Mason took his script from his pocket and unfolded it atop the tablecloth. As nerves settled into his belly, threatening to upend his stomach, he scanned the words. Beyond the fact he needed Kirstin to get through the monstrous ordeal, he wanted her to hear this speech. She needed to hear it.
Instead, she was gallivanting with a jerk who intended to steal her project away from Mason. Not that Mason particularly gave a rat’s ass about Lisa Bennet’s app, but he cared a hell of a lot about losing the one link holding him and Kirstin together.
His skin crawled as he considered the lengths Steve Whitmore would go to just to convince Kirstin into signing on with him. He could see the man touching her. Running those slimy fingers down her arm, over the back of her hand. Doing his damndest to flirt with her, seducing her into allying with him.
Mason trusted Kirstin, but Steve he wouldn’t trust to give a drowning man a lifejacket.
He shifted in his chair, tried to steer his attention back on Don. No matter how he ordered his thoughts away from Kirstin, however, his brain refused to obey. Damn it all, they’d made progress tonight. They might not have reached a resolution, might still have mountains to cross, but they were closer than they’d ever been to reconciliation.
The last thing he needed was for Kirstin to remember all the reasons they shouldn’t be together. Correction—all the reasons she believed they shouldn’t be together.
Fuck, where was she? She knew he found safety in her smile. With her seated in the audience, he could talk to Kirstin, not the hundreds of other faces that stared him down. He didn’t know how to do this without her.
The ballroom lights brightened. Don turned a wide smile on Mason. “And now, I’d like to turn things over to the man who’s responsible for our newest product, the critically acclaimed Rise of Orchomenus. Please welcome Gamesquare’s lead designer, and former SIGGRAPH recipient of honor in computer animation, Mr. Mason Montgomery.”
Mason’s stomach pitched to his toes. His throat went dry, and as he reached for his script, his hand shook. He didn’t dare smile. If he tried, the champagne bubbles would bring up bile.
Kirstin, where are you?
He stole another pleading glance at the barred entry, before reluctantly pushing his chair away from the table and rising on wobbly legs. As far as nightmares went, this one promised to stop his heart.
Wanting nothing more than to turn and run, Mason climbed the three short stairs to the podium and faced the applause. He took his time laying his speech out on the polished wood. Did his best to pretend he was locked away in some private soundproof room where he would be speaking to only himself.
A rehearsal—shit, why hadn’t he taken the time to practice what he wanted to say?
As the sound of clapping died off, Mason stared at the doors. Someone ought to just shoot him now. That would at least be sudden death, not agonizing torture.
Silence descended. Anticipatory faces stared him down.
Mason cleared his throat. “G-good evening. That’s some…champagne, isn’t it?”
The audience failed to laugh at his poor, unscripted, attempt at humor. Good God, this was going to kill him. Dead. Cold as stone. Worthy fodder for the buzzards.
Kirstin, please.
****
“We’ll set it up so they can earn points, or rewards, which they can redeem online.” Steve reached across the table for the umpteenth time and ran his finger down the back of her hand. “Those layouts are all yours too.”
Kirstin pulled her hand away like he’d touched her with a match. She glanced nervously down the wide corridor. How long had they been here? Don’s presentation was surely coming close to an end. Mason would never forgive her if she wasn’t in her chair when he took the stage.
Aside from that very logical reason, she couldn’t tolerate another moment in this man’s company. He knew no boundaries, had touched her whenever he thought she wasn’t paying attention. If this was any indication of how a working relationship would play out, she didn’t want any part of it.
And his plan sucked. Plain and simple, Mason’s was not only more succinct and efficient, it was direct and to the point. Mildly entertaining, serviceably engaging, designed to push the product, not provide hours of entertainment. She’d been trying to escape for the last ten minutes to no avail.
