I glance up as a younger, male waiter steps up next to our table. He's lanky and scrawny. His blonde hair lies flat on his head, his face clear of acne, but he still can't be more than seventeen. He looks from Blake to me— his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open.
Blake's face is set in a hard, irritated state, eyes narrow, lips pressed together. He clears his throat and the waiter flushes scarlet, tearing his eyes from my face to look at Blake.
"Hi, sir. Ca . . . can I start you all off with something to drink?"
"I'll have a hot tea and water with lemon, please."
"An . . . and . . . yo . . . you, ma'am?"
"Coffee, black, no sugar."
He writes the drink orders down and walks away, glancing back at me twice. I roll my eyes, huffing. I chance a look at Blake and he's staring at me again.
"What?"
"I think you're too pretty for your own good."
I tilt my head to the side. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yes. May cause issues at my office."
"How so?"
"Men ogling you all day will distract them from work and piss me off." He sits up straighter as the waiter returns, setting our drinks in front of us.
"Are you ready to order?"
"Yes. I'll have the All-American Slam. Lily, what would you like?"
"Nothing," I say in a stern voice.
"Excuse me?"
"I don't eat breakfast."
"You need to eat."
"I said no, don't push it."
I glance at the waiter, who's shifting his weight from one foot to the other in a nervous manner.
"She'll have the Belgian waffle breakfast with sausage and a side of hash browns," Blake says without taking his eyes off me.
"Yes, sir," the waiter mutters before practically running from the table.
I glare at him. I’ll not tolerate being told what to do. That’s been my life for the last nineteen fucking years.
"You realize I'm not going to eat."
"Yes, you are." He takes a sip of his tea, arrogance saturating his expression.
I tap my finger against the table. "Mr. Mason, I would appreciate it if you don't try and pull rank with me. I'm an Interpol agent, not one of your friends."
"I'm not pulling anything with you. You've been with me for two days and I haven't seen you eat . . . at all," he says with a mixture of agitation and concern.
"I eat when I feel like it."
"What's your issue with food? I don't deal well with anorexia or bulimia, so I won't tolerate you starving yourself while living in my house."
"I have no issues with food. I have an issue with men telling me what to do in my personal life," I snap, tapping my thumb harder against the table.
"What do you mean?" He sits forward leaning his arms on the table.
I run my fingers through my hair. Here goes nothing . . .
"I've spent my life being told what to do and how to do it by men like you. I don't respond well. If you want me to do something— ask, don't demand. It’ll go much smoother for both of us."
He regards me, his face blank. Suddenly, he reaches out toward my hand. I barely move it in time and my heart leaps into my throat. My breathing hitches, becoming audible and I stare, wide-eyed, at him.
"Don't."
Slowly, he pulls his hand back, trying to hide the hurt on his face. "Why don't you like to be touched?"
"I just don't. Please, don't push it." I grind my teeth together, willing my heart to slow.
"I'm sorry," he says in a low voice.
"It's okay. Everyone forgets from time-to-time."
The waiter returns and sets our plates down, the warmth from the waffle caresses my face as the steam takes over my senses. It smells amazing. I pick up the syrup and drizzle it over the waffle. As I grab my knife and fork, I notice Blake staring at me.
"Yes?"
"I thought you weren't eating," he says trying to suppress a grin.
I cut a piece of waffle and pop it into my mouth. Swallowing, I chuckle. "I hadn't intended to, but you guessed my favorite breakfast food, so it's hard to resist." I smirk at him as he shakes his head.
"Waffles are your favorite?"
"Yeah," I say, shocked someone would even ask this. "Waffles are the single most amazing thing on the planet as far as food is concerned."
"I'm more of a pancake guy, myself."
"Well, that makes you a weirdo." I pop another piece of waffle into my mouth.
Blake laughs openly and I smile as we both dig into our breakfast.
