Sugar and Spice (The Glitter and Sparkle Series Book 3)

by Shari L. Tapscott

  Mason flashes me an amused look. “Pretty sure.”

  Riley’s barely said five sentences the whole time we’ve been in the truck, but that’s for the best. Every time she opens her mouth, she babbles. I think she’s more in shock than I am. If she didn’t know it would get us in all kinds of trouble, I’m pretty sure she’d be sneaking hundreds of pictures of Mason onto every social media platform imaginable.

  The driver steps out of the unmarked SUV, right into the snow, and goes around the front of the car. We filter out of Linus’ truck, and I shoulder my duffel bag. Yvonne promised the things she acquired for me would be waiting in my hotel room, so my bag is light.

  “You’re like Cinderella,” Riley whispers in my ear as she gives me a tight hug goodbye.

  “Hardly.” I roll my eyes, but this is sort of a fairy tale. “Except for the wicked sister bit,” I tease. “That fits pretty well.”

  She smacks my arm, but she’s grinning from ear to ear. Then she takes a deep, bolstering breath and turns to Mason. For the first time since she’s made his acquaintance, she gives him a stern look. “You will take excellent care of my sister, do you understand?”

  Riley’s not messing around—she means it.

  Mason smiles in that delicious, slow way of his. “You have my word.”

  She gulps and nods once, looking a little wobbly. “Good.”

  The driver opens the back-passenger door for me. I slide into a plush leather seat that cradles me as soon as I sit down.

  In just a few moments, Mason joins me on the other side. I wave to Linus and Riley, and before I know it, we’re on I-70, making our way to Denver and the private jet. Five hours later, we land in New York.

  I’m so nervous, I’m trembling. Mason’s manager, a slightly smarmy guy named Clark, flew with us, and he has rules in place for exiting the plane. Basically, because of the bake-off, we can’t be seen together. It wouldn’t necessarily hurt Mason any, but it would be a surefire way to get myself sent home.

  Therefore, I’m going to exit with Mason’s assistant, Yvonne, and she’s going to take me to the hotel. Thankfully, even though she’s devastatingly beautiful, Yvonne seems nice, and she doesn’t give off the same creepy vibes as Mason’s manager.

  She wears her hair up and out of her face, and her bangs are perfectly trimmed. She’s only in her late twenties, and if she didn’t seem so genuine, I’d be insanely jealous.

  Ten minutes after we make our exit, Mason will make his—surrounded by a full security detail. There’s already clusters of girls waiting for him outside the airport—something Mason’s people fully expected and were prepared for.

  Mason takes the seat beside me. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine.”

  “Liar.” He laughs. “You’re fidgeting so much, you look like you drank ten cups of coffee.”

  The flight wasn’t exactly what I expected, to be honest. I imagined it to be just the two of us, but it makes sense that Mason has people—people who haven’t seen him in over a week. Apparently, with the way Clark hounded Mason the entire time, he was going through client withdrawals.

  “I’ll come find you as soon as I get to the hotel,” Mason promises. “And if you’re up for it, I can talk the manager into letting us use the pool after hours.”

  I lean closer to him. “You think you have that kind of pull, do you?”

  He matches my stance, his eyes warm. “You know, I think I might.”

  Clark clears his throat, making me dislike him a little more. “Harper, we’re ready for you.”

  Sighing, I stand and fetch my duffel bag. The department-store bag looks like an eyesore against the beige leather seats. Hopefully I didn’t look the same way.

  “See you soon,” Mason promises, holding my eyes before I leave. I follow Yvonne through the airport, trying not to look overwhelmed. As a family, we’ve flown a few times for vacations. But never on privately leased flights, obviously.

  “I have a question,” I say to Yvonne as we near the exit. “We were in a tiny plane—why didn’t we choose a smaller airport and avoid all the fuss?”

  Yvonne smiles. “Clark likes the fuss—it’s great publicity for Mason, especially now that he’s starting his solo career. He wants as many eyes on him as possible.”

  Right.

