you’re already snagging numbers from women.”
I take another sip of whiskey, ignoring the dig. He sees it crumpled up, already an afterthought in my eyes. “You’re late.”
He smiles. “You’re early.”
The bartender appears. I order another whiskey and Elias orders a gin martini. I glance at my phone again because still no Daisy and this is my version of hell to have to sit here awkwardly with this dude until she arrives.
Elias leans back, relaxed. He sips at his martini, comfortable in the silence between us, which irritates me. On the surface, we look like we could be friends or at least friendly acquaintances. Two men sitting shoulder to shoulder, glasses in hand, exchanging easy small talk that looks functional from the outside.
Underneath that? There’s friction—taut and unsettled.
“So,” Elias says lightly, lifting his glass. “How’s the season treating you?”
“Good,” I reply, checking my watch again. “Busy.”
“Busy is good,” he says. “Busy means purpose.”
I make a sound, sort of a humming thing that’s noncommittal and take another sip. My eyes drift, uninvited, to his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He’s put together in that infuriatingly effortless way—tailored coat, clean lines, the aura that doesn’t need to announce itself because it’s never been questioned.
And even in spite of this, I can’t help wondering—what the hell does Daisy see in him?
Not romantically. I know that much. But still. I picture them in college together, him talking circles around rooms, her listening, wide-eyed and curious, already too good for half the people around her. I try to imagine him seeing her the way I do and something in my chest becomes defensive and unwelcome.
Elias, for his part, doesn’t seem remotely intimidated by me. Usually, people are either by my size or reputation. But not this guy, not even by the fact that I could break him in half without spilling my drink. He talks to me like an equal, as though we’re operating on the same plane, and I don’t know whether to respect that or resent it.
I glance at my phone. Still nothing. No text. No update or any sign of Daisy.
Elias smiles. “Oh,” he drawls. “I forgot to tell you.”
I angle toward him. “What?”
He exhales a short laugh. “Daisy’s not coming.”
The words hit me like a ton of bricks. “What do you mean she’s not coming?”
“I mean,” he says, taking another sip of his martini, “this is a setup.” Then he mutters, almost to himself, “Daisy can be calculating that way.”
I stare at him. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking,” he replies. “This is Daisy at her finest… Classic Daisy.”
That only makes it worse. “Classic how?”
Elias grins to himself, clearly amused. “She did this once sophomore year. Told me she needed backup for a dinner with this person we were friends with. Swore she’d show. Texted me the restaurant, the time, the whole thing.” He pauses. “Never showed up. Turns out she just wanted us to talk.”
I let that sink in. “She planned this,” I say flatly.
“Meticulously,” Elias confirms. “And she absolutely knew neither of us would bail.”
I look back down at my phone. I should be annoyed. Maybe I am. But under that irritation is a reluctant, almost begrudging understanding. This is Daisy.
Strategic. Thoughtful. Always three steps ahead, plotting moves before the rest of us know we’re playing by her rules.
The space between Elias and me grows more awkward, the genial surface finally cracking now that the buffer—her—has been removed. We sit there for a beat too long, two men who were never meant to be alone together, both aware of the fact that we’ve been maneuvered into this moment.
Finally, Elias breaks the silence. “For what it’s worth,” he says, turning toward me fully now, the humor fading from his expression, “I get why she likes you.”
I glance at him, wary. “You don’t know me.”
“No,” he agrees. “But I know her.”
I readjust, intrigued.
“She’s not easy,” he continues. “In any facet. Not too easy to impress or to keep. She doesn’t give her heart to people who don’t see past the surface.” He studies me for a second, thoughtful. “You make her happy.”
The words break some of the tension. “Nice of you to say.”
“I noticed it weeks ago,” he adds. “Before she admitted anything. She smiles differently when your name comes up. She’s more at ease, at peace. Less… braced.”
I don’t say anything. My grip tightens on my glass.
“All I’ve ever wanted for Daisy,” Elias says quietly, “is someone who actually appreciates her. Who challenges without diminishing her. Someone who lets her be exactly who she is.”
He pauses, then meets my eyes directly. “I think that might be you.”