Neither woman said anything as he stopped beside Grace. Then he bent to kiss her cheek. “Good to see you too, Mrs. Malone. Lunch sounds great.”

He glanced over at Daisy, and his smile disappeared. “We’re not done here, Wallflower.”

“Meaning what?”

He didn’t answer.

He plucked Grace’s muffin out of her hand, and walked out of the office once more, taking a bite as he did so.

“Well, well,” Grace murmured. “I have a feeling things are about to get interesting.”

Chapter 26

Lincoln pulled out his phone and double checked the Upper East Side address Emma had texted him, verified that the sparkling brand-new high-rise was, in fact, Daisy’s place of residence.

He should have figured. Manhattan was expensive, but Daisy’s house in Charlotte had been a behemoth. If she’d sold it, she’d be able to afford a swanky apartment in just about any neighborhood she wanted.

Another man might have been intimidated, but knowing that this lifestyle was Daisy’s reward for putting up with her asshat of an ex, he was damn happy for her.

But he’d be a hell of a lot happier if she wasn’t on a date with another man right now.

It had been surprisingly easy to coax Daisy’s address out of Emma. He’d fully expected Emma to go all mama-bear, lecturing him on leaving her sister alone, the whole bit, but instead she’d texted back with Daisy’s address, and only a Watch your step to go along with it.

He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to watch his step for his sake or Daisy’s. Probably both.

Hell, he wasn’t even sure what he was doing here. He told himself that it was because he needed to apologize for the way he’d left things back in Charlotte. And then he told himself it was because he wanted to tell his friend about the closure he’d gotten while in Costa Rica.

Both of those things were true.

But what felt even more true was that he wanted to be the last man she saw before going to sleep tonight. Him. Not Nick fucking Ballantine.

Lincoln checked his watch. Nine-thirty. Would she be home yet? New Yorkers were known to eat late, but it was also a Monday, and he knew Daisy to be an early riser, even if she was a groggy mess until she got her coffee.

Shit. What if Ballantine was there? Or what if she wasn’t because she was at the other man’s place? What if Ballantine was seeing her sexy lingerie right now, touching that smooth, tan skin…

Lincoln contemplated walking away, but he forced himself forward. He was damn sick of being on the sidelines of his own life.

The lobby of her building was lavish, combining the Old World glamour of marble floors and chandeliers with modern-day technologies—the resident mailboxes to his left had fancy electronic keyboards; a flat screen built into the wall discreetly notified residents when they had a delivery at the front desk.

Lincoln approached the reception desk, where two well-groomed men in suits gave him polite, if impassive, smiles.

“I’m here to see Daisy Sinclair.”

“Is she expecting you?”

Fuck no.

“She is not.”

“Name?”

“Lincoln Mathis.”

The man on the right nodded before picking up the phone and dialing a number.

A second later the man smiled. “Good evening, Ms. Sinclair. Roy here at the front desk…Yes, ma’am, I’m well thank you. I have a visitor here for you. A Lincoln Mathis…”

Lincoln resisted the urge to yank the phone from the man’s hand and demand that Daisy let him up now.

“…Yes, ma’am, very good. I’ll send him up.”

Lincoln breathed a sigh of relief. She was home. Now he only had to hope that she was alone. And that he’d figured out what he wanted to say by the time he got up there.

Roy hung up, and he gestured to his right toward the elevator lobby. “I’ll call the first elevator car on the right for you to take you to the forty-second floor. Ms. Sinclair’s unit is 42F.”

Lincoln nodded in thanks, followed his instructions until he found himself standing outside Daisy’s door.

She answered his knock almost immediately, and his breath came out in a whoosh. She was wearing tiny white shorts, a slinky white tank top, and an oversize fluffy blue cardigan that went down to mid-calf. “You’re ready for bed.”

Daisy laughed lightly and gestured him in. “I was planning to read in bed for a while. I was going to change but then I realized that we were practically roommates for a few weeks. You saw this exact same outfit in Charlotte while we drank coffee together.”

Yeah, but that had been different. For starters, the pajamas that had been merely cute in the morning hours were decidedly skimpy in the evening hours. And perhaps more important, things had been safe between them in Charlotte.

There’d been Katie’s ghost as a buffer, as well as her ex-husband’s gruesome legacy.

Here, though, was a fresh start.

Or maybe not.

“How was your date?” he asked gruffly as she shut the front door.

She gave him a bland smile and crossed her arms across her chest. “It was good. You want a drink?”

How good? “Sure. Thanks.”

He followed Daisy into her living room. It was fairly plain—a lone couch, coffee table, and lonely bar cart—but then you didn’t need much when you had a high-rise view of Manhattan.

“I’ve only been here a couple weeks,” she said, walking to the bar cart, in the far corner of the room, and pouring them both something from a decanter. “I’ve got a few of the key furniture pieces, but I’m still trying to decide on accents.”