Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

SECRETLY FAMOUS – Person privileged with fame pretends to be a commoner. Ninety percent of the time, it comes back to bite them in the ass, every time.

I s it safe for us to be in here?” Mason eyed the elevator doors distrustfully.

Book Girl smiled up at him, tightening the belt on her coat in preparation for the impending cold. “We’re handling it.”

He laughed under his breath. This was not how he expected tonight to go.

In fact, he’d written off the night before it even started. He knew the whole purpose of meeting up with Kara was to officially end things so she could go public with her costar whom she didn’t know he knew she was seeing. When she first went to LA six months ago, he honestly thought their “break” was a formality and that they’d get back together once she returned to Chicago. Nothing changed—at first. A month into it, when the frequency of her calls and texts and FaceTimes tapered, he knew.

He knew exactly what the tabloids would say.

Mason West Can’t Keep a Girl

Mason West Back on the Market. Again!

Which Costar Will Mason West Date Next?

Glancing sidelong at the woman next to him, he bit down on his lip to keep from grinning. He wasn’t sure why he’d gone to talk to her after Kara left, other than not wanting to be alone with his own thoughts while he finished his drink.

That, and he felt indebted to her. She’d attempted to distract him while the elevator was stuck, and though her efforts were questionably effective, they had been amusing once he’d calmed down enough to appreciate them.

He thought he’d buy her a drink to thank her—somewhere other than the bar he’d just been dumped in, but when she misinterpreted that as him trying to get her back to his place and agreed —well, he wasn’t going to say no. It wasn’t that he’d been holding out for Kara to return, he just hadn’t had time to date anyone during the offseason. At least, that’s what he told himself and anyone who asked, a story that would be a lot more convincing if he could tell literally anyone what he had been doing these past few months. And yeah, he was more than a little intrigued by the romance aficionado who seemed to want nothing to do with romance.

“Is your place close?” she asked, glancing up at him as she shoved a maroon beanie onto her head.

She was the most colorful person he’d ever seen. She wore army-green pants tucked into brown leather boots, and he knew under her mustard-yellow coat she wore a conservative cream-colored turtleneck that clung to her curves in a way that had Mason questioning his previous aversion to turtlenecks. In contrast to her clothes, everything about her was understated. Her hair was so blond it was practically white, fringe framing her face like a 1970s rock groupie. Her brows were heavy and dark by comparison, arching over startling light green eyes.

“What?” she asked uncertainly, wiping the corners of her bow mouth. “Do I have food on my face?”

Whoops. He’d been staring far too long. He worked with beautiful actresses every day, and yet, there was something about this tiny, sour woman that struck him.

“Eyelash,” he improvised, wiping the imaginary lash from her cheek. “And yeah, my place is close,” he answered, her words finally registering.

“Is it covered in plastic tarps?” she asked, her eyes trained forward.

“Like Dexter ?”

She nodded.

He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. “No tarps. Not a serial killer.”

“Sounds like something a serial killer would say,” she said dubiously as the elevator dinged, the doors sliding open.

He couldn’t hold back the laugh this time, his shoulders relaxing as they exited the elevator. “My name is Mason, by the way,” he told her as he opened the lobby door for her. Biting Chicago wind wrapped around him as they stepped outside, stealing all his warmth.

“Hey!” she cried incredulously.

He cringed internally, anticipating the uncomfortable conversation to come.

“We said no names.”

He glanced at her sidelong. “You said that, not me.”

She frowned, sighing in resignation. “Sawyer Greene.”

“That’s definitely fake,” he teased.

“All real, baby. I’m just blessed like that.” As she spoke, she did an adorable little dance. She nudged him with her elbow as they waited for the crosswalk light to change. “What’s yours, then?”

Mason chewed on the inside of his cheek before making a split-second decision. “Mason álvarez.”

Sawyer snorted, rolling her eyes. “Okay, that’s definitely fake. Sounds like a soap opera star.”

