Chapter 21
Sarah
“Well hello there. Fancy a phone call the day before D-Day. How can I help you?”
“Hey there, luscious. I was wondering if you were free for lunch today,” Mason said.
“I suppose I could be. Today’s interview was a very early taping with the time difference.”
“Time difference? Sounds interesting,” he said.
“It was. I got the chance to interview a few of our Navy soldiers stationed in Okinawa. The interview took place very early this morning. I’m free all day.”
“Well, how does lunch at The Souffle Salon sound?”
“You can get us in for lunch there?” I asked.
“Beautiful, I could jet us off to get us lunch anywhere,” he said.
“I can hear that smug little grin.”
“And I can hear you pouring into your panties.”
“Nope. I think that’s all the blood rushing to your dick,” I said.
“That, too. What do you say? Meet me there in an hour?” he asked.
“Sure. I’ll see you then.”
I rolled out of bed and rushed around to make myself look presentable. I changed my clothes quickly and washed my face, opting for a bit of neutral makeup before I tossed my hair up into a clip. I grabbed my things and slipped my feet into heels, wanting to stun him even at lunchtime. I wanted him to salivate over my body before we found somewhere private to go and enjoy one another.
After all, that was the arrangement.
I drove to The Souffle Salon and parked right beside his beautiful red convertible. I walked on in and found him sitting at a table near the window, and for a second, I panicked. Near the window? Someone was going to see us. We were already taking a chance with the paparazzi by dining right here in town. Did he not remember the rules we set forth?
By the time I was pulled from my own thoughts, I felt his hand slide into mine as he led me to the table.
“The windows are tinted on the outside,” he said. “No one can look in and see us.”
“Oh. Yes. That’s right. Sorry, I just panicked there for a second.”
“No need. With me, everything is already thought out. You just relax,” he said, grinning.
“I take it you’ve had a good morning,” I said.
“Yep. The latest product roll-out is happening, and we’re projected to bring in two million dollars in revenue over the next year.”
“Rollin’ in the dough. That’s nice,” I said. “Have you given any thought to aligning your company with a charity?”
“Why do you ask? Do you have one in mind?”
“I’m more thinking along the lines of what a budding company should do to snag the younger generation. The older generations are easy. It has to work, and it has to be worth the price tag. With the younger generations, they want the best bang for their buck. But if they invest in a product, they want to make sure their purchase is going to help a cause.”
“Oh, Sarah. If I wanted a woman’s opinion,” he said, grinning.
“You’re such a dick,” I said as I stifled a giggle.
“You actually have a good mind for business. I’m glad you’re not my competition.”
“I’d crush you like an ant if you were,” I said.
“Oh, really? Is that what you think?”
“Yep. I also think we wouldn’t be screwing one another if we were competition.”
“See, that’s the best part about competition, though. If they’re shallow enough, a little bit of seduction goes a long way.”
“Good thing I’m not shallow,” I said.
“The way you salivate over my naked body in bed says otherwise,” he said, smirking.
“I can appreciate a decent piece of art without coveting it just for its looks,” I said.
“Decent? Oh, I’m hurt.”
Lunch was fabulous. The conversation with Mason was easy. It was lighthearted and flirtatious. He kept calling me things like ‘beautiful’ and ‘decadent’. It was easy to see how women fell for his charms. The way he looked at me with this mischievous glint in his eye as I talked about my work. The way he boasted about himself growing in the technological world while slowly sliding his foot toward mine underneath the table. It was like we gravitated naturally toward one another, like our banter and our senses of humor just aligned in all the right possible ways.
We bounced around from topic to topic while my head swam with thoughts of him.
That was a problem I was having lately, trying to get him out of my head. He was creeping into my dreams and popping up in my thoughts in the middle of the day. If I heard a funny joke or experienced something weird or random, I felt this odd tug to tell him about it. I kept shaking it from my system, shrugging it off as anticipation for this new world we were exploring together.
But even as I sat in front of him, I felt like I wasn’t getting enough of him.
