Chapter 5
FIVE
Mase
It has been four days since Nina ran out on me, and I can’t seem to shake her off. Nothing’s helping. Not my work. Not the gym. She’s stirred something deep inside me that I don’t recognise, and I have no idea why.
The fact that she doesn’t listen to a fucking word I say turns me on just as much as it pisses me off.
Like her running from me yesterday, I enjoy the chase as much as the next man, but fuck, is it worth it?
I haven’t felt this off-centre since Cara. Just thinking about that woman gives me chills—a perfect example of why I don’t bring women into my home. You’d have thought I would have learnt from past mistakes.
It’s why I know it shouldn’t have felt so right having Nina in my home and in my bed.
It’s stupid, but I can’t help but want to let the light back in again, and she seems to shine brighter than the dazzling lights of London.
Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut and slept with her when I had the chance.
The image of her knelt beside me on the bed invades me, her warm mouth wrapped around my cock as she took me to the back of her throat.
My thighs strain in my trousers, and I—
“Lowell, you massive prick!” Elliot throws open my office doors, interrupting my dirty thoughts.
I quickly roll my chair under the desk, effectively hiding my semi under the hardwood—pun not intended.
“Can you fucking knock?” I snap, pretending to look at something on my monitor.
He stops short, halfway to my desk. “You’re not watching porn, are you?” His face morphs into a knowing smirk. “You are, aren’t you!”
“Fuck off Elliot. What do you want?”
“Why did you fire my PA?” His face turns serious as he places his hands on his hips.
Emma, Elliot’s personal assistant, decided she’d had enough of his reluctance to do anything more than sleep with her.
I found his office completely trashed on Friday morning, and the word ‘whore’ sprayed in red on the entire glass wall for the rest of the office to see.
If Elliot bothered to turned up to work more than three days a week, he would know this.
I’ve fired all five of his previous PAs after they’ve either ended up going batshit crazy on him or damaged property that doesn’t belong to them.
“What was her name?” I question, as I look at the same spreadsheet I’ve been staring at for the last two hours.
“What does that matter? I’ve got a shit ton of emails to get through, and my computer isn’t letting me log in.” He frowns. “Did you hire someone else?”
“No, do it yourself,” I tell him, bored.
He doesn’t say anything. We both know he doesn’t have a clue where to start when looking for staff.
I huff out a long breath as I pick up the phone. I dial Sal in HR. “I need a personal assistant for Montgomery.”
She tsks, then I hear her tapping on her keyboard. “I will see what I can do, Mr Lowell, but we struggle to find anyone from the agency nowadays with Mr Montgomery’s track record.”
“Up the salary five-k a year, I want a male.” My eyes flick to Elliot. “If it’s a female, she needs to be over fifty.” I hang up.
Elliot stands, smirking at me. “You know I’m not afraid of a cougar.”
“Sleep with your next assistant, and I will fucking fire you.”
“What’s crawled up your ass, you miserable prick? You’ve slept with more than your fair share, your receptionist for starters.” He gestures towards the reception desk that’s hidden beyond the frosted glass windows.
“Our receptionist is called Alice, Elliot,” I mutter deadpan. And Alice knows how this works. I don’t date any of my employees, and I never take them to my home. There are no promises of more, and I make sure they are well aware of that before I stick my dick in them.
Elliot, on the other hand, took his last assistant to his parents for a weekend away and then wonders why she thinks she’s different.
That one just ended up batshit crazy. She didn’t even cause any fuss. Thankfully, we can pay people to deal with crazy.
“Whatever. I need someone from IT to come fix my computer.” He lays himself down on my office sofa, his feet hanging over the armrest.
“It’s a new computer, dumbass. That’s why you can’t log in. The password and set-up details are in your top drawer.” I open my own drawer, retrieving a key and chucking it at him.
“Where’s my old computer? And why do you have my key?” He frowns in confusion but doesn’t move from the sofa.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, fed up with this conversation. “It’s a new desk, Elliot. Your assistant, Emma, bashed the shit out of yours with her stilettos. Your computer suffered a similar fate.”
He sits up, smiling. “I knew she was a feisty little minx.” He laughs.
“Your father turned up at the same time as the cleaners.” I scowl at him, not finding this at all funny.
“Well shit, that’s what Dad was going on about. Fuck! Sorry, Mase. You’re coming out on Friday, yeah? You completely bailed on us last weekend.” He comes to stand in front of my desk, glancing around at the screen.
