Chapter 7

7

FIA

I pursed my lips as Colin, dressed in a black-on-black suit with his hair swept back away from his face, drank half of my drink in one go. Grimacing and baring his teeth, he passed it back to me. “A little sweet, huh? Oh, what’s that face for, Fia? You weren’t going to drink it anyway.”

I frowned but noticed Mason watching us out of the corner of his eyes, his normally unreadable expression faltering a bit as his mouth quirked into an amused smile. “I was going to drink it,” I grumbled, turning back to my brother.

“She wasn’t,” Colin said to Mason, shrugging. “She likes red wine only. The kind that comes from the box.”

“I don’t just drink boxed wine, you ass,” I growled through gritted teeth. What was he doing? And also, why did I care that Mason knew about my cheap taste in wine, or spirits in general?

“If you really want to win her over,” he continued, his cheeks slightly flushed from the onslaught of gin simmering through his veins, “one of those half gallon size bottles of Cupcake brand red blend?—”

“Why are you here?” I asked hotly, balancing my drink on the frost-covered railing before crossing my arms under my breasts. “You hate loosening up and having fun.”

“Because Heritage Springs is providing all the alcohol and I was invited.” Colin smirked, but his eyes narrowed as he looked from me to Mason, finally noticing the fact that I was wearing Mason’s suit jacket. “Did I interrupt something?”

My mouth popped open, realizing my mistake. Sure, things had been getting rather cozy between Mason and me tonight, but I was sure I could come up with a quick explanation as to why we were out on the balcony, alone, standing close enough to share heat.

“We ran into an old friend,” Mason cut in smoothly, lingering harshly on the word friend . “Greyson Morrow. We came out here hoping the fresh air would wash some of the stink off.”

“Ah.” Colin nodded, and apparently that explained everything he needed to know.

I glanced from man to man, completely in the dark. “Why don’t we like Greyson?”

“He went to college with us,” Colin replied, picking an invisible piece of lint off his lapel. “He’s just kind of a sleaze, Fia. The kind of guy who’d pick up on this arrangement and start spreading rumors if he thought things didn’t seem right. He’s had it out for Mason since we were freshmen.”

I looked at Mason, who nodded along, but his eyes had taken on a darker shade of blue. I honestly didn’t think it was a play of the light floating over us, spilling from the ballroom. “He likes to take things that don’t belong to him.”

His gaze slid to mine and a chill ran down my spine, blooming into something warm. I quickly looked away, fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket, still draped over my shoulders. I zoned out of their conversation as it dipped into talk regarding the popularity of a new, cinnamon whiskey being debuted at this very party, but a few minutes later Colin dragged me back in, saying, “It sounds like this is working. Everyone is talking about the two of you. I was just asked by Morgan Anderson if you were bringing her to his dinner on the fourteenth.”

I blinked, realizing I’d been staring at the glittering New York City skyline for several minutes.

“I totally forgot about that,” Mason replied, scratching his jaw where the first signs of a five-o’clock shadow were evident. “I’m sure we can both attend, assuming Fia’s free.”

I nodded. “Probably.”

Colin clapped him on the shoulder, gave me a brief onceover, and walked back into the ballroom. Mason turned his attention to me, looking slightly apologetic. “You look cold. Can we go back inside, or are you still admiring the view?”

The best view in the city was the man in front of me. Mason looked like an absolute dream in his black suit, his dark hair a little ruffled from the breeze on the balcony. There was a ruggedness about him that I appreciated. He wasn’t totally clean-cut. There were calluses on his hands and those big arms had moved some heavy stuff in their time, like he hadn’t lived his entire life in an office.

“Sure, we can go inside,” I said. “Might as well let everyone get a good look at us together.”

I allowed him to lead me back to the auction. The bidding crowds had thinned as the initial excitement and novelty of the event waned, and now most of the groups were mingling along the outskirts of the unused dance floor. The warmth and merriment of the party started to feel a little flat. The blue and white decorations suddenly felt off. That feeling of connection between Mason and me I’d sworn I’d felt only an hour ago, when he’d walked me around the ballroom, introducing me to acquaintances in both business and pleasure, was gone.

An awkward silence hung between us as we walked along the edge of the ballroom. I had a feeling he was leading me out to the foyer, and honestly, after being caught by Colin on the balcony in what had a totally innocent— I think —conversation, I was ready to go home, shed the most expensive article of clothing I’d ever worn in my life, and crawl into bed.

But then he was there, walking toward us with a predator’s focused gaze as Mason stopped to check the bids on the baby blue Fiat convertible.

“Someone outbid us,” Mason murmured at the same moment Jake, my ex-boyfriend, roughly brushed past me. Mason straightened up and whipped around to look at Jake, his expression twisting into something hard and ice cold. “Hey, lay off the whiskey. You nearly knocked my date over.”

I knew Jake had seen me and purposefully bumped into me. A tremor licked down my spine as I stepped closer to Mason, which he didn’t notice because Jake turned around looking severely apologetic, a nearly empty glass in his hand.

“I apologize—Fia?” He gaped, then chuckled darkly, his hazel eyes sweeping over me from head to toe and back up again, lingering a little too long over the swell of my breasts. I was still wearing Mason’s jacket over my shoulders and fought the urge to cover myself further as Jake’s mouth curved into a cocky, disbelieving smile. “I didn’t even recognize you. You clean up nicely.”

Mason splayed his hand over my lower back. “Honey, do you know this man?”

