Intercepting Daisy by Julie Brannagh

always this whiny when you’re sick?” Catherine teased. “Come on, you big baby. Let me get your blankets sorted. You’ll feel much better when you’re tucked up in bed.”
    Half an hour later, Daisy had changed her clothes, was back in bed with a large and empty plastic bowl, and had made her call to the airline’s Operations group. She wasn’t the only one who was sick. She wasn’t thrilled to be feeling like crap, but even worse—she wouldn’t be seeing Grant later.
    After a lot of thought, she’d decided she was going to tell him she’d written Overtime Parking . No matter how many times she tried to tell herself he wasn’t going to find out that she’d written the book, it was inevitable. One of those trashy tabloid TV shows managed to get the woman who claimed she was the author to submit to a polygraph test. She didn’t pass, so the search was back on. Daisy couldn’t figure out why there was so much curiosity about her real identity. The book just kept selling.
    Grant had to be getting a ton of crap over this. It wasn’t his fault. She should have the guts to tell him what she did.
    Catherine bustled into Daisy’s room again. “Okay. Declan says his mom used to give him this when he was sick.” She put a can of 7-Up on Daisy’s nightstand and shuddered a little. “It’s not diet. And I made you some toast with butter.”
    â€œNo Marmite?”
    â€œI was afraid you’d throw it at me.” Catherine sat down next to her on the bed. “You can try it when you think you might keep it down.”
    â€œMaybe next week.”
    â€œTry the drink first. Sip slowly.” Catherine reached out to pat Daisy’s hand. “Are you going to text Grant?”
    â€œLater.” She let out a sigh. “I was going to tell him when I saw him tonight.”
    â€œAre you sure about that?”
    â€œI feel so guilty. I didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s just a goofy thing I wrote. I had no idea people would freak out so badly over it.” At first, she’d thought he might think it was funny, but after getting to know him a little better, she realized he’d more likely be bothered by the fact that it had sparked a media frenzy.
    â€œMaybe you can see him later this week, when you’re feeling better,” Catherine said. “Maybe he’ll think it’s cute.”
    â€œMaybe he’ll think I’m a crazy stalker.”
    â€œHe might surprise you,” Catherine said.
    G RANT OPENED HIS eyes to the overcast, grayish light of a late fall Thursday in Seattle. He’d spent the past several hours lying on his bathroom floor between bouts of illness. It wasn’t sexy or comfortable, but it was a hell of a lot easier than running for the toilet. When he wasn’t ill, he was burning up with fever.
    He’d also awoken during the night in a panic after a horrible realization. He’d figured out why Harley McHugh looked so familiar to him: he’d slept with her once about two years ago. She’d been in a bar, he’d been a bit lonely, and she’d made it clear she wanted him.
    He’d all but run out of her apartment when he discovered she liked to bite during sex. Not a love nip. An actual bite. He’d reached up to feel the bite on his shoulder and saw blood on his fingertips. He shuddered just thinking about it. He usually had no problem with women who were somewhat aggressive in bed, but he drew the line when a tetanus shot was required afterward.
    He should send some kind of thank-you note to the builder for the heated floors in his condo, which kept him from freezing to death. He managed to pull himself off of the tile floor, crawl into his bedroom, and grab his cell phone out of his pants pocket. He hit Contacts and stared at a number. His parents were in Texas. Dialing 911 might be a slight overreaction. He knew he needed a little help right