Chapter 4

Mason

I’m a fucking idiot. Why couldn’t I just let things develop naturally? I think it’s my delivery. Spending my whole life barking orders and asking direct questions—because time is money and I have a lot of one and little of the other—I think I’ve become desensitized on how to woo a woman.

God. Damnit. This is why I don’t date.

I’ve never had a real girlfriend. Any romances I’ve had were brief, surface-level quickies offering temporary relief to a stressful life. And those trysts were secret, which is a joke because there are no secrets in my social circles. Only deals, lies, leverage, and affairs exist in my world.

Leah’s a fresh shot of adrenaline in my long dying soul. I love how vibrant she is. How quick she can recover from an awkward situation. Her confidence really gets my blood pumping and the fact that she holds her ground and doesn’t seem easily flustered is intoxicating. It’s not every day you meet a woman like Leah, and I’ve barely scratched the surface.

Our both being in the same place tonight was purely a coincidence, but I had been sitting at the bar earlier, waiting for a table to open up because I hadn’t made reservations. Then Leah walked into the restaurant, and it was like the entire establishment held its breath in awe of her.

Her little black dress hugged her body that had, earlier this morning, been concealed in her oversized T-shirt. Her tits swelled out of the top, the stilettos that I’m dying to feel dig into my back and ass defined her leg muscles, and then she sat down like a motherfucking queen and captivated her audience with some kind of animated story.

Leah’s mouth moved a mile a minute, her hands flying around as she talked, her thighs showing so much decadent skin when she crossed and uncrossed her legs that it should have been criminal. I spilled my fucking bourbon all over my tie when I took the first sip because I couldn’t get my brain to function properly with her in my orbit.

I wasn’t the only one looking, either.

The bartender and two waiters—including the one who served her table for the night—drooled over her. I loved it. I enjoy when someone admires something I have.

Except I don’t have Leah.

And though my mind raced with fantasies about how to make her mine, my ears strained to hear even one sentence of her story, seeing how enraptured her friends were as they laughed hysterically. But I was too far away to catch any of it. Even her server couldn’t drag his sorry ass away from her tale.

This woman can captivate her audience with expert skill.

I like that. A lot.

Now I’ve likely blown my chance with her before I even got out the gate. She rejected me so fast I’ll likely never recover. Or maybe not. I mean, I did make her laugh. And I saw her smiling as she looked back at me in her rearview mirror. Maybe she wants to be chased? Shit, maybe she’ll go home and rethink her answer. She knows where I live, so the ball is in her court.

“Your car, Sir.”

I stare down at a scrawny valet attendant holding the key to my Maserati. “On second thought. I’m not finished here.” Handing him a hundred-dollar bill, I clap his arm. “Keep it close. I’m heading back in for a bourbon.”

Hopefully, another drink will help take the edge off my growing tension. I’m not ready to go back to my empty, boring condo, and I sure as shit don’t feel like driving around the city looking for something to do.

My cell vibrates in my pocket as I walk through the door and head to the bar. I can only imagine who this might be or what they want from me. What I wouldn’t give to chuck my phone in a trash can and never answer it again, but that’s not how rich people maintain being rich.

One glance at the screen has me groaning before I answer. “What is it, Grace?”

“Mom wants to know if you’re still buying a table for the gala.”

“I always buy a table.” This is a manipulation tactic. I just can’t tell if it’s Grace’s doing or my mother’s. “I’m sure my secretary sent the check already, correct?”

“Oh yeah, yeah. But Mom wants you to fill the table this time. And show up yourself.”

I drop onto a bar stool and flick my finger to catch the bartender’s attention. “I’m busy that night.” I don’t even know when the damn thing is.

“Don’t be an asshole, Mase. She’s still mad about you-know-what as it is.”

“Good. That makes both of us.”

“ Mason .” Grace sighs heavily, as if I’m the problem here. “Come on. This is an easy way to get back onto their good side.”

Her words make my chest tighten. Grace will bend over backwards for our parents, and so will my brother. But I’m the black sheep of the family because apparently wanting things and getting them on my own is disrespectful and rebellious to the family name.

“For me?” She asks in a sweeter tone.

Pushing back on my family is instinct, but I always cave for Grace. “Fine. I’ll come. When is it?”

“At the end of the month.”

I hang up before saying something I’ll regret. My mother is such a piece of work. If she thinks I’ve forgotten our little argument where she called me a disgrace and biggest disappointment in her life, and is now trying to use Grace to get me to step one foot back into her web…

It’s worked.

“Fuck my life.” Burying my face in my hands won’t hide my shame, but it helps keep my temper under control. I hate that I knowingly let myself just get played.

“What can I get for you?”

A one-way ticket off this planet would be nice . Sudden exhaustion has me glancing up slowly. “Old Fashioned, please.”

Today was absolute shit. First, my meetings were rough, then dinner alone, then rejected by the most gorgeous woman in the universe, and now I’m roped into attending a gala I have zero interest in.

“I’m telling you it was her,” says someone behind me. “Had to be.”

“No way,” argues another person.

“She was talking about putting peanut butter on her feet for a grand!”

My ears perk up.

“So? That proves nothing.”

“It proves she’s in the business.”

“No, it doesn’t. You’re delusional. That woman looked too old to be Daisy Ren.”

“Anyone can look young in bunny ears, wigs, and makeup. I swear to you, that’s her. They have the same big eyes.”

I glance over my shoulder to see two young men staring at a cell phone as they debate.

“Her tits look the same. That’s about it.”

“Same pretty mouth, too. Daisy’s stunning. That woman was her. No way it wasn’t.”

Now they have my full attention.

“You’re just crushing so hard you see her everywhere you go. Time to touch grass, man.” The waiter pats the other guy on the shoulder. Then he looks at me and blanches as if they’ve just been caught watching porn in church. “Come on, table five needs a fresh bottle of champagne and thirteen needs appetizers brought out.”

They split off just in time for my drink to show up.

One sip.

Two sips.

Three sips and I’m looking up Daisy Ren on my cell.

Annnnd spit that third sip out in a spectacular spray of smoked citrus rind and top shelf bourbon.

Hello, Leah .

I can see why they were arguing. The woman staring back at me online has purple contacts, pink hair with matching bunny ears, and a corset that lifts her ample tits nearly up to her chin. She looks barely legal. But there’s no mistaking her mischievous smile. It’s the same one Leah gave her friends earlier during dinner.

It’s the same one she gave me when she turned me down.

Fuck me running, this woman is hot in every way. From the over-sized T-shirt this morning, to the knockout cocktail dress tonight, to this crazy fetish outfit on her profile pic—there’s no denying she’s a smoke show. The longer I stare at her big doe eyes, the harder my cock gets. Bet the lip gloss on her pouty mouth is fruity flavored and would leave a nice pink ring around the base of my dick as she sucked me off.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m halfway out the door, stuffing my phone in my pocket.

The valet still has my car parked out front, and I stuff another fifty in his hand as I snatch the keys from him.

“Have a great night, Sir!”

I plan on it.

The drive home takes me ages instead of the normal fifteen minutes. I barrel into my condo, rip off my suit jacket, loosen my tie, and drop down at my desk so I can see my beautiful creature on the biggest screen I have.

Signing in with a fake name, I pay the top tier price on her site without batting an eye. She’s not charging enough for the privilege of looking at her photos, let alone have a live chat.

Part of me hopes seeing Leah in action, just this once, will scratch the itch I’ve developed today.

The other part of me worries this is only the beginning of a new obsession.