My plate cleared, I set down my fork and glance at my watch. It's already 8:00 AM. Good thing Blake's office is so close. We've spent the remainder of breakfast talking about his job and itinerary for the day. He hasn't asked me more personal questions, though a few times he started to, but stopped before he got more than two words out.
I really want to dislike him. There's no sense being chummy with someone I won't see again after this is all over.
I reach into my back pocket and pull out my credit card, keeping it hidden under the table. I'm sure as hell not going to ask him if it's okay for me to pay for breakfast. The waiter walks over to the end of the table, holding the check. As he extends his hand to Blake, I dart mine out, grabbing the paper and standing in the process. The waiter doesn't bother saying anything, but turns and hurries to his other table.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Paying." I walk across the dining room to the cash register.
I hand the woman the check and my credit card, signing for the purchase quickly and returning my card to my back pocket as I rejoin Blake at the table. He's fuming mad, and I try hard to suppress the laugh threatening to escape my throat.
"Do not do that again . . . ever," he says through gritted teeth.
"You got a problem with a woman paying for breakfast?" I raise my eyebrows as he stands, gazing down at me.
"Yes."
I take a step back to put some space between us. "Why?"
"I just do. Don't push it," he says hotly, mimicking my words from earlier.
"Fine. Are you ready to go?"
"Yes."
"You going to keep up the one word answers for the rest of the day?" I glance at him as we walk through the door.
He doesn't respond, but looks down, meeting my eyes and rolls his, practically stomping to the car. Jameson's standing by the back door and opens it, allowing Blake to climb in the back.
"You okay, sir?" Jameson asks.
'That woman is impossible."
"What did she do this time?"
“Hey, what do you mean ‘this time’?” I open my arms in question.
Blake growls. I can't control the laugh that escapes my lips.
"Keep laughing, woman," he yells from inside the car.
Jameson shuts the door and turns around to face me. "What did you do?"
"Paid for breakfast." I smirk.
"Lily . . . you really know how to ruin it when someone does something nice for you," he scolds.
My smile falls and I stare at Jameson. "I don't know what you're trying to pull, but stop. He's an assignment and I'm not getting fired over the fact he flirts too damn much."
I reach around him and grab the handle for my door. He moves out of the way, walking to his side of the car. My cell phone vibrates and I shut the door, stepping away from the car to answer it.
"Hey, Lily, how's it going?" Sammi says in my ear.
"Eh. Wishing we had a better assignment. You?" I glance at the car before turning my back to it.
"I thought you'd be the one to dislike this. You're not big on socialization. How's your morning with Mr. Mason? Having fun yet?"
"Yeah, it's wonderful. Nothing better than a spoiled brat with too much money and no sense." I roll my eyes.
"Mason seems nice though."
"I guess, so," I say, feeling shy and strange. Doesn't matter if the sun shines out of his ass.
"Oh, come on, Lily. Mate bought you flowers. That was
sweet."
"Yeah, and completely uncalled for."
"Has anyone ever bought you flowers before?"
"Well . . . no, but that isn't the point."
"I think he's sweet on you."
"Sweet on me . . . what are you, ninety?"
Someone clears their throat from behind me. I spin around to find Blake leaning up against the side of the car, hands in his pockets, a bemused look on his face.
"I got to go, Sammi," I say in a rush and hang up the phone.
"How's Sammi this morning?"
I raise my eyebrows. "She's fine."
"She's a real hoot. Spent a few hours chatting with her last night. Really cares about you." He runs his fingers through his hair.
Huh? "Don't harass my team trying to get information about me," I say reaching for the door handle again.
"Why? Afraid they'll reveal the secret to getting you to chill out?"
"You wish," I say playfully, but the sudden urge to be honest hits me again. "I'm very private, Mr. Mason. They don't know me as well as you think they do."
He looks at me, questioning with his eyes. I shake my head slightly, letting him know this isn't up for discussion. He sighs and climbs back into the car. I run my fingers through my hair and fling the passenger side door open, climbing inside.