He blinked down at her in surprise. So she really didn’t know who he was—didn’t know how close her guess actually was. Well, fuck if he was going to tell her. Being anonymous for a night sounded amazing.

Somehow, telling the truth felt like a lie. His last name was álvarez, but he could count on one hand the number of people who knew him as such. He’d tried to stay out of the family business, but he’d been sucked in all the same, and his soap star mother’s name held more clout there, so most people knew him as Mason West. Mason West couldn’t have casual hookups. Mason álvarez, however… Smiling to himself, he gestured for her to follow him.

Her eyes darted to his mouth, and he had goddamn butterflies. It had been so long since he’d done this—flirted. The “break” with Kara was probably the longest he’d been single since he was prepubescent.

His building came into view, and his steps slowed. Sawyer glanced back the way they’d come. Barely two blocks.

The tabloids often accused him of being a simp for his partners—though Mason was pretty sure that said more about them than him—but he did have some pride. Kara had let him pick the location for their meeting, and he’d be damned if he went out of his way to get dumped. Re-dumped? On-a-break breakup?

Luther, his building’s doorman, held open the lobby door, and Mason watched as Sawyer stepped inside wordlessly, eyes wide as she took in the space. He spent more time on set than here, and he forgot how nice it was. Sawyer stomped the snow out of her boots, Mason doing the same before leading her over to the elevators. He’d bought this place before the nightmarish day on set that left him with an aversion to elevators. In a few months, when he moved to LA, he would make sure his new place was a walk-up.

Mason tolerated elevators on a good day—they were unavoidable in a city full of skyscrapers, but after the near incident earlier, it took a concerted effort to step into yet another one. Though he supposed the odds of being stuck in an elevator twice in one day were rather astronomical. He tried to take comfort in that and not focus on the shiny, immovable metal walls, tried not to picture them closing in on him…

“Hey,” Sawyer called quietly.

He tore his eyes away from the elevator doors, anxiously awaiting them to open, meeting her curious gaze.

“You and elevators have old beef, huh? Did an elevator steal your girl?”

“My lunch money, actually,” he said heavily. “For years…”

She clicked her tongue. “It’s always the ones you never suspect.”

He huffed a laugh as the doors opened on his floor. He stepped out quickly, inhaling fully for the first time since entering.

He glanced back at her, and she stopped chewing on her cheek to flash him a smile. He paused with his key in his hand. He didn’t normally do this— casual . The media followed his dating life like a religion. At first, he’d been uncomfortable with it, but growing up in the spotlight, he’d gotten used to it. But doing this, being anonymous for a night and losing himself in another person, telling no one, thrilled him. It hadn’t been his intention when he’d suggested leaving the bar, but she’d been so confident, he wanted to say yes, to get a taste of the way everyone else lived, able to be casual with their feelings and their bodies, with no TMZ to say a damn thing about it.

Except… he wasn’t everyone else. Was this a mistake—a mistake he was dragging her into unwittingly?

“We can go somewhere else,” he began.

Her brows shot up. “And make you get in another elevator?” she asked incredulously.

The corners of his mouth quirked up. “I’m just saying—”

The words died on his tongue as she sidled up in front of him, her fingers curling under the lapels of his peacoat. “Just open the door, Code Name: álvarez.”

At her proximity, all thoughts of not doing this flew from his mind. He leaned forward, pressing her up against the doorframe, delighting in the slight hitch of her breath, the way her lips parted slightly. He slid his key into the lock and twisted, pushing the door open. “After you, Totally Fake Name Greene.”

She flashed him a grin before slipping under his arm and entering his apartment.

He watched her shrug out of her coat, revealing what he was fairly certain was the only sexy turtleneck in existence. Something warm and molten pooled in his stomach, something more than heady lust. This might be a one-time thing, but he had a feeling this night, this woman—Sawyer Greene—was going to stick with him for a while.