Chapter 6

Charlotte

I sneakanother glance at Mason as the car we’re riding in creeps down Interstate 15.

The silence is killing me.

Normally, I like silence. I don’t need constant chatter to fill the void. But we’ve left so much unsaid.

We’re not in a limo like last night. This is a sedan, also new, and also amazingly comfortable. Mason isn’t driving, however, we’re both in the backseat as the driver navigates the congested roads.

The older gentleman who is driving catches my eye in the rearview mirror and gives me a kind smile. That’s a nice change.

It takes more than half an hour to make the five-mile trip to my apartment, Mason mostly texting on his phone. I’d hoped for clarity during this car ride…

I trust Mason to tell me the truth and I wouldn’t lie to him either. When the elevator opened last night, I’d made my peace with death.

The longer this drags on, however…

Did I just forfeit my protection when I admitted I hadn’t had sex?

But I know I have no leverage in this situation, so I keep quiet, clasping my hands in my lap.

It’s not until we pull up to my run-down apartment that I realize Mason is going to see where I live. How I live. Does he know I’ve been totally on my own? When my dad died, that small bit of help I’d gotten died too.

I wince, looking down the street at the homeless camp that’s cropped up along the chain-link fence that barricades an empty lot just down my street. A tent city of tarps, drugs, and crime, the smell of unwashed bodies wafts toward us from a quarter mile away.

My building is a stucco row of apartments, the stucco in major disrepair. Mine isn’t even a full apartment. It’s been split into upstairs and downstairs studios. Basically, it’s the worst of the worst.

I took the downstairs one because it’s cheaper, but it’s had its drawbacks. The break-ins being the most obvious.

My cheeks color as I look at the place from his eyes.

I’m not ashamed. I’m graduating college—hopefully graduating college—with no debt. How many people can say that?

But still, I’m not exactly proud of my address.

He doesn’t say a word as he slides out of his seat and comes around the car to open my door.

I smoothly exit the car, adjusting my skirt and then walk to the front door with my head high.

I don’t lock it. It just makes people break the window to get in.

Instead, I created a hiding spot for anything valuable.

We step into the space that could almost fit into the bathroom I used this morning in Mason’s apartment, but my shoulders still unwind as I step inside. Small as it is, this is still my place. And it feels like me.

There’s a pale floral cover on the bed, and a small cream couch I picked up at a moving sale.

My counters are always neat, just a candle out, not a lot of clutter. Some of my photographs are on the wall, and I painted a mural on the bathroom door which was too awful to save without massive splashes of paint.

I look back at Mason and he’s taking in every item, every choice. “Home sweet home,” I say as I open my one tiny closet and pull out a duffel bag. It’s the same one I left Nebraska with.

I open the drawers and pack in my neatly folded clothes.

He stands watching, not saying a word, as I cross to the bathroom, getting some of my favorite products from the shower and the counter. Most of what Mason bought me is better, but this stuff…it’s mine.

Now for the reveal. Not that I’m worried Mason is going to steal from me when he knows my hiding spot. It’s just that this is one of the few secrets I guard. Not even my friends know where I stash my money.

I come back out of the bathroom and set the bag on the floor. He’s next to the bed, looking at a photograph on the wall. A profile of my friend Kim in the setting sun. The light glistens off her red hair, making the wild strands look like they’re on fire.

“Very nice,” he says, looking at me. It’s the not the compliment but his eyes that have my cheeks heating. There is appreciation there. And considering we’re standing in my tiny, run-down apartment, it makes me feel better.

“Thank you.” I clear my throat. “Would you mind stepping a bit to the left.”

“Why?”

“I need to move the bed.”

One brow rises and then he turns around, pulling the bed back from the wall.

Brushing back the artsy curtain I’d used to create the illusion of a headboard, I reveal my hole in the drywall.

Reaching in, I pull out my camera first. I love this thing. Next comes some pictures of me and my mom when I was little. They’re from right before she walked out on us.

Then, I pull out my old MacBook. I can’t complete anything without it. Finally, I grab the roll of cash that’s my ticket out of Nevada.

My bag is at my feet, and I stuff the roll in under the laptop, placing the camera around my neck. I let the curtain fall back into place and step back, nodding to Mason to put the bed back. He does, not even huffing like I would, and then I give the place one last look.

It’s not much but I still feel a bit of longing as I look at it. If I only I could rewind to yesterday, take the other path home, I would have woken in my bed.