And that bothered me a bit.
You’re just fuck buddies, Sarah. Keep it together.
“So, where have you gone to inside that head of yours?” he asked.
“Hmm?”
“I’ve been talking at you for the past four minutes and you look like you’ve got one foot in the grave. Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No. Not at all. I guess I’m just a bit tired from this morning. That damn interview had me up at three.”
“Then, yes. I’d say you’ve earned your mile-long stare. Care to get out of here? Maybe go for a drive to clear your head? We could leave your car here and come back for it once we’re done.”
“Honestly? I think I just want to tumble onto my couch and turn on mindless television,” I said.
“Care for some company while you do that?” he asked.
“You just want your dick sucked,” I said, grinning.
“Not gonna lie, the offer stands. But, I’m more than willing to simply collapse with you and lay there in silence.”
“You are?” I asked.
“I am.”
I had to keep reminding myself that we were just fuck buddies. That all this was his attempt to get back to my apartment, so he could wiggle me out of my clothes. And I would’ve been all for it had I not been so tired. I had a full stomach, a glass of wine coursing through my system, and legs that were ready to collapse in the heels I was wearing. But the way he was looking at me, it was almost like he wanted me to say yes.
It was like he wanted to come back to my place and just be with me.
And I realized I wanted to say yes.
Shit. I was starting to like Mason. I sat back in my chair, studying his eyes as a smile crossed his face. I couldn’t get him off my mind because I liked him. He was pervading my dreams because I wanted him there. He was in my thoughts throughout the day because I wished he was there.
Fuck. I’d gotten myself into the exact situation we were trying to avoid.
There’s no pressure. No requirement for emotions. Just sex, fun, and food.
It was the perfect deal, and I was screwing it up. It was a deal any woman would scream for when it came to Mason Baker. I got his talents, his wallet, and his body wrapped around my little finger. All I had to do was call him and I could have him or whatever he wanted to gift me with whenever I wanted.
And here I was, fucking it up with my emotions.
“Sarah? Are you all right?” he asked.
As long as I didn’t say anything about it, we could keep going like this. He didn’t have to know, right? And maybe this was just a fluke. Maybe I was nervous about tomorrow night with Emma. After all, we were supposed to act like we were acquaintances. That was enough to stir up anyone’s emotions.
Yes, that was what this was. And all I had to do was keep my fucking mouth shut on the matter.
“Seriously, if you come back with me, I’ll just end up falling asleep on you. I’m more tired than I thought.”
“And that’s fine. If you don’t want me there, say so. If you do, say so. That’s all you have to do in this arrangement,” he said.
There it was. Arrangement. That’s all this was. Just an arrangement.
“Then, I wouldn’t mind the company,” I said. “I finally get to test out what kind of pillow you are.”
“And I promise, if I leave, I’ll tell you,” he said, winking.
“Yeah. Thanks for that.”
“Before we leave, however, we should talk about how we’re going to handle tomorrow night,” he said.
“Oh. Yes. Yes, we really do. I’ll already be with Emma. You’ll be the one meeting up with us,” I said.
“When I address you, I’ll probably use your whole name. Since that’s how people you’re first meeting usually address you.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“Because new people always address me by my first and last name because that’s how it’s said in the media. It’ll sell the part.”
“Gotcha. All right. We’ve got to keep to the lighter topics of conversation. The weather. Your work. The interview. Anything deeper than that, and Emma will get suspicious,” I said.
“Got it. Most of my attention should be on Emma anyway. Since I’m technically making up something to her.”
“Good. That’s less shit we have to sell,” I said.
“Plan made?” he asked.
“Plan made. Let’s get back to my place. I’m whipped.”
Mason paid our tab without a second thought before he helped me out of my chair. He kept his hand in mine as we strolled through the restaurant, and I just had to trust that he knew what he was doing. He walked me to my car and opened my door for me, pausing as I looked up at him. My mind was so clouded with exhaustion, and he looked so beautiful with the blazing sun as his backdrop, and before I knew it, our lips were moving closer and closer together.
