And the auction items were insurmountable.
Napa weekends, ridiculous cars, trips that sounded like movie sets.
“Next item is a piece by the renowned artist Louis Boudreaux. The bidding starts at ten thousand.”
“What do you think?” Jameson asked, curious for her take.
“It’s exquisite. Whoever wins this will be lucky to own a Boudreaux.”
“You’re a fan?”
“Huge. Lots of Peláez in his palette—Amelia Peláez, who, incidentally, is our daughter’s namesake.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Twenty-five,” the auctioneer called.
“Forty,” a voice cut clean through. Jameson’s.
Daisy stared at him. He only shrugged.
“Forty-one,” a woman countered.
“Forty-five,” Jameson said, smiling now.
“Forty-seven,” she countered again.
“Fifty,” Jameson called, getting a thrill from the crowd. The other voice didn’t speak again.
“Going once, going twice—sold!”
Applause rose and Daisy leaned in. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted you to have something good from tonight,” he said. “Something to remember.”
Heat curled low in her stomach. She nudged his knee beneath the table, the smallest thank you.
“You never could let me have my way, Kingston,” a warm voice teased behind them.
They turned. She was tall, bronzed, and composed.
His ex-wife.
Jameson laughed out and rose to his feet. “That was you, Brooke?”
He folded her into a friendly hug. Daisy looked away, then pasted on a smile when he said her name.
“Daisy, this is Brooke Nickels. Brooke, Daisy Daniels.”
Brooke’s smile tilted. “Well, well. It’s nice to finally meet the woman I could never live up to.”
Daisy froze for a beat, then took her hand. She’d been intimidated by this woman for years, and here Brooke was… just human.
“Nice to meet you,” Daisy said. “You have great taste—” She paused, then clarified with a small smile, “In art.”
Brooke laughed softly. “Fair. Men too, I’d say.” Her jest landed lighter than Daisy expected, almost warm.
A quiet moment settled between them before Brooke added, “You two look good together. I’m happy for you.” Her tone was genuine rather than brittle.
