Chapter 3 #2
“Uber’s about to arrive.” She jumps up, the two of them going to the kitchen to clear up before saying goodbye.
“Thanks, girls, I needed this today.” I hug them both close.
“Always,” Megan says with a smile.
They are halfway out the door when Luce turns. “Don’t forget lunch at Mum’s tomorrow. It’s your turn to make dessert.”
I wrap my arms around myself, feeling grateful to have them both as my best friends. “Bye, girls.”
It’s around nine when I hear my phone ringing in my bedroom. I rush to grab it, pulling it from the charger and answering it without looking.
“Nina?” My mother’s shrill voice comes through the line. “Nice of you to finally answer. I’ve been trying to reach you all week. I need some help this month, I can’t manage this place financially on my own.”
I close my eyes as she gives me the same old bullshit excuses. “Hi, Mum. I’m fine, thanks for asking,” I mutter.
“Oh please, if you’d answered my call before now, I wouldn’t be so stressed out. You can be so selfish sometimes.” Ah, there we go with the blame game. It’s my fault she is stressed. It’s my fault the power got cut off. It’s my fault she had to sell her body to pay for new school shoes.
I was just eight when she first started bringing men into our home, sleeping with them for money. She never hid it from me, never apologised or wiped my tears after a night spent hiding in my room, trying to block out the noises.
I puff out a breath, scrubbing a hand down my face and not wanting to remember. “How much this time?”
I shouldn’t give it to her. It only gets spent on cigarettes, drugs and alcohol.
But I know once I do, I won’t hear from her for a while.
It’s bittersweet, really. How you can long to be held by someone just as fiercely as you fight to keep them at bay; how you can crave a person who has never given you a reason to love them?
And I do love her, despite it all.
“Five hundred. I need to cover the electric. I’m two months behind.” She tries to justify it, but I’ve heard it a thousand times before.
I think about my savings account—or the bank of Nina to my mum. I just want her gone; it’s been a long week. “I’ll transfer it now. Please stop calling me constantly, Mum. Text me, and I will call when I’m free. I teach all day.”
“Thank you,” she tells me, her voice lacking all sincerity before she quickly hangs up. And as always after speaking to her I’m left feeling disappointed. What I would give to be able to speak to my mum, open up about my crappy night and have her tell me I’m being silly and it’s just a boy.
I log into my banking app and transfer the money before she starts hounding me as to where it is.
Throwing my phone down on the coffee table, I round the kitchen island to get a much-needed glass of wine. I’m just about to pour it when I spot an envelope on the worktop.
Those damn girls don’t listen.
I pick it up and contemplate opening it. Thoughts of Mason lying sprawled out on his bed flash through my mind. The feel of his hands as they roamed my torso. The way his scent engulfed me as he buried his face into my neck.
I tear open the envelope, not being able to ignore the nagging feeling in my gut.
Nina, I’m so sorry about last night.
Call me. Joey
Joey?
Pain splinters through me. I toss the card into the bin and ram my hand down on top of the flowers, crushing them as best I can.
The disappointment I feel at the realisation that Mason hasn’t bothered to contact me is more than I care to admit, which is stupid.
Why would he contact me? It was one night—who am I kidding?
It wasn’t even that. It was a couple hours of drunken stupidity on my part.
I ditch the wine glass and take the bottle back to the sofa instead, feeling foolish to think he would care.
Mase
I pace my living area for the hundredth time today, trying to work out what went wrong this morning and how I can fix it. I completely screwed things up with her, but I wish she’d given me a chance to explain.
She thought I was serious about the Elliot paying her thing. I wasn’t, and I shouldn’t fucking care this much.
Why do I care this much?
Why did I let her leave?
I run my hands through my hair as the elevator doors ping. Elliot strolls into my penthouse without a care in the world. “Where have you been all day, dickhead? I called you earlier.”
“Mase.” He smiles, walking to me and clasping my back. “It was a late one. I was sleeping when you called. You ready?” His eyes drop down my body, taking in my T-shirt and sweats. “Charlie will be here in a minute.”
“I’m not coming out. I’ve been calling you. Do you have Nina’s number? The woman from the bar. She was here last night and—”
“The Pixie? Pixie was here?” he interrupts me in shock.
