“Is Jessica your assistant?”
“Yes, you’ve met her. She is a BIG fan.”
“I assumed. She quite literally followed me out of your gallery and onto the sidewalk that first day I stopped by.”
Daisy fell into a fit of giggles as she imagined Jess stalking him out of the gallery.
“She was starstruck.”
“Can you blame her?” he said coolly, then lowered his voice so only she could hear, “I mean, some have even said that I am a walking heart attack in blue jeans.”
Daisy’s eyes widened with shock at his words—or rather, her words, the ones she had used to describe him over a decade ago.
She quickly stood from the couch and made her way into the kitchen to avoid him seeing her beet-red face. He knew how attractive he was and so did she—hell, she had said those very words to him. He had only grown more handsome, and Daisy wished that weren’t the case.
Why couldn’t he get less attractive with age?
If Daisy wasn’t careful, that face of his could get her into some serious trouble.
“I’ll go pick up the food. Will you stay here with Amelia?”
Jameson rose from the floor with a smug smirk plastered across his face. She waited for him to address his comment or rather her abrupt change of topic, but he never did.
“I can have someone pick it up for us.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Daisy, don’t be stubborn. I will have someone go.”
“No, Jameson. I want to.” She said it persistently.
“Fine,” he said reluctantly. “Chicken Pad Thai, no peanuts.” He reached for his wallet and took out a hundred-dollar bill.
Daisy shook her head. “My treat.”
“No,” he said curtly, shoving the money into her hand.
Daisy loosely gripped the bill before tossing it at his chest. “I said my treat.”
“Daisy, you’ve taken care of my child without a single penny from me,” he whispered. “The least I can do is pay for some meals.”
“But I don’t want you to.”
“Why not?”
“It’s principle, Jameson,” she said, then quickly retreated to her bedroom to get ready.
She pushed her door shut, but before it clicked into the frame, Jameson stopped it with his hand. “You are starting to drive me mad. Please just let me pay for the damn meal.”
“Why does it bother you so much?” she inquired.
“Why does it bother you?” he repeated.
“Like I just said—it’s principle. First you pay for our meal, then another and another, then you start paying for Amelia’s various activities, then you pay a bill for me here and there and before you know it, you’re helping me out with my car note and my rent and—”
Jameson interrupted her ramble. “I’m not hurting for money, Daisy,” he said matter-of-factly. “I want to help you since I never got the chance to.”
“Don’t you get it, Jameson? I pride myself on the fact that I can pay my bills and have a studio and take care ofour daughter. I don’t need a handout.”
