by Max Henry
“Maybe.”
“Do you have his number?”
I take a sip of wine and frown before answering. “No. And even if I did, what the hell am I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know,” Emma sasses. “Go get your phone anyway. We’re doing some research.”
I roll my eyes. “If you want to stalk his profiles, do it on your own damn phone.”
She smiles softly. “You’re really pissed at him, hey?”
“Can you tell?” I retort before downing the rest of my drink. I need a damn top up. All the way to the top.
“You never said what he did wrong last night,” Emma calls after me as I head to the kitchen. “What did he say?”
“It’s what he didn’t have to say.” I refill my glass and then head back toward her. “That hotel he’s staying at?”
“Yeah?” She turns to face me as I re-enter.
“He’s a major investor. Obviously owns the lion’s share because he stays there for free. Some small-time donor wouldn’t get those kinds of privileges.”
“And…?”
“And,” I snap, “how the hell am I supposed to expect him to understand how important it is to me that I keep my job if he has no idea what it’s like to struggle?”
Emma groans, her head dropping to the back of the sofa. “Oh my God. You’re such a prude.”
“Excuse me?”
“So what if he has money in his back pocket?” She fixes me with a hard stare. “Most women would see that as a bonus. Only you, Miss Nobody-has-it-as-hard-as-me would see it otherwise.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I take a healthy swig of my wine, my free hand stamped to my hip.
“You have this enormous chip on your shoulder about anyone who’s flush.”
I say nothing. Is that really how she sees me? Is that how Mason sees me?
“Go on,” Emma taunts. “Try and deny it.”
Fuck. She’s right. “How did I not see this?” I drop my ass to the floor, my wine somehow managing to stay within the glass throughout my unceremonious flop. “I have a major hang-up about money, don’t I?”
“Mm-hmm.” She swivels to face me, leaning over the arm of the sofa. “Look at the guys you’ve dated.”
Drifters. I’ve dated men who had no clear goals, no clear direction in what they wanted from life. Guys who were happy cruising along through life, cashing in on their friends—or in my case, girlfriends—generosity.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” Why do I have such major issues with a guy that can pay his own way and then some?
“Nothing’s wrong with you, babe,” Emma coos. “You’ve probably just learned the attitude from somewhere. Somebody in your life taught you money is bad, or that showing your wealth is rude.”
I sup at my wine, the glass resting on my bottom lip between mouthfuls. Emma waits patiently, chin resting atop her hands, while I delve into my past and try to figure where this dislike of affluent people came from.
Bingo. “My grandfather,” I say. “He worked the same job for forty years, sure if he stuck it out, he’d make his way to a supervisor and then manager.”
“Did he?”
I shake my head. “He made supervisor, only to have his shot at manager taken away when the job was given to the family of the owner.”
“Ooo.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “He had a major grudge against that place, which only got worse when Grandma got sick and couldn’t work.”
Emma frowns. “What happened then?”
“He asked them for lenience while she went through treatment, and you know what they did? Instead of giving him the extra five days paid leave he requested, they demoted him to a general worker again. Apparently, he could get the extra days if he worked on the floor because it was an hourly rate, not salary like he got as a supervisor. The problem was, the hourly rate meant a major pay cut. It almost bankrupted my grandparents.”
“Eish.” Emma straightens, her brow pinched. “Harsh.”
“His attitude is the one that taught me people with money don’t get the struggles of people without.” I close my eyes and sigh. “I can’t believe how damn ignorant I’ve been.”
“Well,” Emma announces as she slides from the sofa. “No point dwelling on it. Question is, what are you going to do about it now?”
I rotate the near empty glass in my hand. “Figure out how to get over my pride and apologize to Mason.”
“You want your phone, then?”
I chuckle. “I guess so.”
She bounds off the seat, leaping on tiptoes past me to find my purse. “Stalker mode: engaged!”
Lord, help me.
Actually, Lord help Mason.
SIXTEEN
Mason
Suspended.
I wasn’t even the one who threw the first punch, and yet here I lie on my hotel bed, fucking suspended from work, while Tony smarmy-face Kipley gets to go back to work.
And that’s not even the part that pisses me off the most.
Being stood down for something that I don’t perceive to be my fault—at least, not entirely—isn’t what has me reluctant even to get dressed and off this damn mattress.
Nope. It’s the fact Lisa is there now, at work, in that goddamn office, and I’m stuck here like the naughty boy I am with no access to my toys. She’s so much more than a toy, though. God, she’s everything.
I slap a hand onto the bedside table and drag the room service menu to me. Either I’ve been stuck in the ass by Cupid’s arrow, or I’m becoming delirious from lack of food. I’m opting for the second explanation, considering it seems the easiest to justify.
I make the rules.
I’m the one who decides how and where women get to have me. I sure as fuck don’t get sucked in by their feminine charms and let them dictate how I feel.
I’m so fucked.
I want her. Here. Now.
She’d know how to make me feel better. The uncertainty surrounding my career today has me restless. Will Pete see through Tony’s bullshit? Will Alf stick up for me? Or am I basically lying here waiting on a healthy severance package, or maybe not even that? Perhaps I’ll get a verbal kick in the ass and a weeks pay if I’m lucky.
