His Pawn (The Manhattan Tales Book 1)

by Thorne, Willa

  “Mason does not love me,” I responded curtly.

  “Do you love him?” She asked me pointedly.

  I could not answer that question, because the answer was yes, but I could not admit that to Zara Woodward of all people.

  My silence told her everything and she smirked. The smug expression was very familiar.

  “You are mentioned in several pieces of gossip in the New York Times. My father has been following Mason’s affairs-”

  “Your father spies on Mason?” I interrupted her incredulously.

  “Of course my father follows everything my brother does. He is the firstborn and only son. Do you realize how important that is to a family like mine?” Zara asked, but I picked up on a trace of jealousy in her choice of wording.

  I said nothing, absorbing the incredible pressure Mason has been under all this time, all these years. I honestly had no idea.

  “Our family cannot be seen associating with people like you, dear. Our worlds do not blend.”

  Hot tears suddenly pricked my eyes. Oh good grief, how embarrassing. This could only drive her point home. My watery eyes did not go unnoticed, and I sensed Zara digging through her black silk clutch.

  “You obviously mean something to my brother. He’s never had a woman stay for longer than one night. That’s why my father is willing to make an agreement with you.”

  I blinked up at her through glassy eyes and she gave me a feigned smile as she produced an American bank check. She handed it to me and I looked at the number written on it. My mouth dropped open as I saw the amount of money written on it. It was written to me, Jillian Pryor, and signed by Mason’s father.

  “You can’t be serious,” I breathed hoarsely.

  “My father is very serious. His plans for my brother cannot and will not include you. What could you possibly contribute to our family? However, my father is generous and will provide you with enough to buy your own apartment, pay off your student debt, fees and live comfortably… away from Mason. You will not lay eyes on Mason. He’ll be nothing more than a distant memory the moment you cash this check.”

  I looked at the obscene amount of money written on this check. Two million dollars.

  “It shouldn’t be such a painful decision for a girl in your… standing. Besides, you already confessed that my brother does not love you. Mason is not capable of loving anyone. Consider yourself fortunate.”

  I shook my head, unable to believe any of this.

  “Think about it, dear. You have five days to decide and then my father will void the check if it is not cashed before then, but once you cash the check, you are agreeing to stay away from my brother. And you’ll not say a word of this to Mason. Do you understand? My father will know if you do, and you won’t want my father angry. Trust me.” Her green eyes flared in a serious warning. “He’s a very powerful man. He has plenty of resources.” She nodded curtly.

  My throat tightened. They were trying to buy me out. I didn’t understand this. Without wishing me good night, Zara abandoned the empty wine glass on the polished countertop and left the apartment. I stood there, numb and dazed for what felt like hours.

  I went upstairs to my bedroom and paced back and forth as I stared at the check. So much has been made perfectly clear to me after that encounter. Mason was protecting me from his family; he wasn’t just hiding me to keep me as a dirty secret.

  He’d spoken the truth. I understood why he was so rigid and so angry when he’d returned from Mumbai. I understood why he was so disconnected and seemingly cruel at times after phone conferences with his father. It was no wonder Mason had no faith in people.

  I thought about the years he spent at my family’s apartment. I thought about his affection, his charming grin, and all the times he’d saved me from my problems.

  My lower lip trembled as I thought about Mason. Angrily, I tore the check in half and then stuffed it into the bottom of my designer bag. NO. NO. NO. I grabbed fistfuls of my own hair furiously.

  Should I tell Mason about this? I couldn’t… I was afraid of what could happen. I didn’t know how dangerous his father was and I didn’t want to find out the hard way, but I was not going to be bought out like some whore. Mason was worth more than that to me. I picked up my phone. I needed to hear his voice, but I faltered. If he’s with them, they’ll know if I call him. Was this only bluff? The bribery was serious, obviously, but was the warning all a bluff?

