Chapter Four
Mason
I sat at my desk and stared at the folder Saylor had ready before I came in this morning.
Her notes were spot on, and I could tell she had researched the shit out the competitors of Jameson Rum. Her study on the market of rum, and when she thought would be the best time to launch a new campaign, was gutsy. I had to hand it to her; the girl should probably be sitting in my chair. Her ideas were solid, and I knew both Olivia and Noah would be on board with them. Not to mention, they were different and fun.
Clearing my throat, I closed the file and set it on another brief I had received for a meeting later this afternoon.
My phone buzzed. Hitting the button, I said, “Yes? What is it, Ashley?”
“Charisa Phelps to see you, Mr. Quinn.”
I rolled my eyes.
Fuck.
“Send her in.”
Less than thirty seconds later, Charisa walked in. I couldn’t help but notice the way her blouse was showing a little more cleavage than need be.
“Charisa, what can help you with?” I asked in an uninterested voice.
Shutting the door, she flashed me a smile and made her way around my desk.
Christ. Not again.
I’d met Charisa last year at a marketing meeting in Chicago. We talked, drank a little too much, and ended up in her hotel room where I fucked her brains out. She hadn’t told me at the time which firm she worked for, but for some crazy reason, I thought it was one in LA. When I took the job with Tate and Cane, I was surprised as hell to see her walk by my office.
She pulled up her skirt to reveal her bare pussy as she walked up and straddled me.
“Mason, I really wish you would stop playing hard to get.”
The warmth from her pussy through my pants did nothing to my cock. Not even a damn twitch from the bastard.
Placing my hands on her hips, I lifted her up and pushed her off of me.
“What part of I’m your boss do you not understand?” I asked. “And where the fuck are your knickers?”
She giggled, and I rolled my eyes. I’d been born in England and lived there until I was almost ten when my father moved us all to Chicago to take over my mother’s failing family business. Now and then, I could hear my accent come back, mostly when I was angry, drunk, or with my cousin, Sterling. For the most part, I hardly ever let it slip like that.
With a pout, Charisa said, “I left them in my office.”
“Go put them back on.”
“How about later this evening, when everyone leaves. You told me once you wanted to fuck me across your desk.”
“I was two sheets to the wind.” I stood and took her by the arm as I walked her back around my desk. “Now, I’m going to tell you once more to stay out of my office unless you have business to discuss. You come in here again with your pussy on display and you’re out the door.”
She stopped walking. “Touch me once, Mason. I’m so wet for you—it’s dripping down my leg. Please. I want to feel your mouth on me.”
The door to my office opened, and I turned to see Saylor standing there.
“Don’t you fucking knock?” I bit out at her.
Her head jerked back as her gaze went from me to Charisa, then back to me. It was then I realized I was still holding onto her arm. Dropping it, I stepped away from her.
“I did knock. Your receptionist wasn’t at her desk, I knocked twice as a matter of fact, but I guess you were too busy to hear. I’ll try later.”
“Wait,” I said a little harsher than I wanted to. Turning back to Charisa, I asked, “Did I make myself clear?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re making a mistake, Mason. I can promise you that.”
My blood boiled. “Pack your shit. You’re fired.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “What? You’re going to fire me because we fucked?”
“Okay, I’m going to come back later.” Saylor said while retreating out of my office.
“Ms. Night, please don’t move. Ms. Phelps is leaving. I’ll call security and let them know you’ll be handing over your badge and keys.”
Charisa’s body trembled. “You can’t do this to me.”
Leaning in closer to her, I put my mouth to the side of her ear. “I had cameras and microphones installed in my office just for skanks like you. I can—and I will—send the tape of your little show earlier to Mr. Tate. You’ll never work in this business again. Don’t push me.”
She stepped back and shot me a dirty look. Then she laughed. “It’s a good thing I’m marrying a doctor next weekend, isn’t it. Asshole.”
Okay, that I didn’t see coming.
Charisa stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her.
Saylor stood there with a stunned expression on her face. “Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised.” She chuckled. “Honestly, I thought you were screwing Laura.”
“What?” I asked, anger evident in my voice. “You thought I was sleeping with an employee of mine?”
She shrugged, but there was something in her eyes. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said it was jealousy.
“Listen, what you do with your little man is your own business. I simply needed to tell you I’m leaving at lunch to go check out a bar.”
My brows drew together. “Wait. Are you leaving work early to drink? And what in the fuck did you call my dick? Little man?”
She laughed, and I was caught off guard how it made me feel. What in the hell was that feeling in my chest?
“No, I’m not leaving work early to drink. I’m going to a bar I found that serves Jameson Rum. I want to ask the manager why he picked Jameson over Bacardi.”
I smiled. “I like it. Hands-on research.”
