Oh my God. Monica and Ruby.
The computer sifted through a montage of photos, mostly of Mason’s ex-wife, and all with a picture of a little girl who had Mason’s killer eyes and black hair. Her breath caught when the photo of a christening card for Ruby Amanda Christian swooped onto the screen. The next picture was of a white headstone covered in red roses, the shadow of the photographer falling across the name etched in gold. Ruby Amanda Christian. Gone but never forgotten.
Tears dropped onto the keyboard. His daughter. His baby daughter who died.
She stared at the screen. There was something she could do for him.
…
“Right,” Billie said, dragging her suitcase into the foyer the next day. She looked back at her room and the pale blue whitewashed walls. The blankets were folded at the bottom of the bed. The sheets had been washed and dried on the line and now smelled of sunshine. She hadn’t heard Mason come in the night before, but she’d felt his presence in her room when he came and checked on her.
Stanley had left the room with him after sniffing her hand.
“Escaping there, Forty-Two?” Mason’s cold voice halted her progression.
She let go of the case, and it thumped loudly on the wooden floor and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Not escaping, Felix. Leaving.”
Mason lounged against the doorframe, clad in faded denim and a black T-shirt—the same clothes as yesterday. She knew his posture attempted to disguise the fact he was seriously pissed off. When he spoke, that displeasure would flatten out the vowels in his voice.
She pulled herself straighter. “We’re all done here. Contract’s finished. I don’t believe I owe you any vital organs or platelets, so I’m…um… good to go. I know you’ll figure something out about the house. I saw your inbox this morning. There’s a lot of enquiries and a stack of messages on your desk. Your lunch is in the fridge, and I’d appreciate if you could pay me by direct deposit as we agreed.”
He looked around. “Where’s Stanley?”
At his words her dog ambled out from Mason’s bedroom. He cocked his ears and stood between them.
She glanced at her watch, ignoring the tremble in her fingers. “I need to go. It will take the Old B forever to get up those hills.” Stanley gave a tiny whine, and it brought a twinge of pain on top of ache that had been her constant companion for days. Her dog was going to miss Mason. Maybe as much as she would.
Mason looked like he was about to say something when he froze, his gaze directed at the frame she’d put on his desk earlier. “What the fuck,” he whispered, his face deathly pale, eyes blazing.
Her eyes strayed to the photo of the three of them. Monica, Mason, and Ruby. In jeans and T-shirts, they were posed in an everyday snap beside a fountain somewhere in Auckland. Monica was tucked into Mason’s side, and she was laughing up at him. He cradled Ruby in his arms and looked down at the woman he so clearly adored with such love in his eyes, it made her smile and her breath hitch at the same time.
“I love that photo. You’re right. You had perfection.” She smiled. When she’d seen the photos up on his screen, she’d understood what he meant. She’d never seen him smile like he had in the photos with his ex-wife and daughter.
“Where’d you get this?” He hadn’t moved an inch. Even his face had frozen into a stiff mask.
“Your computer. You had a really cool picture of Stanley as your screen saver. I didn’t mean to pry, but I clicked on a photo then another. You’re right, you did have everything. I thought if you celebrated what you had, let them into your life, maybe they’d help.”
He moved to the table and picked up the frame, his eyes raw. “Help me? How the fuck do you figure that? I can look at heartbreak all day and be giddy with joy?” He looked at her before his eyes were drawn back to the frame in his hand.
“You need roots so badly, it’s obvious to everyone on this planet except you. You use these memories to keep you moving, to keep from growing new roots,” she said, unable to stop the thread of sadness in her voice.
“I don’t need roots.” His was tone hard, his eyes harder.