  I’d never read about Mason’s father committing any crimes. There was no documentation that he’d made threats or been arrested for anything. After spending hours of research, I discovered that Mason’s father, James Alexander Woodward, was as clean as a whistle, according to public records. The newspaper articles that were published online spoke very highly of him. He contributed to various charities and organizations.

  I sucked on my lower lip, feeling a little better. Perhaps I could just brush this off as an incidental run-in with the sister and leave it at that. I was grateful that they lived on an entirely different continent and I couldn’t wait to see Mason again. I needed to feel his embrace, his grip. Nothing made me feel safer than his commanding tone and his firm hold on me. I took a hot shower to calm my nerves and then retreated to bed for the night.

  ****

  The fifth day came and went. I wondered if I’d receive any sort of warning phone call or visit, but nothing happened. Nothing happened at all; It’s as if the encounter never happened, except I still had the evidence of the check buried at the bottom of my bag. I didn’t know then that Mason would be in and out of New York for the next two weeks. Once his family left New York, I was relocated back to his penthouse on Fifth Avenue.

  Between trips to London, where he was required to meet with his father, and a long stay in Vegas to finalize plans for his newest hotel, I rarely saw him. As the days rolled on, the night with Mason in his apartment on West 87th street began to feel more like a distant fantasy, and not reality. When I did hear from him, he was even more disconnected and severe.

  Did this have something to do with what his sister told me? The more time he spent away, the more lost he seemed. I needed to see him. I missed him, especially after that encounter with his sister. When I did see him again, it was not the reunion I wished for. The man I bathed with was long gone, replaced by the arctic mask of a man who was as cold as ice.

  “Turn around and put your hands on my desk, Jillian. I’m going to take you now,” He often said to me. Whether it was in his office on company grounds or in his penthouse, our times together had become fewer and farther between. He’d snuffed out any flame between us. I cursed myself for still loving him, for wanting Mason to return to me. I had to do something, but what? Don’t try to fix him, I admonished myself. I don’t want to fix him- I just want him back. He needs to know I care about him.

  ****

  March 4th is Mason’s birthday. I remembered that from years ago. Every year that he was with my family, my mom and I would bake him a yellow cake with chocolate whipped cream, and lasagna with her famous meatballs. It was nothing fancy but it was his favorite and it was his only request each year. How can a girl forget making this combination in a tiny Brooklyn apartment year after year?

  “What’s your work schedule like tomorrow?” I asked as I watched him button up his crisp white shirt, which contrasted handsomely with his olive skin. He’d called me into his office to bring him coffee. He looked absolutely delicious, even after bending me over his perfectly unvarnished desk. He fastened his pants and replaced the buckle before he answered.

  “Nothing in particular. I have a lunch meeting with some investors who are interested in my hotels,” He answered, smoothing his black hair. “It’s supposed to snow pretty heavily tomorrow night, according to the forecast and I’d rather be home before it arrives.”

  I watched him as I made myself presentable as well. I was fishing to see if he had made any plans for his birthday. True, the forecast models were calling for heavy snow so maybe he wasn’t dancing ar
ound the possibility that people either forgot or they showed lack of interest. I thought about Mason’s family at that moment, and a chill ran up my spine as I remembered the encounter with his sister.

  “Why do you ask?” He looked at me warily as he pulled his navy suit jacket over his shoulders.

  I tried to force the memory of his sister and the bank check far from my mind as I looked up at Mason.

  “I was watching the news this morning and they mentioned the snow. I just wanted to make sure you’d get home safely,” that was the truth, but I wasn’t about to tell him the real reason for asking. I gave him a sweet smile, which I hoped was convincing enough.

  I saw the faint trace of a smirk on his face as he shook his head. “I do need to get ready for a meeting I have in ten minutes,” he said passively, which was his latest way of dismissing me. That was alright with me, I had errands to run. I reached up and pulled him by the collar down to my level and I kissed his cheek softly. It caught him by surprise, and I smiled a little to myself.

