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But maybe it’s curiosity that inspires me to pick it up. He wouldn’t call if there was nothing.
“John,” I say as my greeting after swiping the screen.
“Ronan,” he replies coolly. And then he gets right into it. No salutations or small talk. “I ran a search on Daisy Bennett’s family history. Her father, Alan Bennett, is a chiropractor in Chesapeake, Indiana. Her mother, Shannon Masters, was a real estate agent. She died of breast cancer three years ago.”
As I listen to him rattle off facts, it sounds at first like nothing I didn’t already know. But when I hear a name I’ve heard before, I freeze. “Wait, what? Say that name again.”
“Shannon Masters. If it sounds familiar, it’s because you wrote her a million-dollar check nine years ago. I did a scan of your finances and business history on all of these names, and Shannon’s name popped up.”
He’s talking so fast and I’m struggling to keep up, I barely notice Daisy walking into the room. All I can picture is Shannon’s face, seeing her as she stands in the doorway of my office—broken-hearted and afraid.
Much like Daisy is now.
Long blonde hair, round blue eyes, full lips…
It hits like déjà vu.
“Ronan?” Daisy whispers hesitantly as I stare at her with wide, frightened eyes.
On the phone, John continues, “Shannon Masters cashed the check and deposited the funds into a savings account with your name in the memo, the beneficiary being Daisy Moon Bennett.”
“What’s wrong?” she mutters, gaping at me with concern.
“Thank you, John,” I rasp into the phone.
“I’ll email you the report. Bye, Ronan.”
The phone line goes dead, and I stare at Daisy.
My mind is on a loop. No emotions or feelings building just yet. Just their faces, their names, this new revelation cycling through my brain.
Daisy is Shannon’s daughter.
Shannon’s daughter.
Shannon is dead.
“Ronan, what’s going on?” she cries, louder this time, her voice full of desperation.
When I glance up at her face again, I see the remorse. The fear. The regret.
She knows.
She’s known this entire time.
“Please talk to me,” she begs, stepping toward my desk.
I glance up at her, emotions battling for control as I let everything sink in. Shame and disgust with myself fortouchingShannon’s daughter. Anger and regret for not knowing until now. Disappointment and fear in realizing that everything I’ve had with Daisy up until this moment has been seeped in deception.
I’m such a fool.
Normally, I’m not a spontaneous man. I make thoughtful, strategic, careful plans. My business and my success have proven that. So then why am I such a fool when I’m in love? Why do I fall so easily? Give away my heart at every opportunity?
“Daisy,” I mutter, my hand covering my mouth, my scorn-filled eyes burning. She’s crying. Large tears stream effortlessly over her face, an expression of worry written in the furrow of her brow.
“I assume whoever was on the phone just now told you about my mother.”
“I don’t understand,” I mutter, and she hiccups through a sob. “Why? I’ve already given you money. Did you want more?”
