LITMIR.BIZ

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      “I said, I’m losing it.”

      “What do you mean, losing it?”

      “My sense of taste.”

      “What?”

      “That’s where I was the other day—getting tests done.”

      “What about your sense of smell?”

      “It seems to be going, too.”

      “What do they think it is?”

      “They don’t know yet.”

      Jamie let his head fall against the door frame. “Is it a tumor?”

      There was a long pause before Colin repeated, “They don’t know.”

      “Holy shit.”

      “No one can know, do you understand? No one.”

      Jamie scrubbed a hand up and down his face. “Daisy won’t expose you.”

      “You don’t know that.”

      It was true. Even though spending the morning with her had felt like spending time with an old friend, someone he knew but didn’t know, someone he liked a whole lot and wanted to get to know even better, he really couldn’t predict how she’d react to the news that he’d posed as his brother. The fact was, though he’d seen her in her tasty pink undies, he didn’t know Daisy Sinclair at all.

      “Look. It’s not like it matters to you,” Colin said.

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “You know what that means. You go through women like disposable razors. One nick and they’re in the trash.”

      Jamie stopped pacing to stare out the window of his office. While the analogy might be fair, he still didn’t like hearing it. Made him sound like an ass.

      “You’ve got to let this go,” Colin said. “Besides, it’s too late.”

      “What do you mean, it’s too late?”

      “It means I already canceled the date.”

      “What?”

      “Don’t bother calling, either. She said she never wanted to speak to me—you—again. Oh, and she thinks you’re a dick. Sorry.”

3

      DAISY CHECKED HER jacket and stood in line to get into the Grand Ballroom at the Chicago Hilton with her gala invitation scrunched in her hand, anxiety gnawing away the lining of her stomach. This was a mistake.

      Why had she let Gloria talk her into this?

      “You’ve got to go, Daisy,” Gloria had said. “Go and show Colin Forsythe you don’t give a damn about him, about his stupid column, about anything.” Then Gloria had helped her with her hair and makeup, doing what best friends do, talking her up, telling her she looked gorgeous.

      “I wish I could be there to see his face. He’s going to regret his decision the second he sees you.” Gloria took a couple of pictures of her followed by the obligatory selfie, and Daisy left her place feeling like a million bucks: confident, bold and daring in her new dress.

      Now she felt more like a buck fifty. Conspicuously dressed in red—she apparently didn’t get the memo that she was supposed to wear black—Daisy felt her face burn, no doubt matching the color of her dress, as both men and women turned to stare at her while waiting to get into the ballroom. As if to punctuate her sense of not fitting in, her mother appeared—tall, lithe and gorgeous as ever in a pencil-thin, strapless black dress, wearing her handsome date like an accessory on her arm. So they hadn’t broken up. Daisy racked her brain for his name. What was it? Alexander? Didn’t matter. Her mother’s good-looking, usually much younger boy toys were all the same and never lasted.

      “Seriously, Daisy?” her mother said. “Red?” She made a subtle motion with her fingertips toward Daisy’s dress.

      “I didn’t know.” One second in her mother’s presence and all the insecurity came flooding back. It didn’t help that her mother always looked perfect...and young...and beautiful, more like an older, more sophisticated sister than her mother. “Why didn’t you tell me it was black dress only?” Daisy complained.

      Tapping the invitation with her manicured nail, her mother pointed out, “It says it right here. See? Black and white.”

      “Oh.” God, she hated this. Daisy was just about to march right back out the door when Alexander said, “I think you look nice, Daisy.” The man grinned, making him look even younger than he probably was.

      When her mother tried to give him her best evil eye, he laughed, and the guy looked downright boyish. “Honestly, Cyn. Don’t you think everyone else here looks...kind of boring?”

      “Thank you, Alexander,” Daisy said cautiously.

      “Call me Alex.” He smiled. It even looked genuine.

      Huh. Puzzling.

      “Well,” her mother huffed. “I’m glad you think my daughter looks nice. It would be lovely if you said I looked nice.”

      “You don’t look nice. You look beautiful.” He bent down and kissed her, and her mother, the ice queen, melted under his tender words. “You’re so beautiful, sometimes I forget that you need me to tell you,” Alex added.

      Whoa. What the hell was going on? Daisy watched the interaction between her mother and Alex with equal parts interest and disbelief. It had to be an act. This was not real. Her mother was not insecure, and the guys she slept with were not considerate. Not only that—Alex had called her Cyn. Cynthia hated it when people shortened her name.

      While Daisy was trying to figure out what game her mother and her boyfriend were playing, she found herself herded into the ballroom with all the other guests. Before she knew it, the opportunity to gracefully back out of the evening had passed.

      Besides, the delicious aromas in the room had her mouth watering. She wandered the ballroom, checking out the offerings of the top thirty restaurants in Chicago, having already lost her mother and Alex, who’d stopped to chat with other members of the Arts Council of Chicago, the hosts of the fund-raiser. Though her mother had been the one who got her the invitation to the gala, Daisy was sure Cynthia didn’t mind if she went her own way. The two of them had nothing in common. Never had. Never would. It was her grandmother who’d raised her, not her young, single mother, and a few minutes in each other’s presence was about all either of them could handle.

      Anyway, Daisy found it easier navigating the gala on her own rather than feeling like a third wheel. She surveyed the ballroom. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a complete bust; maybe it would actually be fun. And as she got caught up in the way people were milling about, talking and laughing as they mingled, eating delicious food and drinking, she almost forgot that she was supposed to be there with Colin Forsythe—the jerk.

      Then she heard his voice.

      “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the fifth annual Celebrity Hors d’oeuvres Gala. I’m Colin Forsythe, and I’ll be your host this evening.”

      Daisy spun around, her heart in her throat. Not far from where she stood was a stage, and behind the podium was none other than the jerk himself, looking obnoxiously handsome in his black tux. He was standing beside a beautiful blonde woman in a low-cut black dress that had a slit up to her hip, showing off shapely legs and a nauseatingly perfect figure.

      Daisy wanted to punch her.

      Who was she? Was she his date? Was she the woman he’d dumped her for?

      As if he could read her thoughts, Colin continued, “I’d like to introduce tonight’s cohost, Tricia Gordon, producer and host of the popular program The Chicago Gourmet.”

      “Champagne,

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