Her eyes moved to where my dick was straining against my trousers. The fucker started to get hard with her staring at it. Tilting her head, she shrugged then met my stare with those sparkling hazel eyes of hers.
“Maybe ‘little man’ was a tad unfair.”
Ashley appeared behind Saylor. “Mr. Quinn, Mr. Tate’s secretary called. They had to push the meeting from today to Monday morning.”
The corners of my mouth rose. “Perfect. Ashley, I’ll be out of the office this afternoon. Ms. Night and I are heading out to a meeting.”
Saylor’s eyes widened in horror. Either she was lying about where she was really going, or the thought of me coming with her scared the piss out of her. Especially with her talking about my dick like she was. Damn, I couldn’t wait to find out which one it was.
“Yes, sir.”
I cocked my head and looked at Saylor. “Do you have a problem with me coming along with you, Ms. Night?”
Fuck. That made a naughty scene enter my mind. Saylor on top of me, her hands cupping her breasts as we both release at once.
She recovered quickly. Plastering on a fake smile, she replied, “Not at all, Mr. Quinn. But just to let you know, I’m not ever going to let you into my pants. Are we clear on that?”
I laughed. “What in the world makes you think I even want in your pants?”
The same hurt that I saw that day she spilled the tea on me, and I made the jackass comment about not following her moved across her face again.
I wanted to punch myself for insulting her again.
She pressed her lips together before she rubbed them against each other a few times before speaking. “Right, I’m sorry for that. I’ll text you the name and address and meet you there at one.”
“You don’t want to go together?” I asked before I could stop the words from leaving my mouth.
When she didn’t respond, I nodded. “I’ll meet you there at one.”
Saylor turned and walked out of my office. I couldn’t shake the sick feeling I had in the pit of my stomach. I wasn’t sure what had me more worried. That Saylor actually thought I had been fucking Charisa and Laura, or the fact that she didn’t want to be around me. Neither idea sat well with me.
My cell phone buzzed, and I headed back over to my desk. It was from an unknown number. Opening it, I read the message.
Unknown: The bar is called Pete’s. It’s on Lexington Ave.
I quickly programmed Saylor’s cell into my phone.
Me: I’ve been there a lot. I live near there.
Saylor: You do? So do I.
Smiling, I decided to ask her where she lived later, at the bar. I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t text back. That was one thing I had pegged Saylor for: She wasn’t a chaser. Like Charisa. Leaning back in my chair, I started to wonder how many guys Saylor had been with. Was she a very experienced lover, or was she the type of girl who only recently broke up with her college boyfriend because he hadn’t popped the question yet?
My curiosity got the better of me. I had a shit ton of work to do, and I was distracted by the beautiful blonde who was in the office next door to me. This was all new to me. No woman before had ever had me so damn unfocused or curious to know more.
Pulling up Google, I typed in Saylor’s name with the words Seattle Washington.
A line of pictures showed up so I clicked on images. Saylor had been in the same position at Smith and Smith that I currently was in here at Tate and Cane, so I wasn’t surprised to see her in pictures of what looked to be like galas. But when I saw the same guy on her arm in multiple pictures, I felt my anger beginning to build.
Who is this fucker?
I clicked on one of the pictures which led me to an article.
Seattle Times honors local Smith and Smith employee for volunteer work.
Saylor Night was honored for her work with a local charity in the Seattle Washington area that builds homes for wounded Veterans. Accompany her to the event was long-time boyfriend, Ron Johnson.
I closed out the window and went back to Google where I typed in Ron Johnson, Seattle Washington.
Local musician arrested for breaking restraining order put out by former girlfriend and marketing research analyst at Smith and Smith Marketing.
Staring at the headline, I swallowed hard as I clicked on it.
Ron Johnson, twenty-nine, of Evert Washington was arrested after refusing to leave the office of his once long time girlfriend, Saylor Night. Ms. Night works at Smith and Smith as a marketing manager. It is unclear why the original restraining order was issued.
My mouse moved up to the X and I closed the window. It suddenly felt like I was invading Saylor’s privacy.
That’s when I saw the other picture and my chest squeezed. It was Saylor with a black eye exiting a building. The mouse hovered over the picture before I closed my eyes and clicked it. A new window popped up with a news article.
Saylor Night, Seattle’s volunteer princess, left battered and bruised. There have been no police reports filed, but speculation is her long time boyfriend, Ron Johnson of the local musical group In Touch, is behind the marks.
I quickly closed the internet and leaned back in my chair. Both of my hands pushed through my hair, and I had to drag in a deep breath.
What in the hell was happening to me? Why was I so angry? And why in the hell did I want to track this motherfucker down and beat his ass into the ground?
Letting out a groan, I stood and walked over to the windows. In one week Saylor Night had managed to get under my skin, and not in an annoying way.