Finally Found You

by Carrie Ann Ryan

  That familiar anger churned in his belly, but he ignored it. There was a reason she was late. There was always a reason.

  “Yes, Mason, I’m here,” she purred as she put her hand on his chest.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Mason could see other men in the bar rake their gazes over Lorena’s curves. He was a possessive bastard when it came to what was his, but Lorena loved the attention. As long as the others didn’t touch and knew Lorena was his, Mason would ignore the leering glances and eye-fucks when it came to Lorena and her clingy red dress.

  “Let’s get a table, then,” he said then leaned down to brush his lips over hers. She turned her head at the last moment so he caught her cheek.

  What the fuck?

  “Mason, we must talk first.”

  He blinked. That didn’t sound good. No, that sounded like a kiss-off, but she wouldn’t be so brazen as to ask him to dinner then dump him in public. He paused, rethinking that last statement. No, making a public spectacle of the both of them was the perfect Lorena thing to do.

  Son of a bitch.

  “Let’s take this outside, Lorena,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

  “No, no, darling. I’ll make this short.” She batted her eyelashes over the big brown eyes he used to love to get lost in, and he felt a quick slice across his heart.

  Fuck.

  “Lorena—”

  “Mason, this isn’t working,” she said in a clipped tone.

  She stuck out her lower lip then sucked it back in. Mason had no idea if she really cared about what she was doing or if she just wanted the spectacle. Jesus Christ, this couldn’t be happening.

  “Lorena, let’s talk about this in private.” The vein at his temple was pounding, and he wanted to pull her out of the building so people couldn’t see what she was about to do. He honestly didn’t know if he cared if she broke up with him and made him look like an ass. No, he just didn’t want her to make herself the center of attention as she did so. Damn it. That was exactly what she wanted.

  He’d be upset later about what was going on, but right then, he was fucking pissed.

  “No, Mason. I’m done with you. You’re not who I thought you were.” Her voice trembled for effect on the second sentence, and he held back the urge to shake her. He’d never hurt a woman before, and he wouldn’t do it now, but Jesus.

  “I have no idea what you mean by that,” he snapped. “I’m the same person I always was. You, on the other hand…”

  In retrospect, he should have expected the slap across his face. He blinked, working his jaw.

  “You don’t get to speak in that manner about me. I’m Lorena Van Cross, and you’re merely Mason Sutton. Never forget that.”

  “I’m out of here, Lorena.” He surprised himself at how calm he sounded. People had stopped drinking around them, their attention solely on him and Lorena.

  Perfect.

  Exactly what she wanted.

  “You were supposed to be further in your career. Instead you’re a gardener.”

  He was an award-winning landscape architect, but whatever. He needed to get out of there. Now.

  “’Bye, Lorena. Have fun with whatever the hell you’re looking for.”

  “You don’t walk away from me, Mason Sutton. I’m walking away from you!”

  “Good luck with that.”

  He stormed off, ignoring the curious and pity-filled glances. He was sure any one of the numerous men who’d had eyes on Lorena would comfort her. She’d be in her element.

  Not with him.

  He paid the valet, got in his truck, and then beat his head against the steering wheel.

  That was not how he’d expected to spend the night. Not at all.

  The anger that filled his mind flared again at the thought of the stunt Lorena pulled, and he had to grip the wheel harder so he wouldn’t punch something and damage his truck. He knew he’d feel like shit later as the reality of what had just happened settled in.

  Right then, though, the only thing Mason knew was that he was done.

  He’d taken a chance on love and failed.

  He wouldn’t be doing it again.

  No matter what.

  Chapter Two

  Why the heck didn’t Presley have ice cream in her house? Frozen peas, carrots, random cuts of beef, ground turkey, and chicken breasts filled her freezer, but not a single carton of ice cream. Wasn’t there an unwritten rule somewhere that there needed to be some form of frozen dairy product in a woman’s house at all times?

