Page 11 of Boss of the Year
A car owned by a Lyft driver named Bogdan, but that was neither here nor there.
Daniel looked mildly disappointed. “Well, we’re neighbors. What’s your number? We can go out and celebrate your return.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll run into each other…” I was shooting for coy and a little mysterious but probably looked like I had an eye twitch.
“I see how you want to play it. Fair warning, though, gorgeous. I love a good chase.”
I opened my mouth to protest. That was definitely not what I was doing.
The duffel bag trundled by. I was going to be here for hours by the time it came back again, but I’d rather walk through fire than grab either of those bags with this man watching. I needed Daniel to leave.
“So, how about this, Cinderella?” he teased, unaware of the way I flinched at the name. “My parents are having a party at the house for their fortieth anniversary. We’re inviting the whole damn planet—I’m sure your folks were invited too, but either way, you should come.”
“Oh, I don’t know…”
“You’ve got to.” His big golden hand closed around mine, pulling me from my baggage watching. Shivers traveled up my arm. “Please.”
Those large blue eyes blinked at me, pools of joy I wanted to drown in.
How did anyone say no to Daniel Lyons?
They didn’t. Obviously. I couldn’t quite manage it myself.
“I don’t know…”
“Mom would never forgive me if she heard you’re back in town and didn’t come,” he pressed.
I couldn’t quite mask my snort. “I doubt that.”
But Daniel just laughed as he released my hand (no, a little voice mewled in the back of my brain), and that smile—oh, that light-bulb smile that could have powered all of New York—lit up the baggage claim. “You’re so damn cute.”
My heart trilled.
His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of his pocket. “That’s my car. Listen, I hope you come. And if you do, save me a dance, all right?”
“I—”
But he was already making his way toward the exit. His bags were nowhere in sight—of course—because men like Daniel Lyons hadpeopleto take care of those things for them.
Just in time, too. My giant pink elephant was making its third round now, reminding me this little game of make-believe was officially over.
Maybe it was better that in nine hours together, Daniel had been so busy talking about himself, he hadn’t remembered to ask for my name.
I couldn’t help wishing he knew it anyway.
I was goingto kill Joni. I didn’t care if she was helping Lea or not—this fare was going to bleed me dry.
My bags had only just managed to squeeze into the trunk and the tiny back seat of Bogdan’s minivan, and I spent most of the drive to Westchester trying to determine what I was going to say when I reached the Lyons estate and Daniel realized that the girl he’d invited to his parents’ anniversary party was the one who made the smoked salmon puffs.
I was also replaying every moment we’d had together in my head.
Men in New York had never looked at me the way he had on the plane. I’d grown up in a neighborhood where boys and men congregated on front stoops and fire escapes like pigeons and rated women with whistles and comments as they walked by. I’d watched my older brother chase girls for years before settling down, and between my grandmother, who was closing in on eighty, and four good-looking sisters, my family members had plenty of stories to tell.
But not me. Sometimes it had felt like I was the only woman in New York who hadn’t ever been catcalled. It was fine. I didn’t want the attention from strangers.
But I had wanted Daniel’s.
All through the flight, he kept glancing at me like he was trying to solve a puzzle. It was the look someone got when they walked into my kitchen and smelled a recipe they’d never had before. They wanted to taste it. They wanted a bite. But they also weren’t sure what it was yet.
