Page 147 of Bitter Rival

“You look beautiful.” His gaze is so heated I feel like my body might spontaneously combust on the spot.

You hate him, remember?

He’s an asshole.

Stick to your guns, Daisy.

“And your work…it’s incredible.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Anna says, drawing herself to her full height. “Daisy is extraordinary. It’s a shame you didn’t realize that sooner.”

“Anna,” I chide. Anna is fiercely protective of me and I love her for it but it’s not necessary. I can stand up for myself.

“You’re right,” Beckett says, his eyes on me. “I should have realized a lot of things sooner.”

Anna sniffs. “I certainly hope you’re here to grovel.”

To my surprise, Beckett laughs. “I’ll do my best.”

“In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow, Daisy. I’ll share a taxi with Celeste. Goodbye, my dear.” She pulls me into a hug and squeezes me tight. “Make him work for it.”

She releases me and wags her finger at Beckett. “Watch your step, young man. Or you’ll have me to answer to.”

On that note, she walks out the door with her friend, Celeste, and when they’re gone, I turn to Beckett. “Why are you here?”

“Why do you think I’m here? I’m here to see you,” he says as he ushers me out the door into the chilly November air. “Do you want to get a drink? Some food?”

I shake my head no. “I just want to go home.”

He pulls out his phone. “I’ll call a car.”

“I’d rather walk. I could use some fresh air.” To clear my head.

God. Why does his nearness affect me like this?

“Not sure you’ll get any fresh air here,” he says skeptically as the cars and taxis fly past. “It’s not safe to walk at this hour.”

“It’s only ten o’clock. I’ll take my chances.” I stride ahead, taking deep, cleansing breaths to try and calm my racing pulse.

With a loud sigh, he falls into step with me. “If you’re so insistent on walking, I’ll escort you home, so I won’t have to worry about you getting back safely.”

Laughter bubbles up inside me. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time without him “escorting me home.”

He’s the only one I need protection from.

I still can’t believe he’s here. In Brooklyn.

Then again, he’s always gone after whatever he wants with dogged determination so I shouldn’t be surprised that he’d eventually turn up.

When I returned from Paris last week, I signed for a special delivery—all the clothes he bought me that I left in the closet.

“I keep buying bags of oranges,” he says when we stop at a crosswalk and wait for the light to change. “I don’t even know why. Who the fuck can eat all those oranges? I don’t even like oranges that much, but they keep finding their way into my shopping cart.”

The lights change and we cross the street.

“I can’t even watch a movie without wondering what you would have to say about it.”

I let out a frustrated breath. “Why are you here, Beckett?”

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