What is all of this going to do with my plan to leave Vegas? I’ve been itching to get out and I’m so close…

Reaching for Kim’s picture, I stuff that in the bag too.

She works at Rebel’s too and I don’t know how I would have made it through the last few years without her. I’m going to have to call her and tell her something. I’ve got today off but I’m supposed to be at work tomorrow.

And then there’s my project. Mason and I are going to need to talk about that. I can’t fail this class. Not now. Not after everything I’ve gone through to make it this far.

I remember the list I’d ticked off in my head when I thought Roman was going to shoot me. Graduating…it’s one of the things I need to do before I die.

Mason carries my bag out into the hall as I follow.

We step back outside and I stop, looking down the street once again. This is the part of Vegas they never show. Lifting my camera, I take a picture of the entire camp and then zero in on a few homeless people I see regularly as they stand outside their tents.

Their faces are cracked and worn, their clothing filthy. They are still beautiful in their own way, and they deserve to be seen.

“What are you doing?” Mason asks. He hands the bag to the driver, who places it in the trunk, as he comes to stand next to me, his hand at my waist.

I let him guide me back to the car as he opens the car door and I take my spot in the backseat. He comes around and gets in too, the door closing with a satisfying thud.

Silently, I hold the camera out, the pictures I just took flashing over the screen. He didn’t ask me to show him, I just do. And not because I’m proud of them. Taking those pics is my way of not completely letting go of my life. Of accomplishing one of the few goals I set for myself.

He grimaces as he nods. Does he understand?

The car starts rolling as the phone rings. He picks up, only saying the single word, “Yes?”

He doesn’t speak for the rest of the call because he doesn’t have to. He vibrates power. One of his hands is resting on his thigh, the grey of the trousers only accentuating the delicious roughness of his skin, the long taper of his masculine fingers.

I don’t think. I just lift the lens to my eye and snap.

His eyes flick over to me, and I flash him the screen. One eyebrow rises but he says nothing as he keeps not talking on the phone.

Then he hangs up.

“We’ll have to delay the shopping. Something’s come up.”

“I’ve don’t need to shop at all. I’ve got plenty of clothes.”

He grimaces but doesn’t answer. “Jackson,” he points to the driver, “will be at the bottom of the elevator all day should you need anything.”

We pull back into the parking garage, both Mason and Jackson climbing out. Jackson gets my duffel while Mason opens my car door.

This time, when I step out, he doesn’t back up and his body and mine are incredibly close as he rests a hand on my hip. “I won’t be back until late.”

I look away, giving a small jerk of my chin. There is little for me to do but wait. “Will we talk tonight?”

His fingers fan out on my hip. “Yes. We’ll talk tonight.”

I want to remind him that we were supposed to talk in the car. But I’m not sure what I’ll gain from irritating him. “Should I make an agenda?”

He pulls my hips closer to his, the heat of his body seeping into mine. “What would be on this agenda?”

I lift my fingers between us and start ticking off a list.

“The likelihood of my death. The living arrangement until we know. My duties in your house.”

“Duties,” his voice takes on this dark, rich quality that actually makes me wet even though I hadn’t actually meant that.

“I’m not very good at just sitting,” I say, trying desperately not to blush.

“Anything else?”

“Yes. My visual arts course,” I say on a rush of air. Can he smell that I’m aroused? I swear he can.

“Charlotte. That hardly seems important.” And then our hips make contact, his erection pressing into the softness of my belly again. Is it supposed to feel this good?

“Now see, that’s why it needs to be on the agenda. Because for me, it might be the most important one of all.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll see you tonight.”

A limo materializes and then Mason is gone, sliding into the next sleek car that surely smells of new leather and feels like riding on clouds.

“This way,” Jackson gives me a smile that crinkles his eyes in the nicest way. He hands me a phone. “My number is in here if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Jackson.”

And then, like magic, the elevator opens. I step inside, taking my bag from Jackson and pushing the only button available. P. I didn’t even notice last night that this elevator is exclusive to Mason’s apartment.

I try to calm my racing nerves. I’ve got a long day of waiting ahead of me. At least I’ll have time to work on my project. That is if I can stop my swirling thoughts about Mason long enough to concentrate.

The man is an enigma that I desperately wish to learn. Not only does attraction sizzle between us but he holds my life in his large hands.