“You said I do, but I’ve always had them. I’ve always known what I wanted and where I wanted to be. I’ll grant you that your comment that I should go out and live a little is valid, and that’s what I intend to do. I’ve re-enrolled in culinary school starting in a couple of weeks.” She advanced and put her hand on his arm. “But you? All your life, people have left you. Your mum died, your dad checked out. Then you found Monica and you had roots, and I’m kind of thinking you loved it. Loved being connected for the first time in your life. And then the worst thing that could happen did. Ruby died. Nothing you or Monica could have done to save her. There’s nothing you could have done, but you’ve let guilt over her death guide your life. Now I don’t know what went down with you and Monica, but I’m thinking you closed down and couldn’t talk about Ruby or deal with Monica’s pain and —”
“You need to go.” Pain leaked from the man. She wrapped her fingers around his forearm and held on.
She took a deep breath and pushed through the burn in her throat. “You need the good times. The smiles, the laughter. You need to give up the pity party, Mason. Accept that you can have it all again, if you’ll just stop punishing yourself. You’re a good man, and you deserve a good life.”
“I said you need to go. Now.”
She could taste the pain flowing out of him. It sat bitter on her tongue. He turned raw, burning eyes to her for a second, and she flinched at the look on his face.
“Mason,” she whispered. “I didn’t do this to hurt you. I did this as I thought it would be better to celebrate Ruby instead of keeping her locked away. Instead of always seeing pain and sadness, you can remember that there were great times too.”
Without a word, he flipped the frame over, picked up her cases, and carried them to the car. She couldn’t swallow over the lump in her throat. She let her jaw unlock and the pain out. Tears pricked her eyes, and she let them fall and let her breath hitch.
“Right,” she whispered to the room. Stanley sat looking up at her, then left to presumably find Mason. She couldn’t process what had just happened. She thought he might be pissed, but this burned through all the layers. It was as if he’d been dropped in a vat of liquid nitrogen and had been frozen solid.
There was one thing she could do for her dog.
He stood by her car as if counting down the seconds, the driver’s door open.
Dismissed. She was being dismissed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Go.” His voice was so cold she shivered.
Pain radiated from her heart and threatened to swallow her whole, but she pushed it down. With trembling legs and avoiding Mason, she instead knelt down and hugged her dog, burying her face in his neck. “Is it possible for Stanley to stay with you until I can get my living arrangements sorted? Sarah’s flat isn’t a good place for him. I’ll stop by every morning to see him. If you could text me a time when you won’t be here, I’ll come by.”
“Be here at ten as I won’t be.”
She pulled back and looked into Stanley’s confused eyes. “Love you, baby boy. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her jaw ached from fighting the river of tears burning her eyes. One broke through the dam, and Stanley’s tongue licked the tear rolling down her cheek.
Without looking at Mason, she got in her car and drove away. She pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road a mile up a hill and looked back at the blazing lights that illuminated what would always be Wuthering Heights in her mind. Her lips trembled, and she wiped her eyes. Look how Cathy and Heathcliff turned out. I should have known there were no happy endings here.
Chapter Eleven
Mason stood frozen until the tail lights of Billie’s car faded and she disappeared out of his life.
Numb. Everything functioned as biology dictated. Heart pushed blood. Skin covered muscle and bone, kidneys filtered. He walked inside with Stanley
at his heels. He slumped onto the couch and stared at the blank TV screen, refusing to let any memories surface until dawn streaked across the sky and Stanley pawed at the door. He pushed himself off the couch and stood outside, absently watching the dog. He left the door open for the dog and went to make himself a cup of spine-straightening coffee. He wandered into the kitchen and stopped at the chalkboard with yesterday’s menu of spinach, feta, and pesto pie. Bluebirds circled the words, and flowers and balloons were drawn along the margins.
He made a cup of coffee that churned like acid in his gut but fired energy through his veins. He pulled the tinfoil off yesterday’s dinner and took a bite, ignoring the green salad in a ceramic bowl next to the pie. The pie was awesome. He finished it in three easy bites and stared into the empty plate. He was going to miss her cooking for sure. He didn’t relish what he’d have tonight, which would be frozen and followed by Jack Daniels’ finest.