Determined to wrap this up whether she came off as rude or not, she rose to her feet. “That’s great, Steve, but really, I’ve got to get back to the banquet. I want to hear Mason’s presentation. We’ll have to talk about this another time.” Like when dinosaurs returned. No way would she pull this job from Mason, even if it meant jeopardizing her career.
Cool green eyes regarded her thoughtfully. “For two people who split up, you two were awfully chummy on the dance floor.”
She did a double take, the underlying hostility in his voice completely uncalled for. “I don’t think that’s really any of your business.” Forcing herself to smile, she extended her hand to shake his. “Thank you for presenting your ideas. I’ve really got to go now.”
Steve took her hand, but he didn’t shake. Instead, he stood, and with one step forward, invaded her personal space. Too-soft fingers stroked the inside of her wrist. “You really don’t want to devote yourself to someone who cares so little for you, do you? Wouldn’t you rather have someone who can treat you right? Who will introduce you to the right people?” His fingertip slithered to the underside of her elbow. “Who knows how to say no to Lisa and wouldn’t dream of being unfaithful?”
Kirstin jerked her arm away from his creepy touch. “What are you talking about?”
“Mason.” Steve inclined his head toward the hall. “Lisa let me in on a little secret. Evidently the both of them had a little after-hours fun while you were busting tail on her project.”
Struck dumb by the idea she’d believe his crap, Kirstin gasped. What the hell was going on? Mason wouldn’t cheat—did Steve think she was that insecure?
“If you want to know the truth,” Steve murmured as he slid his palm over her bare shoulder. “I can’t stand that stupid bitch. That she’d take advantage of you—Kirstin you deserve better than that.”
Squirming away from his wandering hand, she stepped out of arms’ reach. “Take advantage of me how? She hired me to work.”
Cocking his head to the side, he grinned. “You really are adorably naive—that’s one thing I won’t argue with her. It’s rather refreshing to see such innocence.”
Kirstin ground her teeth together. She was not naive, and she was by no means innocent. Taking a breath to temper her building fury, she narrowed her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t care to hear anymore.”
“She hired you to get to Mason, Kirstin.” Lifting his eyebrows, he nodded at the opening ballroom doors. “And she did. You deserve better than the esteemed Mr. Montgomery.”
Amplified by the microphone, Mason’s voice drifted into the hall. “It’s a convection…er collection, of individual renderings.” Something thumped, like he’d just hit the microphone with his elbow or his hand. “S-sorry. As I was saying, the characters are imposed through scanline rendering. Then I used ray casting which calculates on the basic laws of reflection intensity to bring us into the user’s point of view. This allows for modification of the color value by an illumination factor.”
Steve laughed. “Someone’s taking himself too seriously.”
Kirstin’s heart sank. No, he wasn’t. He was terrified.
“I’m not working with you.” Lifting the hem of her skirt, she jogged down the hall and slid inside the ballroom doors before they closed.
Standing on the podium, Mason stared at the paper in his hands. His voice rang out flat, the shift in his approach obvious. Before, he’d been speaking from his head, reciting the technical terms that made sense in his over-qualified brain. Now, he read the speech like a page from a book.
Tears brimmed. The one time Mason needed her, she let him down. Utterly and completely f
ailed to deliver.
The familiar scent of cigars and whiskey preceded a strong hand on her shoulder. She glanced up at Don’s dark frown.
“Is something wrong with Mason, Kirstin? I’ve never seen him deliver a presentation so…” He flinched as Mason stumbled over another word. “Terribly.”
In dire need of a life support, Kirstin clutched Don’s hand. “Yeah,” she whispered. “He hates to speak in public, and he doesn’t know I’m here.”
Salt and pepper eyebrows shot into Don’s thinning hairline. “He’s done a marvelous job every time before.”
“That’s because he talks to me.”
Understanding smoothed Don’s tight brow seconds before he winced. “Thank God he’s almost done.”
“He is?” On one hand, relief flooded through her that she didn’t have to cringe through a long speech. On the other, guilt weighed her down. He’d struggled through the whole horrific thing while she’d been sitting in the lounge.