  Considering Presley dressed like a man more often than not, and even worked in the male-dominated profession of video game programming, maybe she’d lost some of her female cred somewhere down the way.

  Damn it.

  She hadn’t eaten dinner and wanted comfort food—chocolate, ice cream, mac ’n cheese, more chocolate—even if it wasn’t good for her.

  It had been six hours since she’d walked into Trent and Stacy making a naked mockery of her kitchen, and so far, all she’d done was curl into a ball for a couple hours then, after picking herself up, she’d bleached her counters before throwing out her bedding. She’d need a new mattress and bed set soon since there was no way she could ever sleep there again, but that was something for the next day. She needed to pace herself when dealing with the betrayal of a breakup.

  Now her kitchen smelled like bleach, she had stains on her jeans from where she’d splashed a little too vigorously, and her hands hurt because she’d been an idiot and not worn gloves.

  Thank you, Trent.

  Plus, she didn’t have ice cream.

  How was she supposed to wallow and then curse Trent’s penis and Stacy’s girl junk if she didn’t have ice cream?

  It still hadn’t hit her that she and Trent were over. Not really. Sure she’d cried, and probably would again, but for some reason, she still felt as if Trent would walk through that door once more and make himself at home.

  “Presley!”

  At the sound of her name, she slammed the freezer door then stomped toward her friend, Harmony. Presley had called her about an hour into her crying jag and left a message when Harmony didn’t answer. Considering it was during the workday, it hadn’t really bothered her. Now that Harmony was here on Presley’s evening off and day of reckoning, everything would be okay.

  Or at least that’s what Presley kept telling herself.

  “He had sex on my kitchen counter.”

  Harmony lifted her lip in a snarl then reached in her canvas backpack. “That low-life motherfucker deserves to be drawn and quartered. Get a spoon.”

  Why would Presley need a spoon for when Trent was eviscerated and torn apart?

  Harmony rolled her eyes. “For the ice cream, dear.” She handed Presley a carton of butter pecan then took out a carton of fudge ripple. “Let me put the extra in the freezer, and we can start talking about the size of Trent’s dick.”

  Presley choked out a laugh that turned into a sob as Harmony rushed past her. “I was just thinking that we needed to talk about his penis.”

  Harmony clucked her tongue. “We’re not going to talk about his penis. We’re going to say nasty things about it, call it a small, little trivial thing, then curse it so it turns gangrenous and falls off. No crying. Not yet. Go sit on your couch and start eating that ice cream. The sugar will help you think, and later we can work on making sure it doesn’t stick to your hips.”

  She did as she was told, the butter pecan’s sweet and salty taste just the right kick for her mood.

  “So, honey, tell me what happened. In detail if you need to. Then we can never talk about it again.”

  Presley took another bite and closed her eyes, letting her head fall back. After she told the whole sordid tale, Harmony was on her feet, pacing in front of the TV.

  “That little fucker,” Harmony cursed. “Stacy, I mean. She’s always been a whore. I mean, come on, women should go out and have sex. Enjoy it. Claim it for all its own because you know what? We’re just as hor
ny as men. But damn it, she trollops around with so many different men, it’s crazy. And most of them are married.”

  Presley set the ice cream on the coffee table then put her head in her hands. “Jesus, Harmony. Tell me how you really feel.”

  “What? She’s a whore. And now she can be happy with Trent because, baby, you were too good for him anyway.”

  She rolled her eyes. It was nice Harmony was saying that, but it didn’t make her feel any better right then. From the way Stacy and Trent had acted and what they’d said, Presley knew this hadn’t been a one-time thing between the two of them. That sucked to no end, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it now. She could only deal with it and move on. It just meant she wouldn’t be latching herself onto another man any time soon. Or ever. Trent had burned enough bridges for her. Now she needed to start over.

  That reminded her. “You think Mason knows?” Presley asked, an odd worry filling her belly.