  It’s well past eleven o’clock in New York, and even if it’s not as frigid as it was in the Rockies, it’s still plenty cold. A car waits for us. The driver smiles at Yvonne and opens my door. Mason’s assistant ends up in the front with him, leaving me to gape at the city lights from the backseat as we drive.

  “What in the world?” I ask as the driver slows in front of our hotel.

  There are girls—hundreds of them—shivering on the sidewalk. They’re bundled up in multiple layers, and they watch the street with eager eyes.

  “Fans,” Yvonne explains, turning in her seat to look at me. “No doubt Clark made an announcement on the website that Mason would be arriving tonight.”

  “Wow.”

  “We’ll have to go around the back,” Yvonne says to the driver. “Some of them might recognize Harper from the show.” She turns to me. “Once we’re inside, you should be fine. The hotel has strict security policies, and that’s why Mason likes to stay here.”

  I nod absently.

  Yvonne makes a call, and we drive for another few minutes, taking several alleys before we reach a parking garage.

  It’s a long process, one that seems a bit ridiculous considering I’m just me, and I’m yawning into my hand by the time we step into the hotel. Yvonne must have requested a doorman escort us in a back way, because we seem to be in a staff hall.

  “Thank you, Emile,” Yvonne says, gently setting her hand on the man’s forearm.

  He nods, perhaps a bit besotted with the sleek, blond-haired woman. “Do you require anything else?”

  “No, you’ve been very helpful.”

  “My pleasure.” With the way he’s beaming at her, I’m pretty sure he means it.

  Yvonne leads me through to the nearest elevator. Her heels click on the marble floor as she walks. I remind myself not to gape and try to commit every moment to memory. After all, when will I ever find myself in a luxury, five-star hotel again?

  Never.

  Unless Mason was serious about hiring you.

  Which he wasn’t.

  He looked serious.

  And now I’m arguing with myself.

  “You’re very quiet,” Yvonne says with a warm smile.

  “It’s a lot to take in.”

  She nods with understanding. “I’m originally from Iowa—my parents are farmers. I moved to LA fresh out of high school to be an actress of all things. I remember pinching myself several times when I first started working as Clark’s secretary. The people I met, the places we went… I gave up acting fairly quickly.”

  “You work for Clark?”

  “No, I work for Mason, but when Clark represented Forever Now, I was still in his employ.”

  “Mason stole you away?”

  She laughs. “Sort of.”

  We reach the elevator, and she hits the call button. I watch the lights make their rotation at the top, showing us the lift is headed down. “Does Clark resent you? It must be difficult to work so closely with him.”

  The doors open, and Yvonne steps inside. “He can’t say much, considering I married his younger brother.” She must see the horrified look on my face, and she laughs. “They’re nothing alike.”

  We end up on one of the top floors, and the first thing I notice is how few and far between the room doors are. Instead of numbers, they are named. We pass the Iris Suite and then the Agatha Suite a bit later. There are massive urns of flowers interspersed on small tables, along with subtle lighting to highlight them. We walk by a man who’s in a suit despite the late hour. He gives us a friendly smile, and his eyes linger over me as he moves on.

  Yvonne grins once we pass him and leans close so he won’t overhear what she’s ab
out to say. “Did you see the way he looked at you? He probably pegged you as a young actress or singer. All the socialites and business-minded are dressed to the nines—all to impress, but the celebrities often keep things casual because they’ve already proved their worth.”

  I glance over my shoulder, but the man is already gone.

  “Of course, their idea of casual is deceptive since their jeans usually cost several hundred dollars.”

  Finally, we stop at the Celia Suite.

  “This is you,” Yvonne says, producing a regular hotel card key—nothing fancy there.

  I stop her before she opens the door. “When I told Mason I needed a separate room, I meant a room. You know, the simple sort. This had to cost him a fortune.”

  She gives me an understanding look. “Don’t worry about it. Mason doesn’t splurge like this often—not on rooms anyway.”

  I desperately want to ask her what her definition of often is. How many girls has he whisked across the country?

