Chapter 14

14

MASON

T en in the morning hit me like a freight train. I barely made it out the door by 9:45 and showed up to Fia’s apartment just after ten, looking and feeling rough. I didn’t sleep last night. I just stared up at the ceiling replaying last night in my head over and over, trying to find the signs that Fia felt the same way I was starting to feel, and then drowning in guilt about it.

I probably shouldn’t have been ringing the buzzer to her building. I should have been at home drinking coffee and working a nap into my schedule while somehow banishing all thoughts of her, but there I was, pressing down on the buzzer until her withered, sleep-choked voice lit up the busy street. “This better be an emergency,” she croaked.

“Fia, it’s Mason. We were going to go shopping for?—”

“Oh, shit. Mason, I just woke up. I don’t think I even set an alarm.” Her voice cut out and the lock on the door clicked, allowing me entrance.

Instead of going inside right away, I walked over to Rex, leaning on the open window. “I’m going to take her out to get some coffee. I’ll call you later if we need a ride.”

“You got it, Mr. O’Leary.”

I rapped my knuckles on the roof of the sleek, black sedan. Rex rolled up the window and pulled out into busy Sunday traffic, several taxis honking at him. I ignored the noise and walked into the building, hiking the five levels to her walk-up studio. She opened the door for me after two brisk knocks, wearing a bathrobe and with a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled around the toothbrush, closing her eyes and cursing something muffled. “I didn’t go to bed until like three.”

She hurried back into the bathroom while I rocked on my heels in the snug entryway/kitchen/dining-table nook that took up half of her studio.

Not for the first time, I wondered why she lived here, in this tiny apartment, when her brother was easily in the top fifty richest men in Manhattan. I felt a pang of annoyance that Colin hadn’t put her up in something nicer, maybe an actual one-bedroom apartment. He could afford it without putting the slightest dent in his bank account.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Fia said as she exited the bathroom wearing a pair of snug-fitting jeans and a black sweater, her hair piled on the top of her head in a messy bun. She wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup, which made her look younger, shedding that vampy vibe I’d grown to adore, maybe even lust over, but I wasn’t about to admit it and get into any more trouble than I was already in.

She took her coat off the hook and shrugged it on, cursing as she tried to simultaneously slip into a pair of tennis shoes.

“Here.” I chuckled, helping her into her coat.

“Could we stop for some coffee? Would that be okay?”

“I was already planning on it. Are you all right with walking?”

“How else would we get to the coffee shop?” She started to laugh, but she pinched her brows together. “Oh, yeah. Rex. Is he lurking around here somewhere?”

“No, I told him I’d call him if we needed him. You’re not that far from Park Avenue, so I figured we could walk.”

She hiked her purse over her shoulder and fixed me with a look. “You want to go shopping on Park Avenue for Christmas decorations?”

“Yeah, why not?”

She shrugged, turning for the door, which stuck as she yanked on the doorknob. “It’s your sad beige Christmas, not mine.”

An hour and two quad-shot vanilla lattes later, we were walking through a luxury home goods store, lost in a sea of white and beige. I glanced at Fia as she picked up random decorations, inspected them, and set them down with a sigh.

“You might have been right,” I gritted out.

“I know,” she breathed, throwing me a smart-ass look over her shoulder. “Are you ready for my ideas yet?”

“You haven’t even been to my apartment. You don’t know what it looks like.”

“You’ve never invited me to your apartment,” she shot back, smiling mischievously.

I shrugged. “It’s nothing personal. I rarely have guests.”

“Why? Are you hiding bodies up there in your tower?” She moved in on me. “Do you have copious amounts of cash in suitcases in the ceiling tiles you’re trying to hide from the feds? Are you Batman?”

“It’s just a regular man’s apartment.”

“So covered in dirty gym laundry and the only decoration is empty liquor bottles?”

“I’m thirty-five, Fia. The only liquor bottles I show off are from my distillery.”

She shrugged, brushing past me to inspect a blindingly white Christmas tree with gold ornaments. “This is terrible.” She flicked one of the ornaments. “What’s your apartment like?”

“Modern, sleek.” I explained the dark colors and layout of the space.

Fia looked back at me when I mentioned the sunken living room. “I’m imagining eighties.”

“Eighties?” I asked, frowning.

“Vivid purples, electric blues. Zappy decorations.”

“Zappy?” I shook my head. “Are we both speaking English?”

“You’ll see what I mean. Come on, we have to get out of here. My brain is melting from blandness.”