  Harmony shook her head. “If you mean did he know what his brother was doing, no. I don’t think so. Mason would have told you, honey. While his brother is a flaming asshole, Mason is one of the good guys. A little idiotic with that woman of his, Lorena, but that’s neither here nor there. If he’d had an inkling of what Trent was doing behind your back, you can be damn well sure he’d have told you.”

  Presley let out a breath. “True. Mason always seemed nice, but considering I always thought Trent was nice, maybe I shouldn’t be so keen in trusting my judgment.”

  Harmony snorted then sat down on the couch next to her. “Shut up. You never thought Trent was a nice guy. Not really. You always thought he was smooth. Caring. That caring might have been because he’s an asshole who covers his tracks, but that’s behind you.”

  “I hate the fact I let him hurt me this much, Harmony,” she whispered, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

  Harmony squeezed her knee, and Presley closed her eyes. That sharp pang that had been edging across her heart and into her belly throughout the day slowly faded before slicing again. The rocking motion of her pain made her nauseous, and she forced it down deeper where she wouldn’t be able to feel it anymore. If she was numb, it wouldn’t hurt, and she could get over the man she never should have loved in the first place.

  “He doesn’t deserve your tears.”

  “He’s getting them anyway,” Presley mumbled.

  “He’s an idiot. Tell me something good. Something that will make you smile.” Harmony picked up the ice cream. “Hold that thought. Let me put the ice cream in the freezer before it melts.”

  Presley kept her eyes closed as Harmony shuffled into the kitchen. Something good? Every time she tried to think about something other than being cheated on, she kept seeing Trent’s ass as he pushed into Stacy.

  So not something she ever needed to think about again.

  “What did you come up with?”

  Presley squinted as she opened her eyes and let out a breath. “Well, at work, they’re possibly giving me a huge project.”

  Harmony gave her a smile and hugged her to her side. “That’s great. I know how hard it is being ‘one of the boys’ where you work.”

  That was an understatement. Presley made sure she always wore baggy shirts and hoodies over jeans so she fit in with the men at her work. They developed video games and programmed them from the ground up. It was a small, cliquey place where everyone’s office and cubicle resembled nerd and geek wet dreams rather than a normal office, but Presley didn’t mind. What she did mind was that if she ever brought up the fact she was a woman, things got weird. The guys even went so far as to call her Mac since her last name was Mackenzie.

  “We’ll see how it goes. It’s going to be a lot of work for the next few months, and it’s just for a bid. I might not get the full project at the end of it.”

  Harmony kissed her brow. “You will, honey. You’re amazing at what you do.”

  That was true. She wasn’t going to deny it. She loved programming and designing. She was damn good at it too. What she hated was the politics. Nothing to do about it now though. She’d just work her ass off for the next few months, get over Trent, and not date again.

  No thanks.

  Pissed she’d let Trent get through her shields and into her heart in the first place, there was no way she’d let that happen again.

  No matter the man.

  ****

  The fifth beer wasn’t helping the anger. No, now Mason was just getting pissed on top of hurt. Not a good combination.

  His phone had been buzzing all night with friends of friends calling to let him know they’d heard about the breakup. Lorena had gotten what she’d wanted. A spectacle where men would attempt to console her. That slap had been expertly timed.

  He drained the last of his beer and contemplated getting another. He had a good buzz going on, but wasn’t drunk. If he wanted to be drunk, he’d have gone straight for the hard liquor when he got home.

  He still couldn’t believe he’d actually fallen for her. He’d done his best in his thirty-two years to be the type of person not to fall for a pretty face and nice rack, but apparently he’d failed in that respect.

  He’d taken her pretty smile, fiery attitude, and spark as a sign she was meant for him.

  Oh, how wrong he was.

  Just when he thought it might be time to settle down, things went to shit.

