Chapter 15

15

FIA

I managed to stifle my shock as I crept into Mason’s apartment. Although it wasn’t just any apartment. It was a modern palace with sweeping straight lines and dark, moody colors. My sneakers squeaked on his hardwood floors as I stepped out of the entryway and into a hallway that branched off in three different directions. I wasn’t sure where to go, so I went straight, hopping out of the way of the eight men fighting for their lives with a live Christmas tree behind them.

“Living room,” Mason grunted to Rex, tilting his head in my direction.

I flattened myself to the wall, holding all eight shopping bags as they walked by. When Mason mentioned he’d be able to fit a twenty-foot tree in his living room with no problems, I’d been more than a little curious about what this place looked like. He’d mentioned it was a man’s apartment , but the second I stepped into the living room, I realized I was in the apartment of a king.

Ceiling-height windows stretched wide and high, showing off a cloudy view of Manhattan, tall towers glimmering in the sunlight unable to reach street level through the clouds. A black staircase—modern and curving—led to the second floor balcony with plush chairs overlooking the living area and the sunken space at the center, where a fireplace made of what had to be black marble, or something equally as expensive, was the centerpiece of the room.

I gaped, ignoring the muffled conversation taking place in the far corner closest to the fireplace, where Rex and Mason were trying their best to set up the nine-foot Christmas tree without breaking any more branches like they had trying to stuff it in the service elevator.

The sunken seating area was totally carpeted in a fine, soft black I was sure felt like clouds when walked on. I turned in a circle, noticing the modern chef’s kitchen tucked on the other side of the room behind an archway. There was a formal dining room beside it, with more windows overlooking the city. He must have the entire floor to himself.

A curling, twisting sensation bloomed through my stomach as I slowly set the bags down. I felt chilled as I took in the space, the art, the meticulous design. His description of the place had made it sound boring and empty, but this was anything but.

“I’ll take her home, don’t worry about it.” Mason’s voice drifted toward me with a slight echo. No wonder. This apartment was at least ten times the size of mine.

“Bye, Rex.” I grinned as Rex, dressed in a sharp black suit now covered in pine needles, walked past me.

“Bye, Ms. Webster.” He gave me a little wink and disappeared into the depths of the palace.

Finally, alone with Mason, I let out the disbelieving laugh I’d been choking back for the last ten minutes.

“What’s so funny?” Mason planted his hands on his hips.

“Are you serious?” I waved an arm.

He shrugged. “This is my apartment.”

“It’s the size of a cargo ship!”

“Do you think the decorations we bought are going to cover it.”

“No!” I laughed again. “Mason, who are you?”

He smiled, looking a little smug as he crossed the distance between us. “I’m going to make dinner. Let me know if you need any help.”

“You’re leaving me? What if I get lost?”

“Just call out for me. This place has a terrible echo, anyway.”

I watched him walk into the kitchen, my lips parting in shock. He’s cooking? For me? In his multi-million-dollar apartment?

“I need your help!” I shouted, and my voice did in fact carry through the entire apartment, bouncing from wall to wall. Mason’s footsteps hurried out of the kitchen and he came to a stop in the archway, wiping his hands on a towel.

He looked relieved to find me in one piece but furrowed his brows at the living room. “Whoa.”

“You don’t like it.” I frowned from my position on the stairs, where I was weaving the vintage silver tinsel through the railing. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

“No, this is—I’ve just never…” He scanned the room again, his gaze lingering on the tree, which was now fully decorated with all of the fun, vintage ornaments and a vibrant electric blue tree runner beneath. Soft white lights shone from within the branches, and the entire room was spiced by the scented candles I’d made him buy at a corner drug store before we met up with Rex to catch a ride into Brooklyn. In fact, it felt so much warmer, like the decorations had given this place the life it’d been lacking before.

A slightly sad smile touched his mouth as his eyes met mine. “I love it.”

“You don’t look like you love it.”

“I don’t like you being so high up and practically hanging over the railing.”

“You’re a little scared of heights, huh?”

“I’m not scared of heights. I wanted to be a pilot, remember? I don’t like the idea of anything happening to you, though. So come down. Plus, I need you to pick out a bottle of wine.”

I raised my brows. “Your fancy dinner doesn’t include whiskey pairings?”

His smile turned upward, brightening. “Not tonight, but maybe next time you come over.”

I hopped down the stairs, much to his chagrin, and followed him into the kitchen where two steaks were sitting on a plate, seasoned, waiting to be cooked in a cast iron pan. “So, you’re not only a billionaire, but a cook, too.”

“I know my way around a kitchen.” He motioned for me to follow him down a hallway.

I glanced around, noticing a half bath and laundry room and what looked like an office or spare bedroom. “How many bedrooms does this place have?”

“Three. The master suite and second bedroom are upstairs.” He opened a door and I gasped as the room flared to life, more soft lighting showing off an incredible wine and spirit collection. “You like sweet stuff,” he murmured to himself, meticulously scanning the wine rack. “Do you have a preference?”