Then, a repeated clicking sound came from the bushes of the restaurant.
Just before Mason’s lips could hit mine, my head turned toward the restaurant. I saw a man wiggling around, trying to unhook himself from the branches of the bushes he’d ducked behind. Mason followed my line of sight as his hand dropped from my chin, and we both took off after him as he ran from us.
Mason lunged out in front of me and grabbed his arm, whipping him around as his camera went crashing to the ground. I picked it up and toggled through his photos, seeing shots of us sitting and eating. Sitting and laughing. Sitting and enjoying one another while Mason’s foot was crawling up my skin.
Then there were the pictures of Mason and I so close to kissing out in the parking lot.
“You were in the fucking restaurant?” I asked.
“Give me that camera,” he said.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Mason said.
“You know this restaurant is off-limits to paparazzi, right?” I asked.
“I wasn’t refused service,” he said, grinning.
“By the looks of the angles on these pictures, I’d say you didn’t ask for it. You were sitting at the bar when you took these, were you not?”
“Whatever you two do on your own time out in public is for us to photograph. Not our fault you can’t handle it.”
“I’m not sure where you get off talking to us like that, but let me be clear,” Mason said. “Sarah’s going to delete those pictures, and I’m going to take one of your cards.”
He reached into the man’s breast pocket and pulled out a card with his name and office number on it.
“Then, I’m going to make your life a living nightmare. One call to your boss letting him know where you were and what you were doing will end your career,” Mason said.
“If you delete those pictures, you won’t have proof,” the man said.
“It’s us against your word. The biggest rising tech mogul in the country and the single biggest female influence in the state of Texas. You want to risk that on some low-life photography career?” I asked.
I took to deleting his photos before I opened up his camera and took out the SIM card. He groaned and bellyached, but all Mason did was hold him still. I deleted them from the immediate roll before I deleted them from the internal memory, then I threw the SIM card onto the ground and crunched it with my heel.
“You’re going to pay for that, you selfish bitch,” he said.
“Here,” Mason said as he let the man go. “Go get yourself another one.”
Mason tossed a fifty-dollar bill at the man before he took my hand and escorted me back to my car. I was shaking. Visibly shaking. The manager was running around the building, trying to chase down the man we were just talking with as I leaned up against my car. I felt angry. Angry that someone actually thought our lives were tailor-made for them to photograph, but mostly I felt relieved.
Relieve that we’d caught him before he published anything.
But as I looked up at Mason, I could tell he wasn’t quite so relieved. His shoulders were rolled back, and his lips were curled in. His eyes had a far-off look in them, and when I tried to wrap my hand around his, he pulled it away.
It was almost like he was mad that I had to delete those photos.
“You know we couldn’t have let those get out,” I said. “We did the right thing.”
“Yeah,” he said breathlessly. “Just … yeah. A bit more excitement than I was expecting.”
“You still want to come back to my place?” I asked.
“Probably not the best idea after something like that,” he said.
Even though I could hear the stability in his voice, he still wasn’t looking down at me.
“Are you mad that I had to delete the photos?” I asked.
I didn’t know what I was expecting. He needed to say he wasn’t. This was the agreement from the beginning. One of the stipulations was that the paparazzi couldn’t see us doing what we were doing. It would be bad publicity for myself as well as my show, and it wouldn’t look good on him as he tried to rehabilitate his image with the scandals that followed him into his first year of success.
But when he answered, the last thing I expected to feel was disappointment.
“No. I’m not mad at all. Let me know when you get home, okay?”
I watched him get into his car and drive off. I kept my eyes on his red car, and he buzzed down the road, zipping in and out of traffic like he always did. The manager came up to me and was trying to apologize, saying the staff would crack down on managing the bar and that the bartender who allowed him to sit there and take pictures had been relieved of his job.
I didn’t care, however. The only thing I was focused on was the disappointment I was feeling.
Why was I disappointed in his answer?