“She’s not called fucking Pixie,” I say, pissed off that he’s carrying this on.
He breaks out into a stupid, wide grin. “Look at you. You have yourself all worked up over this chick. This is totally like your Pixie,” he teases.
My fists clench at my sides as I fight the urge to punch my best friend in the face.
I continue to pace. “I was going to drop her home, but some asshole was waiting outside her building. He almost hit her. I wasn’t going to leave her with him lurking around, you know.”
“So, you thought you’d bring her here to show off your tower.” He laughs, clearly enjoying this.
“I didn’t touch her. She was drunk. But she made me promise that I would when she was sober.” I shake my head at the memory, knowing it sounds stupid even to my own ears. I’ve been over this in my head all day. “I woke up to my cock in her mouth.”
His eyes pop wide and he jolts his head back. He wasn’t expecting that. “Okay, tell me again the reason she isn’t your Pixie?”
I ignore his question, rolling my lip before telling him, “I asked her if you paid her.”
“You fucking idiot,” Charlie snaps as he walks into the foyer. “For a smart bloke, you really are a stupid son of a bitch sometimes.” He walks towards us with Lance Sullivan, our head of finance and close friend.
“Fuck off, Charles. I don’t want your opinion on this,” I tell him, knowing his advice will be the most valuable to me. Charlie is the most headstrong of the group. He knows how to handle the shit life throws at him—and the women. But I refuse to be made vulnerable by this woman.
“Sure, take that dickhead’s advice,” he snaps.
“Hey, what have I done?” Elliot throws his arms out at his sides smiling.
Sullivan steps forward, a bored look on his face. “If you girls are finished? Maybe we could grab a drink.”
My gaze flicks between them all as I contemplate whether I should sit here all night worrying about her, or if I should go get pissed with the lads.
I head upstairs to change.
We end up in the bar nearest my building and a favourite of ours, The Rensley Arms. I didn’t even want to come out tonight, so there was no way I was going to a club.
Elliot sits back in his seat as he sets four beers down in front of us. “Cheer up, mate,” he jibes.
I run my hands through my hair in frustration. “Do you guys think I should reach out to her? She was nearly crying when she left.”
I get the image of her in my foyer with her shoes clutched in her hands. God, she was so upset. That look on her face. It’s all I’m able to think about.
“Why don’t you go to her building and apologise?” Charlie suggests.
“I don’t know what number her flat is. We didn’t even make it inside.” I shake my head, thinking about the way I reacted to her dickhead friend. He deserved the broken nose. He would’ve hit Nina if I hadn’t moved her out of the way.
“Hasn’t ever stopped you before.” Elliot raises his brow suggestively. “Just get Vinny on it.”
I’ve already thought about this. Vinny is my driver and is ex-special forces. He knows the right people and would get me everything I need on her within the hour.
It just doesn’t feel right.
“I don’t want to invade her privacy. It’s not how I want to do this.”
Charlie makes a point of looking at me, nodding his head as if he’s impressed. I roll my eyes, taking a sip of beer.
“Shit, Mase, you really have it bad for this girl?” Sullivan’s staring at me like I’ve grown two heads. They aren’t used to me giving a shit.
Why do I give a shit?
“I barely know her! These pair of idiots wanted to play matchmaker, I all but called her a prostitute, and now I’ve managed to get on her shit list.”
Elliot raises his glass in a toast. “To Pixies, Prostitutes and getting on their Shit Lists.”
I glare at him. I might kill him.
Feeling defeated—knowing I have to speak with her and see that she is okay—I look to Charlie, seeking his approval. “I can’t look her up, can I?” I ask.
He shrugs, a grim expression on his face as he squeezes my shoulder. “I don’t know what other option you’ve got, mate.”
I scrub my hands over my face before pulling out my phone, and then I send Vinny a text with all the details I have.
My phone rings instantly.
“I’m out,” I tell him.
“You haven’t given me a lot to go on here, Mase. How much do you want to know?”
I look to the boys, all of them watching me with intense looks on their faces, and I know I shouldn’t ask for it, I know it’s wrong, but a mixture of relief and excitement settles in my gut as I say, “Everything.”