  He remembered the first time he met Lorena, all sinful curves and come-hither looks. She’d broken the heel of her shoe at one of his brother’s office parties and fell, literally, into Mason’s arms. Trent’s girlfriend, Presley, had come to the rescue with a spare pair of shoes in her car. Apparently, Presley hadn’t felt comfortable in the shoes Trent bought for her and opted for lower heels to go with her jersey dress.

  The two women couldn’t have been more different. Lorena, fully sexual with her pouty lips, and Presley, with her sweet grace that wasn’t so graceful. He’d never looked at Presley in any way other than off-limits because of Trent though, so his eyes had only been for Lorena.

  When Lorena got the heels, she’d been so thankful, so sweet that Mason couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Lorena, and Presley for that matter, had been the prettiest women in the room, but Mason had put his brother’s girlfriend out of his mind long before that. That’s what brothers did.

  Lorena, however, had spent the evening at his side making him laugh and begin to yearn for more. Within days, they started dating. Within a month, Mason knew it was serious. She’d even moved in with him soon after.

  And fuck.

  She’d just have to move out now. His name was the one on the lease, not hers. She’d never bothered to add hers.

  Pissed off and a little drunk, he went to their—no, his—bedroom to pack up a box of her clothes or something. Maybe it would make it more real and help him get over her.

  Because, right then, this emo version of himself wasn’t cutting it.

  As soon as he flicked on the light, he cursed.

  She’d cleaned up all right.

  The woman had taken everything of hers, and he had a feeling, some of the things they’d bought together. His bed was bare, the mattress a stark white, glaring and empty. She’d bought the comforter and sheet set when she moved in to, as she’d put it, class up the place.

  Her three-quarters of the closet was empty. She’d even taken the special scented hangers he’d hated.

  Well, shit.

  The more he thought about it, the more he realized how much he’d been giving in to Lorena on the little things because he didn’t care long as he had her and they were happy. She hadn’t been happy enough if she’d left him, and now Mason didn’t know what to think.

  He turned off the light then walked back downstairs, pulling out a blanket and pillow from the hall closet on the way. Luckily she hadn’t taken those, and he wasn’t in the mood to sleep on the bed they’d shared.

  Besides, he didn’t feel like messing with fitted sheets and the like.

  The
knock at the front door startled him, and when Mason opened it, the depressed look on his brother’s face startled him, too.

  “Trent,” Mason said as he moved back to let his brother in. “What’s wrong?”

  His brother might have looked like him in some respects, with the same eye shape, the same color hair, but that’s where the similarities ended. Mason was more blue-collar and had the build and wardrobe to match. Trent was very much upper tier and did his best to show it.

  “Does something have to be wrong for me to visit my precious brother?” Trent sneered.

  Mason held back a retort. He’d already had a really shitty day and didn’t want to deal with a fight with Trent since that’s what it would inevitably be.

  He and his brother had a strained relationship in which nothing Mason ever did was good enough, and Mason, being the younger brother, did his best to change that, despite the fact that he knew it was a lost cause.

  Right then, though, Mason didn’t want to deal with whatever condescending or demanding shit Trent had brought with him.

  “What can I do for you, Trent?” he asked as he closed the door. Damn it, he should have gone for the whiskey when he got home rather than the beer.

  “Got a drink? None of that local brewery crap you chug, but a real man’s drink.”

  Mason pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten. Fratricide was illegal in all fifty states, and frankly, Mason didn’t want to deal with the cleanup.

  “There’s bourbon in the cabinet. The same place it’s always been.” Mason wasn’t a huge fan of it, but Trent seemed to drink only that crap, so Mason kept it on hand. He didn’t know why he bothered since Trent never said thank you for it.

  “Yeah, whatever.” Trent poured two fingers of bourbon then knocked it back without even wincing.

  Not a good sign. Damn it, Mason was tired of dealing with Trent’s shit. He had his own crap to deal with.

  “What do you want, Trent, other than to determine my manhood based on liquor?”