  12. Mason Woodward

  I looked towards the panoramic view of my office. The sky was a stormy gray, precisely matching my mood for the day. My secretary had a box of cupcakes from a gourmet bakery delivered to the office, despite my distaste for celebrating my birthday. It was a nice gesture, nonetheless. What I really wanted for my birthday was Jillian Pryor in my apartment on West 87th Street, bound and begging for my cock.

  She’d been quiet in the last 24 hours, only saying that she had a lot of homework and then plans with her friend, Elyse. Then again, I was the one pushing her away. The steaming connection between us had to be snuffed. I could not allow this woman to attach herself to me so I did what I could to keep the arrangement in check.

  Still, my thoughts of her consumed my mind. A simple thought of her made my cock stiff and my chest clench. The most concerning part of this was my urge to protect her, to wrap my arms around her and feel her body pressed warmly against hers in the bed.

  This strong desire to keep her safe threw a wrench into my original plans to use her for revenge. She could never know about these plans, and I began to wonder if I’d truly be exhausted of her in only a month and a half, when our contract would end. On this day, my will fought against my desire to hear her voice. I knew she was busy, and thanks to yours truly, the light was lost from her eyes once again. I missed that radiant smile and those bright eyes. This was all my own damn fault.

  I pulled my mobile from the pocket of my suit. I knew how to get a woman’s attention. I dialed her number and held the phone to my ear. She answered immediately.

  “Hi,” she answered. I could almost see the smile on her face.

  “Hello, sweetpea,” I responded. Already I could feel that her voice was lifting my mood.

  “I just wanted to remind you that you can ask Mrs. O’Malley for my Amex card at any time. I think you’d enjoy a shopping trip.”

  Jill was quiet on the phone, then she chuckled. “You’re so silly. I still have clothes with the tags on them.”

  This was the second time she’d rejected my offer for a shopping spree. No woman has ever turned down my credit card in the past.

  Who was this woman? Jillian Pryor. Of course.

  “Ask him to come have Mexican with us!” I could hear a female voice speak in the background. I piqued a brow.

  “Elyse says hi,” Jillian spoke to me. “She thinks you should come out to eat with us on Friday.”

  For a few seconds, I think back to how this would have greatly annoyed me only a few weeks ago, but I was interested in meeting this friend who occupied Jill’s time. Then a thought occurred to me.

  “Actually, my cousin, Jackson, is hosting a Masquerade in New Rochelle. I’d like you to be my date,” I stated. With everything going on in the last month, I’d completely forgotten about the invitation until this moment. Jillian was quiet. I’m certain she was shocked by my invitation.

  “Oh… I had plans with Elyse though,” she answered hesitantly.

  “Oh please. I’ll be fine.” I could hear Elyse in the background. I liked this girl already.

  “Tell your friend that we can make a raincheck on the Mexican dinner, and I’ll ring my cousin to say we’re bringing Elyse.”

  “Really?” Jillian seemed delightfully shocked. “Wow, ok, thanks Mason.”

  “I’ll see you tonight at six,” I said just as my assistant paged my office phone, and I ended the call immediately.

  “Mr. Woodward?”

  “Yes Elizabeth?”

  “Your father is on the line.”

  There goes my lifted mood. I picked up the receiver and punched a button. I knew he was calling to scorn me about something. What have I done wrong now?

  “Good afternoon, dad.”

  “Son, what the hell am I looking at in the entertainment section of the New York Times?”

  I gripped the receiver so tightly, I’m surprised it doesn’t crack within my grasp. “I don’t know, dad, what are you looking at?”

  “There’s been bits of gossip about you traipsing around with some gold-digging whore. Are you trying to anger me?” He roared into the phone.

  I closed my eyes briefly. Before Jillian, my father was the only being on the planet whom I could not exude control over.

  “You read the Times Entertainment section all the way from London? I’m impressed.”

  “Mason Alexander Woodward, stop dicking around in my company or you’ll be out on your ass. I don’t want to see another mention about this tramp. Our family has an understanding that you will marry Aislinn Meadows. You’ll keep it in your pants and save it for your future wife.”

