Daisy eyed him. “Did you ever…?”
“Did I ever what?”
The question flew out before she could stop it. “Sleep with your employees? Or are you more the hook-up-with-a-groupie kind of rock star?”
Jameson squinted, pausing mid-knot. “You really want to go there?”
Heat crept up Daisy’s neck. “No. Sorry. It’s not my business.”
He went very quiet. For a second, she thought he might answer anyway. Then he stood abruptly. “Want something to drink?”
“Um, sure.”
“You like wine, right? I think I’ve got a few bottles of white.”
“Water is fine. I know you don’t really drink.”
“Like I’ve said, drugs were my poison. Wine is not. I’ll grab a bottle. I’ll need a drink if we’re going to have this conversation.”
“I—” But before she could finish, he disappeared toward the cellar.
Daisy had opened a can of worms. But she was curious. Had he let the rock-star reputation carry him from city to city, or was he more mellow, the kind who had a few regulars in a few towns? Either way, she was about to find out.
Jameson came back with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, poured two generous glasses, clinked hers, and took a long sip. “So you want to know about my sex life,” he said flatly, almost amused.
“Jameson, we don’t have to talk about this. It was a joke. Truly none of my business.”
He went on. “The answer is no. I never slept with my employees. I also didn’t do the groupie thing. That was more Kyler’s speed. Were there women? Sure. Did any of them matter? No.”
That surprised her. “They didn’t matter? Not even your wife?”
“I know it sounds cruel, but… honestly, no.” He swirled his wine and added, so quietly she almost missed it, “It was always laced with regret.”
“That does sound cruel.” She hated that she needed to ask—but she needed to ask. “Why the regret?”
He looked at her, soft but steady. “Because every time I buried myself in someone else, it brought me back to what I’d lost and what I wanted more than anything to find my way back to.” He exhaled, vulnerability threading his words. “You’re imprinted on me, Daisy. Whether I liked it or not. The ties we knotted as teenagers were strong, and while I tried to cut them… I could never find a knife sharp enough.”
She didn’t meet his eyes, afraid of what she’d see in him, and if she were honest, of what he might even see in hers. So she drank. Not a sip but her whole glass. She stood, grabbed the bottle, and retreated to the kitchen to pour another.
He let her go. He was laying down his cards, waiting for her to show hers.
He went back to the party setup while she lingered by the sink, getting her breath under control.
In for four, out for six. Breathe. Don’t spiral.
She knew herself too well. She was close to giving in, recklessly abandoning her promise not to repeat LA. For thesake of her daughter, she needed to focus on the task at hand: co-parenting well. But it was hard when his words rang so true and his eyes found her like she was the only woman in the world. Maybe because, for him, she was. He’d been with others, but he’d only ever thought of her.
Her phone buzzed in her back pocket, jolting her out of thought.
Matt.
Her heart skipped—excitement? Dread? She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t heard from him since they agreed on a break.
I miss you, the banner read.
She could see him starting and stopping that text a thousand times. Questioning whether to even send it.
Her chest ached. Matt deserved the world, the family he wanted so badly. How could she give him that when her thoughts kept drifting to the boy who still held the broken pieces of her heart?
