Kelly down.”
He left out the part where she kind of let Griffin—her best friend forever and a day—down, but he didn't think anyone needed the reminder. Daisy's face was pale, her bottom lip was quivering, and Griffin's glare was burning a hole in the side of Jim's neck.
“Thanks, Jim,” Daisy murmured, her gaze dropping to the hem of her flowy black dress. “I know I don't deserve your forgiveness.”
Two fingers to the neck of his shirt—Jim was starting to get uncomfortable. It's not like she killed someone…jeez.
“We all have to move on,” Griffin said, his voice tightly strung. “New day and all that—the play was amazing, Daisy Mae. You were incredible.”
The praise perked Daisy up a bit, and Jim resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Thanks. Bennet and Shane really deserve most of the praise. It's a brilliant play.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “And Lance, of course.”
Jim had no idea who any of these people were. He suspected Lance was the guy who played the metaphorical pirate. Truth be told (and he wasn't going to join the praise-a-thon just yet), he'd just about held his own against Daisy—she carried the show. And was probably the only reason Jim hadn't fallen asleep.
“Would you two like to meet Bennet?” Daisy linked her arm into Griffin's, giving him a little tug. “He and Shane are over there.” She indicated an area much closer to the bar than they currently were, and Jim found himself nodding enthusiastically.
“Sure, sounds good,” he said, answering for Griffin, whose “WTF” expression was probably the highlight of the evening.
They moved through the crowd, with a few mini-stops as Daisy graciously thanked people for their ass kissing.
Two men were huddled together between the bar and an exit door—Jim thought it might be the best seat in the house. Both had that hipster look he was so fondly dismissive of. He girded his loins and waited for the introductions to begin.
“Bennet, darling, come meet my friends,” Daisy called, zipping around the tightly knit bar crowd to duck between the two men. The darker of the two—hair, eyes, and eyebrows so black they looked blue—brightened when he saw her, arms opening to pull her close.
“Can I meet them too?” The other man was the opposite end of the spectrum, fair-haired with blue eyes and a killer “aren't I charming?” smile. Jim checked to make sure his wallet was still in his pocket.
“Of course, silly.” Daisy had brightened considerably since the rather deep conversation, tucked in Bennet's arms but being handsy with the other man as well.
Weird people.
“Griffin Drake, Jim Shea—this is Bennet Aames and Shane Lowry. Bennet directed the play, and Shane is the writer,” she said, complete with gestures.
The men all exchanged handshakes, murmurs of pleased-to-meet-yous. Then Bennet (his hands still on Daisy) smiled broadly at Griffin.
“So you're the infamous Griffin—I'm really delighted to meet you, young man. We have a lot of business to attend to, you and I.”
Jim's eyes narrowed. Was this a hit-on sort of thing? Griffin looked a bit starstruck, an expression Jim hadn't really encountered before. Griffin was a screenwriter—why did some play director make him look like he was about to pull out his autograph book?
Griffin gave Daisy a weird look, and she just giggled.
“Your screenplay?” Bennet glanced over at Jim. “I was hoping while you're in New York we can discuss it. Are you here for long?”
“We're sort of on an open timeline,” Jim said, casually—deliberately—putting his arm around Griffin, just in case these showbiz types had any funny ideas.
“Excellent—that means Griffin and I can set up a meeting…” He looked hopefully at Griffin, whose expression was starting to brim into something resembling “burst of light.”
“Should I be jealous?” Shane asked, all faux innocence and appraising looks.
Jim looked at the bar. So close and yet so far…
“Not at
He left out the part where she kind of let Griffin—her best friend forever and a day—down, but he didn't think anyone needed the reminder. Daisy's face was pale, her bottom lip was quivering, and Griffin's glare was burning a hole in the side of Jim's neck.
“Thanks, Jim,” Daisy murmured, her gaze dropping to the hem of her flowy black dress. “I know I don't deserve your forgiveness.”
Two fingers to the neck of his shirt—Jim was starting to get uncomfortable. It's not like she killed someone…jeez.
“We all have to move on,” Griffin said, his voice tightly strung. “New day and all that—the play was amazing, Daisy Mae. You were incredible.”
The praise perked Daisy up a bit, and Jim resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Thanks. Bennet and Shane really deserve most of the praise. It's a brilliant play.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “And Lance, of course.”
Jim had no idea who any of these people were. He suspected Lance was the guy who played the metaphorical pirate. Truth be told (and he wasn't going to join the praise-a-thon just yet), he'd just about held his own against Daisy—she carried the show. And was probably the only reason Jim hadn't fallen asleep.
“Would you two like to meet Bennet?” Daisy linked her arm into Griffin's, giving him a little tug. “He and Shane are over there.” She indicated an area much closer to the bar than they currently were, and Jim found himself nodding enthusiastically.
“Sure, sounds good,” he said, answering for Griffin, whose “WTF” expression was probably the highlight of the evening.
They moved through the crowd, with a few mini-stops as Daisy graciously thanked people for their ass kissing.
Two men were huddled together between the bar and an exit door—Jim thought it might be the best seat in the house. Both had that hipster look he was so fondly dismissive of. He girded his loins and waited for the introductions to begin.
“Bennet, darling, come meet my friends,” Daisy called, zipping around the tightly knit bar crowd to duck between the two men. The darker of the two—hair, eyes, and eyebrows so black they looked blue—brightened when he saw her, arms opening to pull her close.
“Can I meet them too?” The other man was the opposite end of the spectrum, fair-haired with blue eyes and a killer “aren't I charming?” smile. Jim checked to make sure his wallet was still in his pocket.
“Of course, silly.” Daisy had brightened considerably since the rather deep conversation, tucked in Bennet's arms but being handsy with the other man as well.
Weird people.
“Griffin Drake, Jim Shea—this is Bennet Aames and Shane Lowry. Bennet directed the play, and Shane is the writer,” she said, complete with gestures.
The men all exchanged handshakes, murmurs of pleased-to-meet-yous. Then Bennet (his hands still on Daisy) smiled broadly at Griffin.
“So you're the infamous Griffin—I'm really delighted to meet you, young man. We have a lot of business to attend to, you and I.”
Jim's eyes narrowed. Was this a hit-on sort of thing? Griffin looked a bit starstruck, an expression Jim hadn't really encountered before. Griffin was a screenwriter—why did some play director make him look like he was about to pull out his autograph book?
Griffin gave Daisy a weird look, and she just giggled.
“Your screenplay?” Bennet glanced over at Jim. “I was hoping while you're in New York we can discuss it. Are you here for long?”
“We're sort of on an open timeline,” Jim said, casually—deliberately—putting his arm around Griffin, just in case these showbiz types had any funny ideas.
“Excellent—that means Griffin and I can set up a meeting…” He looked hopefully at Griffin, whose expression was starting to brim into something resembling “burst of light.”
“Should I be jealous?” Shane asked, all faux innocence and appraising looks.
Jim looked at the bar. So close and yet so far…
“Not at
Similar Books