  My jaw clenched. Aislinn Fucking Meadows. The girl was as prissy and flowery as her name. She is the sole heir to her Father’s Banking enterprise, and our union would make us one of the most powerful families in the world. Miss Priss would never be able to handle me.

  I thought about the woman who waited at my penthouse every night. The girl who listened to Lynyrd Skynrd, my favorite band, and enjoyed when I pounded her rough and hard from behind. She was wrong for me on so many levels, but those levels are also what made her perfect. Mine. My heart leapt when I thought about Jillian. Aislinn Meadows. I say fuck that.

  “You already swore that Zara cannot handle such an enterprise,” I spoke sardonically, mentioning my sister. “I have no brother and you know I strike deals for you left and right. You’re going to toss me out because of one woman?”

  “Reputation and status is everything to our family. How do you think we’ve managed to stay on top of the food chain for centuries? Why do you think I married your mother? You have no future with this nobody. You cannot throw away our family legacy for this bitch. I’m serious about this, son. I won’t think twice about putting you out and naming Jackson Rochester my sole heir. He is my beloved sister’s only son, after all. You’ll be out in billions before you can bat a lash. Let’s see how much the whore will hang on to you then.”

  Considering she keeps turning down my shopping sprees, just fine I think. I kept that thought to myself.

  “Well, dad, this has been lovely, but I have a follow-up meeting,” I lied. I ended the call before he could say another word. I sat, gripping the armrest of my desk chair, my fingers tapping angrily. I wanted to break something, punch someone.

  I hadn’t felt this angry since… six years ago. Feeling my temper flare, I hit the Do Not Disturb button on my office phone.

  I sat and thought quietly, tapping my pen on on my polished desk. Jax Rochester is Piper’s twin brother. Born and raised in New York, he usually wants nothing to do with our family, and I don’t blame him a damn bit. I see her often, but he’s a real estate tycoon who often secludes himself in a hermit-like state.

  The fact that he’s even hosting a party on Friday floors me. I don’t doubt for a second that my father would disinherit me and hand over the reigns to Jax. The act would be done to spite me, which is the very reason why I’ve developed my own thriving h
otel franchise. My father seems to forget that I have my own income, independent of his company. He sure as hell did not support my venture when it first began at the young age of twenty-two. Now I’ll soon be opening a third hotel in Las Vegas, right on the strip. I’m prepared if it ever comes down to being disowned. Why the hell did I spend so much time with the Pryors during those happier years? I don’t need to spell it out. They did for me what my family never did… until the bastard betrayed me.

  ****

  My father called twice more that afternoon, but each time I had “stepped out” as I kindly told my secretary to inform him. He turned to my mobile, which had to be shut off. I turned it on around five pm to inform Mrs. O’Malley to have a bottle of Macallan waiting for me in my home office and something soft and classical playing from the entertainment room. On days like this, I usually required either Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, or Chopin’s Nocturnes. I needed to unwind, and the combination of good whiskey and calming classical pieces removed the edge from my temper. I couldn’t even trust myself around Jill at this moment; It was a good thing she had plans out with Elyse.

  “Good evening, Mr. Woodward.” I gave a stiff smile to Gus as I entered the elevator in my hotel lobby. He seemed a little jittery from the tension radiating off my body. I had that effect on people, especially on days when dealing with my father.

  “Happy birthday,” he said as the bell chimed, signaling that the golden doors would open into my foyer.

  I wish people would stop saying that bullshit, but instead I gave another tight lipped smile.

  “Thanks.”

  As soon as the elevator doors opened, my nose was greeted with the rich smell of… something I hadn’t experienced in years. The lights were dimmed in the penthouse, just as I instructed Mrs. O’Malley to leave it. I wanted something soft to be played from the entertainment room, but there was no such thing happening. Instead, I could make out the faint notes of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Tuesday’s Gone” wafting down the hall from Jill’s room.