  Yvonne swings the door open and motions me in. We enter a small hall that opens into a living area. Like Mason’s room in the lodge, the suite has a single bedroom off to the side, but the living space is much larger. The color pallet is a blend of crisp whites, soft, winter blues, and coffee browns.

  A vase of two dozen roses rests on the little breakfast table near the window. They’re gorgeous, with toffee-colored centers fading to white outer petals, just like cream before it’s mixed into coffee. When I cross the room to admire them, I spot a note.

  Welcome to New York. Love, Mason.

  I rest my hand on the table to steady myself. My stomach flutters with excitement and nerves.

  “These are from Mason?” I look over my shoulder at Yvonne.

  “He picked them out himself.” She gives me a pointed look. “Usually, when it comes to his sisters or mother, he leaves the ordering to me.”

  Mason has sisters? He’s never mentioned them. Riley would probably know, but she was obsessive. I realize as I look around the gorgeous room, there’s a lot I don’t know about him.

  I’m still gaping at the roses when there’s a knock at the door. Yvonne crosses the room, and then I hear his voice. He comes striding inside, coat over his arm and cheeks flushed like he was out in the cold longer than I was.

  “What do you think?” he asks me, grinning.

  Clark trails after him, looking like he wants to continue talking business even though it’s after midnight now.

  My eyes flicker to Yvonne and Clark, and Mason immediately picks up on my hesitation. He turns to them. “Thank you both. We can take care of things from here.”

  Clark gives me a look I don’t care for, but I ignore him. Mason ushers them out of the room, murmuring sincere thanks to Yvonne. All the way across the room, Clark badgers Mason to get to bed so he will be rested for tomorrow. Mason politely ignores him and shoves him out the door. The lock makes an audible click, and the room goes silent. We’re alone.

  Maybe too alone.

  My eyes wander over Mason, taking him in. He’s in dark jeans that fit just right, a blue T-shirt that brings out the gray in his eyes and the ash-brown of his hair. The fabric is fitted, and it skims over his muscular frame most appealingly. He looks like he threw the outfit together, but I would almost bet some personal shopper bought his entire wardrobe specifically to enhance his features.

  “Thank you for the roses,” I murmur, feeling unusually self-conscious. “And this room is…” I hold my hands out and slowly turn. “I don’t have words for it.”

  The city lights twinkle beyond the window. It’s a beautiful view.

  I’m so out of my element.

  Mason joins me, and we look at the city together. After a few moments, he bumps my shoulder. “I’m glad you came.”

  “I am too.”

  He turns his head to face me. “What do you think—are you up for a little swimming?”

  I’m exhausted, but the indoor pool in this place must be spectacular. “Isn’t it closed?”

  Surely he was kidding about visiting after hours.

  Mason grins. “Not for us.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The attendant the hotel sent to open the locked door gives us another surreptitious look over his shoulder. He’s a little older, in his late-forties, and he doesn’t seem to know who Mason is or why he’s important. But it’s obvious the jean-clad, gray-eyed young man is someone, because why else would he have access to the pool at this time of night?

  “Towels are in the changing rooms,” the man says as he holds the door open for us. “Stay as long as you like, but please be aware there is no lifeguard on duty.”

  We nod and head into the hallway. Two sleek, stainless steel doors flank either side of the hall. I walk into the ladies’ changing room, and Mason does the same in the mens’ across from me. He flashes me a reassuring smile. “I’ll meet you inside.”

  I’ve never seen a changing room inside a hotel’s indoor pool area, but it makes sense. Who wants elite guests wearing flip-flops and dripping water on the highly polished marble floors? That’s just a lawsuit waiting to happen.

  Set on a motion sensor, the lights automatically flicker on when I step through the door. It’s subdued lighting, the kind that’s warm and forgiving. A potted orchid sits on a small table at the entrance, and the air smells exotic—like jasmine or neroli or whatever those expensive essential oils are that Riley has started to hoard since she began making soap.