Don nodded at the blank projector screen. “The demo’s over.”
The paper in Mason’s hands crinkled. He looked up, over the top of the podium, at something on the wall Kirstin couldn’t see. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his voice held more confidence. The nervous tremor lingered, but his stuttering stopped, and he no longer required the aid of his hand written script.
“Rise of Orchomenus wouldn’t have been possible if it weren’t for the support of the most amazing woman I’ve ever known, Kirstin Jones. She was the inspiration behind the character design of Chalciope, and I’d like to thank her for her endless patience over the last five years. I couldn’t have done this without her.”
Tears that had pooled in Kirstin’s eyes slid down her cheeks.
Chapter Twelve
Kirstin stayed near the doors while Mason descended the stairs and accepted the hands that reached out to pump his. She ached to go to him, but for the first time in her life knew how it felt to have fear incapacitate her. She couldn’t bear the glinting fury in his eyes, would break down in front of everyone if he greeted her with the waspish response she deserved.
He made a beeline for their seats, drained his champagne in one gulp, and turned around as Don clasped a hand on his shoulder to say something near his ear. Mason’s gaze jumped across the heads gathered at the long table, landing straight on her. He nodded at whatever Don said.
Embraced him in a handshake-shoulder-pound hug.
Then Mason edged around Don, and with her clutch dangling from his hand, headed for where she was standing.
The need to run bore down on her hard. She had never disappointed someone so fully, or been so worthy of a scathing lecture. But she couldn’t bolt. Let alone she didn’t have any place to hide, she wasn’t a child, and she’d stand and take the licks she deserved.
Swallowing hard, she held his steely gaze and willed the racket behind her ribs to subside.
When Mason arrived, he pushed the beaded purse into her hands. “Can we go now?”
Kirstin nodded. She’d much rather face her executioner in private. But the journey to the car, never mind the wait for valet, would be sheer hell.
Sweeping a hand ahead of him, Mason gestured at the door. He didn’t usher her along with gentle pressure at the base of her spine. Didn’t reach for her hand. She cringed inwardly—definitely not a good sign if he’d lost the desire to touch her.
She forced her feet to move and pushed open the heavy doors. Mason followed, giving her the surreal feeling she wasn’t just being escorted to the gallows, but was forced to take herself there of her own will. Somehow, she descended the stairs without tripping. Somewhere, she found a polite smile for the doorman.
While they waited for the Jeep, she turned the clutch over and over. In five years of life with Mason, she’d never seen him so absolutely silent. From the corner of her eye, she studied his face, dread resurfacing at the harsh line of his jaw, the unyielding press of his mouth.
Damn it, she couldn’t take the silence any longer. “Mason, I—”
His gaze cut sideways, and he looked at her from the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t turn his head. The harsh light in those icy blues silenced her in a heartbeat.
“Never mind,” she whispered. I heard your speech. I’m sorry. Even as she thought it, she knew sorry wouldn’t fix this easily.
He shifted his weight to his toes, then rocked back on his heels. When the Jeep rolled to a stop at the curb, he jerked open her door, waited long enough for her to sit, then slammed it shut before rounding the front bumper and climbing in on the driver’s side. His door shut with equal force.
Kirstin held her breath while she prepared for his explosion.
Instead, Mason merely dropped the Jeep into gear and steered down the drive.
So this was how their last night together would end. Not on positive memories, not with the comfortable closeness they’d enjoyed before she left the banquet to talk to Steve. She supposed it shouldn’t make a difference—come tomorrow, for that matter when they said goodbye tonight, they would have been on permanently separate paths anyway. Tonight had been nice, but they were play-acting. He might have excused himself from business conversations, he might have been wicked on the dance floor. That couldn’t continue indefinitely. He’d modified his natural behavior for one night, because she’d asked him to.
