Page 7 of Connor

“You expect?” There’s fire in her eyes as she looks at me.

“I have a business to run. I don’t like to wait.” I’m really going for the asshole of the year award today.

“Ah, I see, but you know what? Hmm… I can’t. I’m washing my hair on Monday.” She gives me the biggest, most blinding smart-ass grin, and I grit my teeth. She really doesn't like me.

“I’ll pay you much more than you make here, I can assure you that,” I say, sounding more and more arrogant than ever, and I wish I could just rein it in, but it’s too late.

“Yes, that's right, because I’m poor too. Thanks so much for that reminder. Just so you know, money isn’t everything.”

With a sigh, I pocket my hands and look over the space again. “Clearly… but this is a good opportunity.”

“For whom?” she asks, and damn, she’s quick.

“For both of us.” I appreciate her negotiation and tenacity. It wasn’t what I expected from someone who works in a place called Sunshine, which looks like a small breeze could knock it over.

“My answer is still no—” she starts to say, her hand pushing my business card back to me, but I cut her off again.

“Think about it. Call me on Monday, Daisy. Now, what do I owe you?” I ask, grabbing my wallet from my pocket, ignoring my business card in her hand that she still holds in front of my chest.

“It’s fine. We’re all good. But my answer will be the same on Monday as it is now… Mr.… Connor Whiteman.” She takes a longer look at my business card, like she’s reading my name for the first time, before looking back at me without an ounce of recognition or care. Then she throws my business card on the desk behind her like it’s a piece of rubbish, and I have to hold back a groan of exasperation, even though the move makes me want her even more.

“I’ll speak to you on Monday,” I reiterate, my Southern accent seeping out a little more, probably because I’m agitated, and she swallows audibly. I should leave, but my feet feel heavy, like they’re glued to the ground. I don’t feel like I have her over the line yet. In fact, I know that I don’t. I want to go back in time ten minutes to when I felt extremely relaxed after my treatment and hearing her kind voice, rather than the sassy one I’m getting now. She’s different.

“Did you need anything else?” she asks, her hand moving to her hip, and I shake my head, taking that as my cue to move my ass out of this shanty.

“I’ll see you around, Daisy,” I say, liking her name on my lips, and she looks up at me, giving me a smile that’s probably forced, but it still looks sweet as honey. Those vibrations she spoke about earlier are now moving around my body at the motion. Straight down to my dick. When I grab the door, the wind chimes tinkle loudly, and I step outside. The cool air hits me, clearing my mind instantly as I step across the sidewalk to my waiting town car.

“Everything alright, sir?” my driver asks as I stall on the sidewalk at the open car door and look back. Sure, the peeling paint and the rustic signage are still there, but it gives it a more homey edge than the shithole I was expecting earlier.

“Everything’s fine. Straight to the penthouse, please,” I tell him, needing to go to my place to shower and change, as I have a business dinner to get to before my day is officially over.

As the car moves from the curb, I look back at the Sunshine Clinic and feel my excitement bubble. This is going to be a smart business move, and not just because of the voluptuous redheaded beauty I just met.

Now all she needs to do is accept.

5

DAISY

Ijiggle my key in the lock and push through the door.

“I want pizza. Do you want pizza?” my roommate, Trisha, yells the minute I get inside. I ignore her and make a beeline for our tiny well-worn sofa, face-planting onto it. What a day. I’m exhausted, yet the entire time home on the subway, my thoughts were consumed with one thing and one thing only. Him.

“Pizza?” she yells again before I hear her steps coming from her bedroom to the living room in our tiny, two-bedroom Brooklyn abode. Situated on top of the local dry cleaners that is run by a lovely lady named Anna, which we secretly think might be a front of the mafia’s, our space is nothing special, but it’s our home and has been for the last two years.

“Hello to you too,” I murmur, feeling tired. I always get tired after doing treatments. I give so much of my own energy to my clients and it makes me lethargic.

“Pepperoni?” she pushes, barreling into the living room.

“You seriously want pizza?” I ask, although at the thought, my mouth waters. I usually try to eat healthy, but despite my mom’s continued harassment, I’m not vegan and am partial to pizza on a Friday night.

“Yes. I need that gooey, oily cheese in my arteries, like, now!” She flops onto the armchair opposite me, and I roll over to look at her. Trisha and I met through a roommate matching service a few years ago and instantly hit it off. She needed someone to help pay the rent on this place, and I needed to try to be a little more independent from my parents. She’s also a casual waitress at Joe’s Pizza restaurant down the street, as well as a myriad of other jobs.

“How can you feel like pizza for dinner when you work with it all day?” I ask her, not for the first time. This is our usual Friday night. I walk in exhausted, and we then order pizza. Not my finest meal of the week, but I’m only human.

“Because I get twenty-five percent off any orders. Staff discount. So unless you suddenly won the lottery, we can’t afford anything else today.”

I groan again. I love my job, and I love working with Mom, but I don’t make a lot.

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