He checked his e-mail and found a happy note from Takahashi, who was very happy with the Coromandel property. He’d forwarded all the paperwork to his lawyers to sign off and added that his wife was delighted. Mason slumped in front of his desk and stared across at the empty desk. Stanley walked into the room and stood at Forty-Two’s desk, his head swinging between the desks.
“She’ll be to see you soon, old man.”
He glanced at his watch and decided to leave for a lung-bursting run just before ten for the next few days. He was so tired now, his brain was having a hard time pulling two thoughts together. His computer had gone to screen-saver, and the photos that Billie had been clicking through filled the screen.
Fuck.
He flinched and tried to block out the image of Monica lying on the floor dead asleep, Ruby on her stomach, also conked out. Ruby had been having a hard time with colic, and he’d found them on the floor at midnight. He’d lifted a startled Ruby, who’d nearly let loose with a wail. But then she’d snuggled into his shoulder. He’d carried her to bed, tucking her into the blankets. He’d then carried Monica, who’d curled into him, murmuring Ruby’s name. He smiled at the memory. Couldn’t help it, but looking at the photo of them, something soft pressed against this throat. He slammed shut his laptop.
Not all the memories hurt, and for some reason, this surprised him.
He picked up the frame Billie had left on his desk.
Fucking great memories.
He stared down.
Memories.
They were great memories.
“Yeah,” he said to the empty room, taking in what this room was like before Billie had made it a home. Stark white walls now hung with prints of the area. Soft white curtains billowed over the French doors. Branches filled terracotta urns behind white bushes and red plants. Copper pots now hung from the ceiling in the kitchen. Pinecones filled flax baskets in the corner of the huge stove, dousing the huge room with their scent.
He turned at the sound of a glass wind chime that danced in the breeze. So Billie. Stanley stared at him with big, sad eyes. The house was quiet. Too quiet.
She’d made it everything it needed to be. It wasn’t a minimalist retreat and never should have been. It was a home.
He put down the frame of Monica and Ruby and stared out the window.
Pity party, Billie had called it. It wasn’t a pity party, it was locking it away so he didn’t have to see what he could have had. She wanted him to celebrate Ruby? Look at her beautiful face and not feel pain? It hadn’t happened in over three years, and he doubted he’d start happy dancing when he looked at her face. More like he’d feel his soul slash open again.
He couldn’t even begrudge her going to the council with the Heritage Act. She had good intentions. It wasn’t as if it was a state secret. It was there to be found and would have been eventually, probably after Takahashi was just as embroiled in the property as Mason, and then all hell would have broken loose. Instead, Takahashi was happy, and apparently his wife was ecstatic.
Even Monica with her dreamy eyes stared up at him as if to say, no harm, no foul, and by the way, you’re an idiot.
Only one other person had ever loved him enough to call him on his shit, and he’d fucked that up. He scrubbed his hand against his face. He’d fallen for Billie as well. But she deserved way more than he had. She didn’t deserve to be anybody’s second best. She deserved to be loved totally and unconditionally. Day merged into night. He tried to concentrate, but he couldn’t focus on anything. He’d open a spreadsheet, stare at it, then click it closed. The only time his heart slammed into his throat was at a quarter to ten when he knew Billie would be on approach to see her dog. He’d done as he agreed and left. The only evidence that she’d been there was her awesome scent that lingered in the kitchen and an upturned glass on the counter, the image of her lips imprinted on the glass in gloss.
Three days later, and he still felt like shit. With his heart barely beating, he stared down at the picture of two of the best things that had ever happened in his life.
He had to do something. It was as if he’d sprung a leak and energy was being drained out of him. He’d tried plugging it up with Mr. Daniels’ finest, which had only given him a mother of a headache. He’d run until his muscles cramped. He wasn’t hungry. Sleep became a distant memory. And if he was lucky enough to catch a few minutes of torture, it was Billie’s hazel eyes that stared back at him. He was losing it. Fucking losing it.
