Otherwise, it was just too tempting. She didn’t want to get used to his easy smile, or his laugh, or his meltingly hot kisses.
“Is that him?” Larissa looked out the window at a van pulling up in front of the house.
“No, that’s not his van. I don’t know who that is,” Daisy said as several men she didn’t recognize climbed out.
A snooty-looking man in a tailored suit marched towards the door, hauling a dress rack with him. Several skinny, black-clad male assistants helped him to carry a dress rack laden with sparkly evening gowns up the steps.
“Hello? I didn’t order any of this, and I’m pretty sure those dresses are too fancy for Ryker,” Daisy said. “He’s more of a jeans and T-shirt guy.” She laughed out loud; the man just stared at her, looking down his long nose until she stopped.
“I’m Van Hoffmer, of Hoffmeer Stylists,” the man said to her. “Mr. Harrison feels that you need a makeover before he can take you out to several public events that he has planned.”
Daisy felt a wave of queasiness wash over her. That was the kind of thing she’d heard all her life from her mother; she’d never expected to hear it from Ryker.
“What a jerk,” Larissa loud-whispered, and the stylists looked at her in disdain. “You should just come home with me right now. Do you want me to help you pack?”
Daisy bit back an angry retort. She knew Larissa meant well, but at the moment, she didn’t have the energy for her negativity, or her tendency to insert herself into Daisy’s life and try to make decisions for her.
“No, honestly, it’s better if you go home,” she said. She’d deal with this herself.
“Fine,” Larissa said huffily. “I can see when I’m not wanted.” But she didn’t move.
Can you? Daisy thought.
“Maybe I won’t even come to dinner Wednesday,” Larissa added loudly.
“All right then,” Daisy said.
“You don’t want me to come?” Larissa’s voice went up into a high-pitched wail.
Daisy looked at her impatiently. “Larissa. If you want to show up and have a drama-free good time with us, then do so, and if you don’t, that is your choice. I will see you at the restaurant. Or not.” She shot a significant glance at the door, and Larissa flounced out in a huff.
Van looked at Daisy. “For your dinner Thursday night, we need something that flatters your figure,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “It would be helpful if you didn’t eat much for the next couple of days, too.”
Excuse you?
“What dinner Thursday night?” she asked. “I didn’t agree to any dinner.”
He rolled his eyes. “Mr. Harrison already made the reservations. You’ll have to discuss it with him.”
She folded her arms across her chest. So that was how it was going to be for the next few weeks. “I see.”
He took a corset off the rack and held it up. “We’re definitely going to need you to put this on before you try on any of the dresses.” He started unlacing it.
“A corset?” she said, appalled.
He looked her up and down, his pale-blue eyes radiating disapproval. “Or a girdle. None of the dresses here will fit without it.”
She blinked back angry tears of humiliation. “Then I won’t be wearing any of them.”
“Mr. Harrison isn’t going to like this!”
When Daisy told him where Mr. Harrison could insert the dress rack and the corset, Van gasped in shock, then spun on his heel and left. His assistants grabbed the dress rack and hurried after him, shooting her horrified glances over their shoulders.
Daisy went and locked herself in her room, fuming. Was the rec center worth this kind of humiliation?
It wouldn’t have hurt so much if it had come from anyone else but Ryker. He’d made such a big deal of how attractive he found her and how much he loved her figure. All her life, she’d been made to feel self-conscious about her size, and Ryker was the first guy who’d ever made her feel sexy. Had that all been a lie, to get her to stay and help him fix his public image?
She took a few deep breaths and tried to calm herself down. She had to stick it out for the next few weeks. Had to. She’d just avoid Ryker at all times except for when they were out in public together. It wasn’t like he could argue; he needed this to work as much as she did.
Around six o’ clock, she heard him come in.
“Hey Lucy, I’m home!” he called out in a fake Ricky Ricardo accent. She tried not to smile. Then she thought about the corset and got mad all over again.
“I got dinner!” he yelled. “Barbecue!”
“Sounds good! Enjoy it!” she called back, her tone curt.