“Got anything that comes in a box?” I teased, but my voice wobbled over the words. Just like at the pizza place earlier today, I had that sinking feeling that I wasn’t where I belonged again. That I was in some new, unexplored world and totally, utterly out of my element.

Mason straightened up with a bottle of wine in his hand. He must have noticed the uncertainty on my face because his eyes softened, his mouth forming a tight line. “I know this place is a lot. I bought it eight years ago now thinking it was what I wanted, you know. What I should have after becoming so successful.”

I stepped backward out of the room, giving him space to squeeze past me back into the kitchen. “What made you want to buy a brownstone?” I sat on one of the stools along the kitchen island, watching him rifle through a drawer.

He pulled out a corkscrew, opened the bottle, and poured it into a decanter. I raised my brows. Well, this was going to beat boxed wine, that was for sure. I might not even get a migraine after a few glasses.

“I liked the schools.” He placed an impressive wine glass in front of me and poured one for himself.

“The schools?” I examined the glass. Tiffany’s, of course. I felt rich just touching it. “Like, for kids?”

“I figured whatever I lived in next should probably be more child friendly than this place. Less sharp lines, lower to the ground.”

“Ah.” I sipped my wine as my head spun. I hadn’t been prepared for this line of conversation with Mason, but given that we’d entered dangerous territory with that kiss the other night, it wasn’t entirely a shock that we were now discussing kids and a future. At least, for Mason.

“Is that what’s next? You prove to your dad that you can be not only a family man but carry on your family name and your business and then go out and find yourself a wife?”

“I plan on taking out an ad in the newspaper,” he shot back.

“You’re getting rather sharp tongued, Mr. O’Leary.”

“I’ve been spending too much time with you, I think. You’re starting to rub off on me.” His boyish smile burrowed through my heart, igniting something I’d been trying to ignore since we met.

“Nobody reads the paper anymore. Unless, of course, you’re hoping to shack up with a rich elderly woman.” I smirked at him as he took a sip of wine and started heating up the pan, his back to me. I leaned on the counter, resting my chin in the palm of my hand. “You don’t even have social media. I checked. I couldn’t find you.”

“Never have.”

“And your Wikipedia page isn’t all that impressive, either. I couldn’t find anything juicy about past relationships or scandals.”

“I have a squeaky-clean reputation.”

“And,” I continued, tapping my fingers on the counter. “If you’re going to put out an ad for a wife, you should probably take a new portrait.”

“For what?”

“For when she does the same kind of digging I did when Colin set us up. I couldn’t find a single picture of you outside of the one on your company’s website and you had to have been twenty-five when it was taken.”

He looked at me over his shoulder. “Fine. Take my picture.”

I straightened up. “Really?”

“Yeah, why not? You’re not wrong. My profile on our website hasn’t been updated in years.”

I gaped at him, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. For whatever reason the idea of taking Mason’s picture felt incredibly intimate. Having to capture him, capture that smile that I felt like only I could see, was almost too much.

“I don’t think so.”

The sizzling of the steaks was the only sound for a moment before he turned around and leaned on the opposite side of the island. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to take your picture,” I said.

“I’d pay you to do it.”

“Well, of course. My services aren’t free.” I tried to say the words with my usual sarcasm but it fell flat.

He scanned my face, his eyes going a darker blue than before. “Why not, Fia?”

“I’ve just been taking pictures of influencers and the occasional couple for years now. It’s been a while since I shot a portrait session.”

“Consider it practice, then. Tomorrow, at the distillery. Rex can pick you up.”

I gritted my teeth but continued to hold his gaze.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

My mind roved over the possibility of holding up my camera and finding all of his already perfect angles. I was terrified of what I’d see on the screen when I edited them. Would he have the same heated look in his eyes? The look that so far I thought might only be for me, or would it be confirmation that what I felt was one sided?

“Nothing,” I said, swallowing hard. “You’re burning the steaks.”

“Oh, shit.” He turned away before he could see the shattered look behind my eyes.

I needed to get a grip. Just because we’d spent most of the last forty-eight hours together didn’t mean there was anything happening between us. Just because he’d finally told me his real reason for needing a fake girlfriend, even though to me it seemed really silly, didn’t mean that we were growing closer or trusting each other more.

Just because I was sitting in his apartment drinking the best wine I’d ever tasted while he cooked me dinner didn’t mean he felt the same way I felt.

But I couldn’t deny it. I liked him. I really liked him. I needed to stop liking him before this got out of hand.

I looked him over from head to toe, trying to find a flaw. Trying to give myself the ick. He burnt the hell out of the steaks, but now he had his phone pressed to his ear, calling for takeout, sushi from a spot he didn’t know I loved and ordered from frequently even though it was definitely a splurge purchase.

I couldn’t find anything I didn’t like about him.

Damnit. What was I going to do?