I think it's time to start putting some distance between Blake and myself.
9
~Lily~
Well, there's no doubt Blake Mason is damn good at his job. I've sat in a chair in the corner of his office for five hours and so far, he’s bought three new companies, merged two more, and liquidated three others.
In moments when he's alone, I read a book from his bookshelf. Hamlet. It's actually one of my favorite Shakespeare plays. Blake's phone chirps, distracting me from my reading. I glance up, irritation setting in.
That’s the tenth time his phone has gone off in the last twenty minutes.
I gently sit the book down on the coffee table in front of me, standing. Blake's phone chirps again. He glances up at me after reading his phone and his cheeks redden slightly.
"Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Mason," I say, strolling from his office.
Once outside, I shut his door and pull out my cell phone. I scroll through my contacts list, highlight the person I need and press the call button.
"Hey, Viper. How’s your day?" Hayato is overly cheerful.
"Boring as shit. I need a favor."
I glance up, noticing Blake's receptionist watching me carefully. I turn my back on her— she's a nosy bitch.
"No problem. What’d you need?"
"Can you hack Mason's phone and forward me all incoming and outgoing text messages for the last hour?"
He chuckles. "Ya, I got you. Give me five minutes."
"Thanks."
I walk back into Blake's office, closing the door behind me. He looks up, meeting my gaze and smiles. My stomach clenches and I force my insides to remain calm.
"I've got one more conference call to take and then I'd like to get some lunch."
"Not a problem. Just let me know when you're ready to leave and I'll call Jameson."
"Okay," he says as his office phone rings.
I sit back in the corner as Blake takes his call. After another seven pages of Hamlet, my cell phone vibrates— it's the texts. I glance at Blake, making sure he's occupied before opening the file.
1:00p Caleb: Sup bro? 007 let you go to work today?
1:02p Blake: She's here with me.
1:05p Caleb: NO SHIT! Is she dressed in that hot spy wardrobe again? Can I stop by your office?
1:10p Blake: Ha. She looks pretty hot. We went out to breakfast this morning.
1:15p Caleb: OoO? Really? You digging on her already?
1:16p Blake: I dunno dude, something about her. She's so goddamn standoffish though.
1:18p Caleb: I bet. She's got some secrets man. What are you gonna do?
1:20p Blake: No clue. I don't think charm is going to work with her.
1:22p Caleb: Dude, just be yourself. If I was you, I'd fuck her three ways from Sunday . . . on your desk . . . your door locks right?
1:25p Blake: You're an asshole, though. It's different with her, Caleb . . . I can't explain it.
1:27p Caleb: Wait . . . you mean, you got like serious feelings for this chick? You've known her 2 days, bro!
1:30p Blake: I know man, but there's something about her . . .
Well, fuck me!
This is why I need space. Two days and he’s talking about me to his friends, taking me out to breakfast, and giving me flowers. No. The only thing this is going to do is hurt him and get me fired. If Jax finds out about any of this, I'm going to be in deep shit.
Despite myself, I do find Blake intriguing. I sigh and shake my head. All I need to do is ignore it. Ignore the sensations, his tone of voice, and the look in his eyes.
If I can do that, maybe I can get through this assignment with my sanity intact. I pick my book up off the table and read again. Blake's phone chirps at the same time mine vibrates. He squeezes the receiver between his ear and shoulder and picks up his phone. I raise my eyebrow as he snickers, tapping out a reply. He slides his phone back on the desk and mine vibrates again.
I pull it out and open the new messages.
2:15p Caleb: That's awesome dude. You've been single for too damn long. Just make sure Miranda doesn't fuck this one up.
2:17p Blake: Ha, I'm pretty sure Lily would bitch slap her.
I burst out laughing, shattering the quietness of the room. Blake lightly bangs his hand on his desk, his office phone still on his ear. My face heats and I mouth the word, 'Sorry' as I slide my phone back in its holder. He raises his eyebrows at me and I look back at my book, trying to compose myself.