Honey. The word worked its way through my blood and set it aflame. Maybe it was the half of a gin cocktail I’d been sipping on, but I turned and looked up at Mason, slipping back into character. “ Unfortunately , I do. Mason, this is Jake Donovan. Jake, this is Mason O’Leary.”

Jake’s sandy blond hair trembled slightly. “Mason O’Leary?” His eyes went round with shock.

Mason, however, slipped right into character as his hand moved from my back to my hip, just within Jake’s line of sight. He didn’t extend his free hand to shake, tucking it in his pants pocket and posturing beside me, towering several inches over Jake as he said, “And how do you know my girlfriend, Mr. Donovan? I’ve never heard her mention you.”

I was a little taken off guard by Mason’s sudden possessiveness and, frankly, attitude toward Jake. He couldn’t have any idea that Jake was my ex-boyfriend, that he broke up with me a few days before Christmas last year, and that I’d eventually found out through the grapevine that he’d been carrying on an affair with a waitress on his catering staff for several months before he ended our relationship in favor of her.

Jake laughed, looking from me to Mason. “You’re joking, right?” He looked back at me, truly surprised. “You’re dating Mason O’Leary?”

“Why do you look so shocked?” I smiled, shrugging, doing my best to remain as calm as possible even though my heart was beating out of my chest. Not because of Jake. Absolutely not. I’d moved on completely. But because of the way Mason’s fingers were hugging the curve of my hip, strong and warm, gently flexed in a way that sent ripples of longing cascading through my body.

It’s been a very long time since anyone touched me like this, but this was for show. Right?

Mason looked Jake up and down, smirking. “Oh, I remember now. You’re part of the catering staff, right? The bacon-wrapped dates being served near the bar came out cold and nearly raw. You should look into that.”

Jake’s eyes flashed with rage he couldn’t quite contain as he quickly glanced at me. “Actually, I own the catering company.” He pulled a business card out of his suit pocket, industriously close at hand, and tried to hand it to Mason. “I know you hold events all year, if you’re ever?—”

“I don’t take business cards. You can call Heritage Springs and have someone get you in touch with my executive assistant’s secretary.” Mason smiled but there was an edge to it. He nodded a quick, cutting goodbye to Jake, effectively dismissing him, and turned us toward the foyer.

“Hey, Fia, it was good seeing you!” Jake tried to call out, but his voice blurred into the wash of conversation spilling from the ballroom into the foyer.

It took all of my strength not to turn around and smirk, maybe even flipping him off, but instead I leaned in Mason’s touch, allowing him to guide me to the concierge to fetch my coat.

“Calling it a night already?” I asked as he gave the concierge our coat tickets, leaning his arm on the counter.

“Are you going to say anything about the fact that your ex-boyfriend nearly ran you over back there?”

“I think you handled it appropriately.” I looked up at him, holding his gaze, momentarily losing myself in his eyes. “Thank you, by the way. That guy sucks.”

“Anytime, honey.” He smiled, then turned his attention back to our coats. He took his suit jacket off my shoulders but his fingertips brushed my skin and it felt good . He stiffened, clearing his throat as he shrugged into his jacket, then his coat, and helped me into mine. “My driver will drop you off. He’s waiting outside.”

“And what about you? Aren’t you going home now as well? Or are you going out for a nightcap?” I had a feeling Mason was the kind of guy who had a very short-lived social battery. In fact, I could tell by the look on his face that the idea of any more surface-level conversations—about the weather, the holidays, or his business—was dragging him into a stupor. The light had simply vanished from his eyes, and the teasing tone in his words to me went with it.

“I live nearby. I like to walk.” His mouth ticked into what might have been a smile but it faded before I could really capture the gesture.

I should say something. Thank him for tonight. I really did have a nice time with him. But I turned for the doors leading out onto the slick, sparkling street where the lights of the city danced across the wet pavement, and he caught my elbow, pulling me to a stop mid-step.

“Do you want to see my distillery?”

I turned to face him, relieved that he’d said something other than just goodbye. I wasn’t ready to admit that deep down, I hadn’t wanted the night to end yet. “Your distillery?”

“Yeah, uh—” He ran his fingers through his hair, glancing over the top of my head for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “If we’re going to be dating, you should at least know a little bit about what I do for work, about the whiskey I make, especially. I know you don’t like whiskey.”

“I don’t.” I laughed, and his eyes sparkled to life again, which made my chest convulse with sudden excitement.

“I hate that.” He chuckled, a warm sound that was starting to make me feel a little hazy. Had he moved closer? Was his hand slowly reaching for my hip again, or was I imagining the distance closing between us? “I want to change that. I think I can find something you’d like.”

“You’re a man up for a challenge.” Now I was stepping closer, drawn in a like magnet to my fake boyfriend. Fake . This was supposed to be pretend but I could have sworn our voices had taken on an edge of flirtation. “I’ve never had a whiskey I liked.”

“Then I’ll design one. Just for you.”

I held his gaze like we were the only two people standing in the foyer of the Plaza hotel.

“Fine. When?” I asked.

“I’ll check my schedule and call you?—”

“You don’t have my number.”

“I have your email,” he said.

“Oh, thank God. Now if I get hit by a taxi crossing the street to my apartment, I can send you an email to make sure you know to meet me at the hospital.”

He slipped his phone into my hand, bracing his other hand against the marble facade of the entryway, caging me in. I looked up at him through my lashes, smirked, and proceeded to pull up his contacts, typing my number and saving it.

He smiled wryly, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Goodnight, Miss Webster.”