Not that the money matters. It’s the principle of the damn situation.
Holy shit. Is this how Lisa feels waiting on the outcome of the company’s audit? Is this the limbo she’s in waiting to hear if she keeps her job or needs to start looking elsewhere?
God, I’m such a douche.
I toss the sheet back from my legs and slide to the side of the bed. Where the fuck did I leave my phone? Or more accurately, where did it land after I threw it across the room last night when I got Pete’s message?
I rise to my feet and stretch, arms braced above my head. The sun illuminates the carpet at my feet, the warmth seeping onto my toes. I’ve got no idea what time it is. My best guess is mid-morning. I really should do something with the day other than lie around and feel jaded about what’s happened. After all, when was the last time I actually took a day off? I can’t even remember….
The glossy black of my phone’s hard case catches my eye from beneath the single armchair. I duck down and retrieve it, flipping it over in my hand to check the screen.
Message from Pete, two from Alf, one from Lisa, and a—One from Lisa?
My thumb is a blur as I swipe left, hammer in my passcode, and then impatiently wait for the thread to load. Fucking hotel WiFi.
LISA: I just heard the news. I can’t believe they suspended you and not Tony. Are you okay?
Know a few ways I could be better, but…
ME: Frustrated and bored. It’ll blow over. Guess I gave the office something new to gossip about.
My reply has barely been delivered before the dots dance to show she’s typing back. Either her phone happened to be in plain view on her desk, or somebody is more concerned that they’re letting on.
LISA: Millie at reception is having a field day. What
were you two arguing about, though? Tony won’t say.
ME: I bet he won’t. Asshole. He made a few threats—against me, and you.
LISA: What!? Why me?
ME: He might have been onto something even if he had no proof.
I settle back on the bed, shoulders propped against the headboard and my legs wide as I grin like a fool at her dancing dots.
LISA: Something being …
ME: Us.
The dots stop. Radio silence ensues for a painful minute before she restarts.
LISA: When are you back?
ME: I don’t know. Why? Miss me?
LISA: Perhaps…
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Oh, Lisa.”
ME: I thought I was an ‘entitled jerk.’
LISA: I may have been a little harsh with that assessment.
ME: Is that an apology, Miss East?
LISA: Would you like it to be, Mr. Roberts?
I palm my thickening cock with my free hand while I type my reply.
ME: I like to receive my apologies in person.
LISA: Well, that might be a little difficult if you’re not here now, won’t it?
ME: I might not be in the office today, but I’m still in town.
And hornier than a fucking teenager.
ME: When are you having lunch?
LISA: Whenever you say I am.
Jesus. I slide my hand inside the waist of my boxers and tug them down over my raging hard-on. My fingers wrap around the length of it, going some way to easing this building need inside of me, yet it doesn’t compare to how it would feel to have her fingers stroking me toward release.
ME: You’re taking it now. Early.
LISA: It’s half ten, Mason. I might raise suspicion if I leave now.
Shit. It is early.
ME: Say you have a client meeting first. Problem solved.
Her end of the conversation falls silent again. I tug extra hard on my cock, letting it go with an annoyed slap to my stomach. She better not back out now.
ME: I need you here. Now. I take a deep breath before doing something I never have with a woman: open up and be honest about how I feel. Today has gone to shit and seeing you would make me feel better.
God, I sound like a sap.
It works like a charm, though.
LISA: I take it you’re at the hotel?
ME: Waiting.
LISA: Give me half an hour. I need to make this look legit.
Fuck. I toss the phone aside and look down at my still thick erection. Half an hour, little buddy. Think you can manage that? Who the fuck am I kidding? One cool breeze across the head and I’m sure to fucking nut before she gets here.
Cold shower it is then.
ME: Don’t be late.
SEVENTEEN
Lisa
My email calendar, desk diary, and the fake quote I printed all say I’m with a client. All I have to do now is pray that nobody actually mentions anything about this bullshit meeting with the client.
Damn it. This is risky.
My heart pounds as I ride the lift to Mason’s floor. It beats to heavy, so forcefully, that I can feel it everywhere: my toes, my fingertips, my neck, and most frustratingly, between my legs.
I snatch a second before reaching his floor to triple-check my reflection in the mirrored walls of the lift. It’ll have to do. My hair is wind-whipped and knotted at the ends, but there’s only so much I can do with my fingers and no spray to tame the flyaways.
By the time I reach the room, my hands are clammy and I swear I’m going to be sick. Meeting Mason doesn’t have me this anxious. Hell no. It’s the possibility that an already suspicious Tony might finally be able to prove his theory about Mason and me.
You only live once, right?
I knock on the door, squashing down fleeting thoughts about how much I feel like a call girl at this point in time.
He answers in nothing but his boxers. Save my soul. His hair is still damp from what I assume was a shower, his skin flushed, which only adds to the golden tan that adorns his whole body.
I default to my failsafe when I feel awkward: humor. “Am I overdressed?”
A wicked grin tugs at his lips. “Not for long. Get in here.”