Looks like Blake knows me better than I thought.
I clear my throat, swallowing another round of laughter. This would be a lot less funny if he knew his messages were being sent to my phone. I focus on my reading and space out, vaguely keeping track of Blake's conference call.
†††
"You ready for lunch?"
I close the book and stand, raising my arms above my head to stretch. Blake lets his eyes roam over my body and I quickly drop my arms and step around him. He sighs and I hold my breath, opening his office door. He walks past me, his body coming too close to mine.
"Michelle, I'm going out for lunch. No one in the office and take messages, don't forward any calls to my cell today."
Her eyes dart from me to him, shock filling them. "Yes, sir."
"Lily."
I fall in stride next to him, pulling my cell phone out again.
"We won't need Jameson to drive us. The place we're going is less than a block away."
I press the button for his cell anyway.
"Black Mamba."
"We're walking to get lunch. Go get yourself something."
"Will do."
"Mamba?"
"Yeah?"
"Be careful."
"Of course, Viper."
I hit the end button and stick the phone back in its case, glancing up at Blake.
"Mamba?"
"His codename is Black Mamba."
"Ah. Do you all have names like that?"
We step into the elevator. "Yes."
"So you're Viper, Vlad's Rattlesnake. Jameson is Mamba. What about the others? You guys are like the real life version of G.I. Joe or Kill Bill." Blake laughs and I can't help but snicker.
I run my hand through my hair as the elevator doors open. Blake and I walk quickly down the street. A few minutes later, he stops in front of a small café, holding the door open for me. I walk in and we're greeted by silence. The place is empty accept for two elderly woman standing behind a counter.
Blake smiles at them and moves to sit at a table near the far wall. It's a small two top with little room underneath. He sits with his feet separated, giving me somewhere to put mine. This is really . . . intimate.
One of t
he women comes to the table and places two cups of coffee in front of us with two menus. I'm surprisingly hungry, despite the breakfast I ate this morning.
"You going to try and order for me again?" I smirk.
"Depends." He looks up from his menu, meeting my gaze. My body tenses under his scrutiny. "Are you going to willingly eat or do I have to try and guess your favorite lunch food too?"
I chuckle. "As it happens, I'm actually hungry, so I think I'll eat."
"Good, and I'll pay. Don't be a bitch about the check this time," he says in agitation, looking back to his menu.
Twenty-five minutes later, I'm eating a chicken Caesar salad while Blake has a club sandwich. We've hardly said anything, but I have an overwhelming urge to talk to him. His voice is deep, rich, and wonderful to listen to.
"We all got our codenames from aspects of our personality or some other unique trait."
He stills, holding his sandwich an inch from his mouth, his eyes widening.
I set my fork down. After a beat, he takes a bite of his food, keeping a constant lock on my face. I pick up my napkin, wipe my mouth, and take a sip of my water.
"How did you, Vlad, and Jameson get yours?"
"Jameson got his for his speed. Black Mambas are one of the fastest snakes in the world. He's fast both on foot and in a vehicle— any vehicle. Vlad's is because of the god-awful bracelet he wears. It's a wonder his targets don't hear him coming a mile away." I shake my head.
"And you?"
"Vipers are one of the most venomous families of snakes known worldwide."
"You consider yourself venomous?"
“Yes. I kill people for a living. That's my job. Vipers are unique because they decide how much venom to deliver in a single strike. I can kill clean and quick, or torture my targets until they've suffered enough or their bodies give up." I glance up from my hands to his eyes locked on my face.
He sits quietly, staring at me for a few moments. His face is blank, giving no indication of his thoughts. "Is that supposed to ward me off or something?"
"If you're smart it will." I pick up my fork and take a bite of my salad.
"Well, I’ve no intentions of defining you by your career."
"There's no difference between the two."
The Auction Block Page 5