I let go of my further questions, deciding to trust the woman who was stealing my heart. She practically dragged me out of the store and onto the busy street. It had snowed again this morning, so the street and sidewalk were wet with fresh powder. It glimmered in the overcast sunlight reflecting off the buildings rising all around us. She pulled me into an antique store at one point, where we browsed dusty shelves and she stacked random items in my open arms.

We left the first shop with several bags and moved on to a thrift store that had entire racks dedicated to Christmas decorations. She loaded my arms with silver tinsel and handmade ornaments that followed no theme, and we left with even more bags.

By the time the sun was high in the sky, I finally convinced her to sit down for a minute.

Gianni’s Pizzeria wasn’t my favorite slice, but I had a gift certificate, after all.

“You’re coming over to help me do this, right?” I asked as I slid next to her in our booth, carrying two paper plates loaded with the greasiest pizza in New York.

“Thank you,” she said, eyes wide with excitement as she accepted a slice of pepperoni. I got the same, two Cokes, and a copious amount of napkins. “Unless you have other plans tonight, I would be honored to properly show you how it’s done.”

I watched her sip from her soda, her eyes holding mine. “This was my plan today. Spending the day with you. The day isn’t over yet.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “You don’t have a date lined up or anything?”

I arched a brow and slouched into my chair. “Why would I be scheduling dates when you and I are—” I cut myself off. Dating. This felt a lot like dating, the real kind. Not a scheme, not a pre-planned scam. I looked over the table at the woman sitting opposite from me, picking at her pizza. “This is a date, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” She mimicked the arch of my brow.

I glared at her this time. “Was that sarcastic?”

“I guess I am your girlfriend for a few more weeks, so going over to your apartment to help you decorate for Christmas isn’t a weird thing to do on a Sunday night.”

I watched her closely as she dropped her eyes to her soda. I had a feeling she might have been digging for something, possibly wanting to question me about my real dating life.

“I don’t go on many dates, Fia.”

“I find that really hard to believe.”

I crossed my arms and leaned on the table. “I don’t have—I’m not very skilled in the art of conversation.”

“Why do you think that? You and I get along so easily. You’ve never had any issues talking to me about anything.”

“This is different,” I said.

“How?”

I didn’t know how to answer that question. Everything about being with Fia felt easy and natural. It felt right and never once felt forced.

“What’s your type, then?” she asked, swirling her straw, the ice in her cup rattling together.

“My type?”

“In women.”

I rolled my lower lip between my teeth. “I haven’t given that any thought?—”

“You know what, you’re the strangest man I’ve ever met.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, one hundred percent. You don’t seem to realize how hot you are, how well spoken and kind. I’m shocked you’re not married already.”

I blinked, unsure what to say in response to that.

“I just—I don’t understand why you’re doing this. Especially with me?—”

“You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I didn’t regret it, not after her eyes lit up and her mouth ticked into a tender kind of smile.

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I mean it.”

“You can’t.” She laughed bitterly, that brightness in her eyes fading. “Mason?—”

“What are you trying to say?” Unease ripped through my chest. I forgot our pizza entirely. I forgot we were in public, surrounded by strangers.

She shook her head. “That I’m not like you. I’m not part of your world.”

“We’re eating shitty pizza together right now, Fia.”

“I know. You should be at Nobu eating caviar with some model who gets full off diet coke?—”

“Fia, I don’t want any of that.”

“Why are you doing this?” she pressed. “Why did you need me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”

“Because of my dad.” I held her gaze. “I needed to prove to my dad that I’m capable of—of carrying on what he believes is the family legacy. That I’m capable of doing something like this.” I motioned between us at the table, at the untouched food. “That I care about the family name and therefore my business and the recipe that built it. I thought pretending to have a girlfriend would mend something between us and he’d get off my back.”

I couldn’t even look at her. I hadn’t admitted the truth to anyone. My investors didn’t care if I was married or single. I was so out of touch with the media that my reputation didn’t matter, especially since I had never given them anything juicy to write about.

Fia sighed heavily, eyeing me through her lashes. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

I fought back a smile, meeting her gaze. Her mouth ticked up at the ends, and she laughed.

“You’re joking?” she said. “Why do you care what that old grouch thinks?”

“Guilt, I don’t know.” That was enough spilling of secrets for now.

“You know what we forgot?” Fia looked at the bags scattered around us.

“What?” I finally took a bite of my pizza.

“I have nothing to put these decorations on because you don’t have a Christmas tree, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, I know what we’re doing next. Hurry up.” She started gathering our bags. “You’d better call Rex.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to Brooklyn. We’re getting you a Christmas tree.”