I walk past him into the central part of the suite, catching a whiff of his intoxicating cologne as I go by. My God, that man knows how to smell delicious.
“I really do want to apologize.” I drop my purse to the small coffee table and turn to face Mason as he shuts the door. “I shouldn’t have assumed that just because you have your finances in order, you wouldn’t take my review seriously.”
He huffs a small laugh out his nose, ducking his chin with a smile. “I didn’t always have it this together.”
“No?” It shouldn’t, but that one little fact about him relaxes me.
“I wasted a lot of money on things, and people, that didn’t matter before I decided to make a change.” He closes the distance between us in slow strides. “This is merely the last five years of focused work.”
“Honestly.” I fold my arms over my stomach, unsure what to do with them now I have nothing to hold. “It doesn’t matter. It was shallow of me to treat you how I did.”
“You were acting out of fear.” Mason stops before me, placing a warm hand to my jaw. “I get it.”
“Forgiven, then?” I peer into his dark eyes, looking for any shred of doubt or ill intent. All I find is the same confusion I feel in this moment.
“Forgiven.” He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. “Now it’s my turn to apologize.”
I frown as his hand drifts to the neck of my blouse. “What for?”
“Acting like a complete and utter douche when you wanted to leave the other night.”
I smile as he lifts his other hand and gets to work on my buttons. “I believe you were acting out of fear, also.”
“I was,” he agrees, deftly parting my blouse. “But not for the reason you might think.”
“You said you were desperate to make me stay.”
“I was.” His palms slide under the soft cotton and push the halves aside. “But I wasn’t fearful that I couldn’t make you stay.”
“No?” The fabric slides from my shoulders. I pull my arms back and allow the blouse to fall to the floor.
“I was fearful,” he murmurs, gaze fixed to the swell of my breasts as he traces first one, and then the other with heated fingertips. “Of how I’d feel if you did stay.”
He’s not making sense. He wanted me to stay, but he was terrified if I did. “I don’t get it.”
Mason’s eyes find mine, the irises a deep gray resembling the sky moments before a storm. “It doesn’t matter.”
I hold him off with flat palms to his chest, yet all that does is manage to create a definite buzz between my thighs at the feel of his hard planes beneath my touch. “It does to me.”
He sighs, hands settled on my waist. “I’ve always found it hard to settle with one woman.”
Great. Here comes the part where Mason tells me he’s a womanizing jerk.
“Hard to trust.” He tugs my hips to him, thumbs tracing a path back and forth over my stomach. “The one time I settled down, it all went to hell.”
“Why are you telling me this? Now?” It all seems so intimate for people whose relationship—or whatever this is—is so new.
“Because with you it’s different,” he rasps. “For once, I care what you think. For once, how you feel means more to me than what I want.”
“And what do you want?” I run my hands to his shoulders, massaging the swell of his muscles.
“Tell me this. If we didn’t work together, if we were just two people who met on the town one night, would you want to try this again?”
The sincerity in his eyes is my undoing. He watches me with such captive interest, seemingly worried about what I might say.
“If I take this back to the very first night we met….”
“Then?” He lifts his eyebrows, begging me to co
ntinue.
“Then, I guess I probably would have wondered if I’d get to see you again.” I sigh, softening into his hold. “The way we met, Mason? I don’t do that. I don’t hook up with guys in that way. It was… it was a spur of the moment thing. I guess I wanted to challenge myself, see if I could drop my hang-ups and actually go through with it.”
“I’m glad you did,” he murmurs, ducking to press his lips to my neck.
“So, in answer to your question, yes. I would want to try this again. I do want to try this again.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.” His words are barely more than a guttural growl against my searing flesh.
My hands grip his shoulders to steady myself as he jerks my skirt up my legs with short, hard yanks. “I can smell how ready you are, baby. Fuck—I can almost taste you on my tongue.”
My panties are drenched hearing those wicked words fall from his lips in a husky whisper. “So taste me already.”
I prepare for him to drop before me, yet he takes me by surprise and runs his fingers along my pussy, pushing the damp material against my slick folds. My hips jerk toward him, my body seeking out more. He responds by easing the fabric of my panties aside, gaze holding mine, and repeating the action with his fingertips to my bare pussy.
Goddamn. I need penetration. Now.
“You want me to savor this cunt?”
I bite my lip and nod.
“Taste your warm juices? Feast on this swollen pussy?”
My head whips up and down. “Yes.”
“Huh.” He pushes two fingers inside, hard and fast.
I gasp at the intrusion, at how achingly satisfying it is to feel him inside of me. My core clenches around him as he pumps his thick fingers in and out, working me into a quick frenzy. The heel of his hand rubs my clit, his breaths coming faster and harder as I undulate against him.
“That’s it. Ride my hand and own that goddamn climax, baby.” He pulls his fingers free and pops them in his mouth, groaning as he drags them out, clean. “God, you taste good. So fucking sweet.”
Jesus. I think I almost came.
He lifts me effortlessly and positions me in the plush chair behind us. I grip the armrests as he lifts my legs to his shoulders and unzips my skirt, removing it with my panties in one pass.