  I change quickly, and once I’m in my suit, I begin to question my sanity. What was I thinking? I ran track in high school, and I’m still pretty fit, but Mason spends his time around celebrities. Those women have personal trainers, silicone implants, and who knows what else. They’re like Chrissy and Christy, but the work is actually done well.

  Scowling, I frown at my swimsuit-clad self in the mirror. It’s a tasteful suit, a cute, hot pink tankini that looks a lot better in the summer when I have a tan. I don’t have a choice now. It will have to do.

  After pulling my hair into a quick braided bun so it won’t knot, I wrap one of the plush, luxurious towels around my middle and head to the door.

  I stop under the threshold, awed. The lighting is even lower in here, a soft twilight. A man-made rock ledge towers at the opposite end of the winding pool, and various tiny waterfalls cascade into the water. The pool itself is turquoise, lit by lights in the perimeter of the water. The walkways around the pool mimic natural patio pavers, and there is a smattering of flowerbeds holding tropical foliage in each.

  A skylight stretches above us, a massive thing that encompasses the entire pool. The sky is black right now, but I imagine it’s quite a sight in the daytime.

  Mason lounges in the water, sitting on a stone ledge along the right side. His hair is wet, making me think he dove right in.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  I slip off my towel, fighting my discomfort. “It’s beautiful.”

  Not wanting to linger on the edge, I step into the water. It’s cool, but not cold. The perfect temperature.

  I swim out a little way, and Mason meets me in the middle.

  “This is one of my favorite places,” he says, looking around as if he’s taking it in. “I try to come every time I’m in New York, but only when it’s closed.”

  It’s so quiet and serene. I can see why Mason likes it here.

  “When you’re not on tour, how much do you travel?” I ask.

  He seems pensive here, relaxed but thoughtful.

  “I’m in LA for long stretches when I’m recording, and my lawyers are based here.”

  “But where do you live?”

  Mason sets his hand on the surface of the water, splaying out his fingers. “I have a studio in LA, but I’m not sure that’s home. I suppose the road is where I live, or it has been for the last several years.”

  “Is it lonely?”

  “It can be,” he answers honestly. “It wasn’t too bad when I was traveling with Forever Now�
��in fact, most of the time I longed for solitude—but it’s going to be different now that I’m on my own.”

  I send a tiny splash his way. “Poor rich boy singer.”

  “Did you splash me while I was having a manly sensitive moment?” he teases.

  “No,” I answer, my face the picture of innocence as I send even more water his way.

  He laughs and swims toward me, looking as if he’s about to retaliate. “Tell me, Harper, can you swim?”

  I squeal and dart away, but he’s faster than I am.

  He grabs me around the middle and tickles my side. “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “Yes,” I gasp, pushing against him. It’s becoming difficult not to suck up water because I’m laughing so hard.

  “Good.” He then throws me across the pool.

  I shriek as I come crashing back to the water. My arms and legs flail in the most ungraceful way, and I make one heck of a splash.

  We carry on for a while longer, and it’s terribly therapeutic. The stress of the bake-off is far behind me, back in Colorado where it belongs.

  Thoroughly exhausted, we end up in the hot tub, stretching our tired limbs and resting our heads on the ledge. Mason tells me more about his family, and he asks me questions about mine.

  We talk about everything and nothing, and I haven’t the slightest idea what time it is until one of the hotel’s night attendants comes to check on us and announces it’s nearing two in the morning.

  It’s been so enjoyable, I’m reluctant to leave.

  Mason waits for me outside the dressing room, propped up next to the wall. He smiles in an easy way when he sees me, like I’m familiar. Like he’s smiled at me his entire life.

  It makes my chest tighten, and my limbs feel light and fluid. Mason escorts me all the way back to my room, and we stop outside the door.

  The day catches up with me, and unable to stop myself, I yawn. “Sorry,” I say with a laugh.

  He takes my hand and squeezes it. “I’m going to go so you can get to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

  My entire attention is on our entwined fingers.

  “Will I see you before the show?” I ask.