She held in a bitter sigh. As long as Mason did things only because she requested them, not because he genuinely felt the need to include her as his partner in all things, the beauty they’d briefly known tonight would wither and die. They’d be right back where they were going into this evening, sooner than later.
But try as she might, Kirstin couldn’t stop her heart from twisting. Nor could she tamp down the heavy wave of regret that broke over her shoulders. Damn it, she’d spoiled what had been the best night in a long time.
Maybe the best night with Mason ever.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered into the dark stillness.
Mason’s repositioned his hands on the steering wheel. His gaze flicked to her for all of a millisecond, then fastened on the road once more.
****
Once again, words failed Mason. Only this time, it wasn’t because he didn’t know what to say—he didn’t know what to say first. He knew exactly what he wanted to tell Kirstin. She’d stranded him. Abandoned him in the worst way possible. Sure, he’d survived, but the presentation had been a disaster. One he hoped no one would remember.
Problem was, addressing that issue left him wide open for her to turn the tables and remind him of the many times he’d done the same damn thing to her. When he realized how good it felt to spend so much time with her at a launch, he also recognized he did have a habit of excusing himself to discuss business. While Kirstin was no social wallflower, she didn’t know these people. Her field crossed into theirs, but even her line of work didn’t give her much common conversational ground. Which left her to talk to Don, or Marie, or a very slim handful of other people she’d grown comfortable with.
Most of who were the same people who were dragging him off in the first place.
Bringing up her disappearance, right when he most needed her presence, bordered on hypocritical.
A larger matter plagued him, however, one more frightening than standing in front of a crowd and looking like a buffoon. Kirstin had missed his presentation because she was speaking with Steve. Steve Whitmore, who held the power to drag her away and shred the last bit of fraying rope that held them together.
Hell, for all he knew she might already be gone. Steve probably presented her with dollar amounts and designs that exceeded the likely realm of what she’d be doing, and Kirstin, who at times was too trusting of people to realize their selfish natures, had accepted his proposal. The idea made Mason feel like someone put boulders on his chest. He couldn’t breathe around it. Couldn’t escape.
He ached to ask, yet at the same time, couldn’t bring himself to open the door on that finality
. If she’d said yes, he didn’t want to know.
Mason navigated around a sharp corner and stared at the dark asphalt in front of the headlights.
Fuck! He thumped the base of his palm on the wheel. Had she heard any of his speech? Like the part where he’d designed the character Chalciope after her? True, he’d added in the thank you after their argument this afternoon. But if she stopped to think, she’d realize he couldn’t possibly have altered an entire portion of a game that was already in production, just to appease her.
For that matter, if Kirstin shared his love for gaming, she would realize she had made it into his projects on more than one occasion. As a commoner the player needed to speak to, once as a powerful elven maiden, even her name in the first major project Don offered—she’d been there. He hadn’t told her, didn’t really see the need. Didn’t think it would mean anything to her, to be honest.
Now, he wished he had.
Their house loomed at the end of the road, lights on, warm and inviting. Only, he’d never dreaded entering it as much as he did right now. He hurt, inside and out, and he didn’t know how to make it stop. They’d had such a perfect night together. Why, why had she felt it necessary to talk to Steve?
The answer thumped him in the gut. Because they were pretending.
Well, he wasn’t, everything he’d done tonight came from the heart. But he’d even given her permission to pretend. Asked her to.
As he pulled into the driveway, the sudden, violent need to vomit rose. He turned off the engine, set his elbow on the steering wheel, and rested his forehead in his hand. Beside him, Kirstin shifted position.
Seconds ticked by while he focused on his breathing to stop the angry churning in his gut. He had planned to show her Chalciope. After this very launch, when he got down on one knee and did what he’d never envisioned himself doing—asked her to marry him. Yet tonight, he wasn’t walking through that door to celebrate the beginning of forever. He’d go inside, and no matter how he stalled, the outcome would be the same. Kirstin would walk out their patio door.
Misunderstanding Mason Page 10