For some reason he looked to the floor, beyond me, then again to me.
“You’re here.” Now his voice wasn’t quiet, it was soft with inquiry and concern.
Here.
Where, out back, I’d been raped just over a week ago.
God, I needed to get away from this man.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I’m here.”
“Should you be?”
“Chardonnay had a wardrobe question,” I explained.
And again his expression changed. This time it didn’t hide he thought I had a screw loose.
“I’m sorry?”
“Chardonnay. She had a wardrobe question,” I repeated. “And her roommates are bitches. Totally judgey about the stripper thing so she couldn’t model at her place because she has to show me her moves in her new getup and they’re there. She couldn’t come to mine. So we’re here.”
“Why couldn’t she come to yours?”
I couldn’t tell him that. I couldn’t tell him it was because the place was filled with daisies and I didn’t want to answer the questions that might bring. I didn’t want to tell Chardonnay or anyone not only where those daisies were coming from but that, in my worst moments, their bright, happy beauty was the only thing that was seeing me through.
So I didn’t say anything.
“Does she know what happened to you?” he asked gently.
I nodded.
His mouth grew hard, and probably because of that, his words were terse. “She should be more sensitive.”
“I’m okay, Mr.—”
“Marcus,” he clipped.
“Right. Marcus. Sorry,” I muttered.
“Smithie isn’t here,” he informed me.
He’d already shared this intel so I didn’t know why he was repeating this to me.
“Okay,” I replied.
“This means you’re not here for any reason unless Smithie or Lenny are here, and if you need to be here and neither of them is available to be with you at all times, you call me. I’ll put a man on you.”
At all times?
He’d put a man on me?
I stared at him.
He reached into the pocket inside his suit jacket, took out a silver card case, flipped it open, and extracted a card. He flipped it shut, returned it, and walked to me, stopping not close (thankfully).
He held the card up between us, offering it to me with two fingers extended.
Lord, this man was fine. Even offering a business card!
“I don’t…I don’t…” I swallowed, ignoring the card, “need a man on me.”
His eyes turned hard too, and at their glinting fury, I finally started to be scared of him.
I fought taking a step back.
“They haven’t found him,” he whispered.
“I know that,” I whispered back.
And that made me shiver.
I wasn’t thinking about that. The fact the guy who violated me got away.
Smithie said he was taking care of it. Detective Jimmy Marker, who talked to me at the hospital when the staff called the cops after the ambulance took me there, said he’d do everything in his power to find him.
I was thinking only about that.
“You need to be safe. So you’re going to be safe,” he decreed, lifting the card up higher between us.
“You need to stop sendin’ me flowers,” I didn’t exactly decree because my voice was kind of shaky, but I hoped he’d get my message.
“I will, if you go to lunch with me tomorrow.”
“You need to stop asking me to lunch.”
“Fine. Then go with me to dinner tomorrow.”
“Mr. Sloan—”
He leaned into me, his face close, I could smell his expensive cologne, and I snapped my mouth shut.
“Marcus,” he whispered.
“Okay,” I breathed.
“Dinner tomorrow.”
“No.”
He ignored me.
“I’ll pick you up at seven. You won’t be on show. But you will be safe from anything you perceive might make you unsafe, including me. I simply want your company at dinner. That’s all, Daisy.”
“Please, stop doing this.”
His brows went up. “Why?”
“You have to ask?”
“Daisy,” he said gently, reaching to me, grabbing my hand and pressing the card in my palm. Closing my fingers around it, he continued to hold me lightly and I didn’t pull away because I didn’t want to share what that would expose either. “You were harmed. You were hurt. But what happened to you didn’t make you stop being who you are or make it so you shouldn’t live your life and enjoy doing it.”
“I’m not talking about that.”
“All right, so explain to me what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t feel like it.”
He nodded once. “Fine, so explain it to me over dinner tomorrow night.”
“Marcus—”
“I’m not going to give up.”
This was beginning to make me mad so I shared crankily, “Well, that doesn’t make me feel real peachy.”
His fine lips twitched and he asked, “Do you not find me attractive?”
Was he crazy?
“Of course I find you attractive. You’re all—”
I cut myself off then because I wasn’t paying attention to what I was saying, mostly the fact I shouldn’t be saying it.
Those fine lips of his curled up.