He opened a search engine and did a search in the local area. He had to do something or what was left of his sanity, not to mention his reputation, was gone.
He pulled out his cell and made the hardest call he’d ever made in his life.
…
Three days later, the ringtone of “Ice, Ice, Baby” announced that her former boss was calling. Billie scrambled for the light switch in Sarah’s spare bedroom and blinked when the light pierced her eyes. She stumbled out of bed and grabbed the phone from the dressing table. If he was calling at this hour, it could only mean one thing. Something was wrong with Stanley. She flicked her finger across the screen and held the phone to her ear.
“Mason, what is it?” She choked out the next words, gripping the phone tighter. “Is it Stanley?”
“I need you to type something for me.”
“What?” She must have misheard. The jam festival was in a couple of hours, and she was still debating if she’d go or not. Seeing Mason after he’d shut her out of his life would make a corkscrew shape of her heart.
“There’s still an hour left on your contract.”
“What?”
“You weren’t hard of hearing before. I need you to come and type something for me. As per our contract.”
Well, if she thought he might have softened over the last week, she’d been wrong.
“You’ve got at least two fingers. Type it yourself,” she said, sitting on the side of the bed.
“Come again?”
“You heard me, Vlad. Contract’s finished. I’m not your number Forty-Two anymore.” She sat up straighter, ignoring the weird squeezy thing her heart was doing. Enough of this. “There’s a perfectly good temp agency in town, and I’m sure they’ll be able to rustle you up a Forty-Three.”
“It’s important. It was something we’ve been working on.”
She didn’t answer. “I’m not doing this with you,” she whispered. “We’re done here. I’ll be along to collect Stanley today. He can live here until I get my living arrangements sorted.” This was like a spike to the heart. Driving up there each day was bad enough, but hearing Mason’s voice was ripping the Band-Aid off and throwing salt into the wound.
“Please, Billie,” he said in a gentle voice. “It’s important.”
She sat in silence, staring at her feet. “What time?”
“Thought you’d be here firing up the vats for the jam in a couple of hours.”
The scent of brewing caffeine drifted to her. The timer for the coffee must have clicked on, which meant Sarah would be up in a few minutes getting ready for the big
day.
Billie sighed. “I’ll be there when I can.” She ended the call.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she stared out the window until pink streaked across the sky and the sun nudged away the night. A new chapter of her life was starting. Culinary school. Getting back to where she was pre-Mason. She should feel great, turning a few cartwheels about now, but she didn’t. She’d get back her heart. Eventually. It would take all of her armor not to show her reaction when she saw him today. She’d type up his letter, grab Stanley, and get out of Dodge before her façade could crack.
She could do this.
She would do this.
At ten, she parked the OB, patted the roof, and walked along the dusty country road toward Mason. Dragged her feet would be more accurate. She pasted what she hoped was a nice-to-see-you smile on her face and followed the line of parked cars.
She walked around the side of the house and couldn’t help but smile for real at the scene in front of her. Families laughed and chatted as giant metal vats were filled with water on in-ground oven pits. The air hissed with the sound of bubbling water as one by one, jars were added to large stock pots for sterilizing. A woman gave a cheery wave then started setting up more portable tables where giant urns of coffee and tea were being prepared. Shouts of children’s laughter and a few tears peppered the morning.
The day of the jam festival had begun, and the community of Footsteps Bay had come in droves. Billie raised a hand to Sarah, who was pushing a child on a wooden swing that dangled from the apple tree. Billie breathed in, filling her lungs with the smell of ripe fruit that spilled out of nearby baskets and buckets, stacked against the side of the house.
She looked around and smiled. It felt right being here. But then she tensed, and her mind went blank.
Standing there, hotter than he had any right to be, was Mason. A white T-shirt clung to his frame, showing off perfectly proportioned pectorals and biceps that flexed in weight-machine harmony. Toned shoulders rippled under the thin fabric. A pair of cargo shorts hung off his hips. Man Magic once more.
Winning the Boss's Heart Page 16