“I’m not watching fucking porn, Elliot.” I shoot him a look of disbelief. “And I would have been out, but after I dealt with your latest victim, your father, and then had to deal with my father,” I remind him, my rage only building with the memory. “I wasn’t exactly in the mood.”
“But you still showed up.” He tilts his head, looking at me pointedly. “Even after dealing with your dad.” He’s still smirking as if this is all funny to him. Then he goes deeper. “Why was that Mase? Wasn’t anything to do with a certain Pixie?”
I clench my jaw so tight I’m surprised I don’t crack a tooth. “We’re not six years old anymore, Elliot. Grow up!”
“She was smoking hot though, wasn’t she, and a dancer. I knew you’d like her. It’s a good job I didn’t have her for myself.”
Rage seeps through me, and I slam my fist down on the desk. “Don’t fucking talk about her,” I growl.
He grins. Prick. “Calm down, Lowell. I’m winding you up. Did Vin get what you needed?”
I run my hand through my hair, trying to calm down and gather my thoughts. “When doesn’t he?”
“You’ve been to see her, I presume?” he asks.
“What do you think?” I mutter.
“I think she’s your Pixie, mate, that’s what I think.” He chuckles. “I don’t think I’ve seen you this put out over a girl, ever.”
“Mason, your eleven o’clock is on his way up,” Alice says through the intercom.
“Off you fuck, Montgomery.” I stand, dismissing him as I button up my suit jacket, thankful for the interruption.
“Drinks. Friday night,” he says, pointing at me as he backs out of my office.
Nina
“Why won’t you open!” I yell, my hand smacking against the solid wood of Erin’s office door. I searched all day for the key, finally finding it in the gym’s staff room, but now I have spent the last twenty minutes trying to get inside. It will not flipping open!
“Alright, crazy, out the way before you hurt yourself.” Logan comes up behind me, probably fed up with my banging.
He lifts me off my feet, moving me out of the way as if I don’t weigh a thing. “Are you sure this is the right key?” He pulls it from the lock, examining it.
“Yes, I’m sure. It wouldn’t be the key to anything else in this place.” I look up at him, unsure. “Would it?”
“I’m not sure, Nina. This key looks new, and the lock is ancient.” He shrugs, trying the door again before bending and looking through the keyhole.
I pout, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’ve been looking all afternoon! I’m giving up. If it doesn’t turn up by next week, I’m going to need you to put those muscles to good use and break the door down.” I squeeze his solid bicep.
“I’ve got some time now, so I’ll see if I can find it. The staff room is desperate for a tidy up anyway,” he offers.
“Thanks, Logan, you’re a lifesaver.” I push up on my tiptoes to peck his cheek before I turn and disappear into the studio to get my bag.
“Hey! There’s a guy asking for you downstairs. Said his name is Mason, got riled up when I told him he couldn’t come up here,” he calls from the doorway.
“Mason? He’s downstairs?” A flare of panic spreads through me.
“Sure is. Got a right chip on his shoulder that one. Want me to get rid of him?” he says, puffing out his chest.
God no, which is exactly why I should say yes.
I didn’t sleep a wink last night, thoughts of Mason Lowell in his suit consuming me. Hmmm delicious. Then sans the suit. Yep, even more delicious. I never knew I had such a fantastic imagination until now.
“No. It’s fine, thanks, Logan. I’ll see you Friday. Henry’s in tomorrow, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, if I find the key, I’ll leave it in the safe,” he calls out as I make my way around the studio, tidying up in a rush.
I stop at the mirror to make sure I look semi-presentable—not that I care—and my face screws up instantly.
I mean, it’s not great, but it isn’t bad either.
My hair is letting me down massively, sitting in a heap high on my head, tuffs poking out all over the place.
I can’t dance with it in my face, and there’s just so much of it.
I pull my hairband out, fluffing it over my shoulders, trying to flatten it down and resolving to the fact that it will have to do. Then I grab my bag and take off down the stairs.
In my head, I’d walk down the stairs, take a moment to seek him out—find him first. The studio is my territory, after all. Unfortunately, I don’t get that luxury, and I’m caught completely off guard by him, which is ridiculous because I knew he was here.
He stands at the bottom of the steps, waiting for me. His jaw taut, and lips pressed together. His brows pulled low. I want this man angry all the time. I mean, I have seen his smile. It’s breathtaking.
But angry Mase is fucking fire. I want to douse myself in petrol and climb him like a tree.
I pull my top lip between my teeth to try and stop my smile, my walls slowly crumbling.
How am I supposed to resist this man?
“Mr Lowell, to what do I owe the pleasure?” I can’t hold it in any longer, a smile splitting my face.