Chapter Six
Mason
I don’t want to draw too much attention to myself, so I play it casual, dressing in a simple white shirt, dark jeans, and black jacket to blend in.
I stick to suits for the most part, but I can only imagine the thoughts that would run rampant in the owner’s mind if he saw a man in a suit, knowing it wasn’t one of his regular patrons.
My looks are intimidating enough.
It won’t take much to secure a deal. That much is obvious as I pull up to the old diner.
There are hardly any cars parked out front, and the ones there are older and a bit scraped up.
The diner has an old-school charm to it, but that’s not enough to make it stand out in a city full of booming businesses.
If he’d been wise, he would have realized his business would have failed with or without the loan and accepted his fate. Who am I to complain when his stupidity and ignorance profits me in the end?
Inside is a ghost town.
It makes sense why he hasn’t paid me. He’s probably barely keeping himself afloat, paying back a loan he never could afford in the first place.
I stand at the entrance for a moment, waiting to see if someone’s going to seat me or, at least, greet me, but the bell that announced my arrival when I opened the door must not have reached anyone’s ears.
This would never stand in a restaurant I owned, but what do I expect out of a hole-in-the-wall diner that has one foot in the grave?
I whistle, feeling my impatience beginning to get the best of me.
“I’ll be out in a minute!” a woman’s voice calls out, and I notice the surprise evident in it as if this place isn’t used to serving people at this time of the day.
How many customers does it get a day? One?
Two? Three on a good day? This woman can’t be making much of a paycheck. She’s better off working for me.
I glance at my watch, a gold Rolex that cost more than the owner’s seen in his life. One thing my father instilled in me a long time ago is that money is power, and what’s more important than power?
Power means you don’t get taken advantage of. It’s what separates me from the people who wish they were me. Most importantly, it’s what allows me to continue building the empire I’m so proud of.
The kind of power I have means I can do whatever I want to do, whenever I want.
Maybe it’s a little sadistic. I’ll never claim to be a good guy, but I like the look I get when people realize who I am.
I glance out one of the windows to see my new black SUV parked out front.
I suspect that once she sees my car, she’ll know I’m not a normal patron.
She’ll at least begin to realize she’s dealing with someone of a higher class than she’s used to.
The shift to respect will start, and I’ll enjoy the sweet, sweet position of being in control.
Finally, the kitchen doors swing open. I expect to see a withered old woman, maybe the wife of the owner, but I’m pleasantly surprised by the vixen who presents herself instead.
Short and sexy with long, blonde hair piled on the top of her head in a bun, pale skin, and pink lips.
The things I would do to that mouth.
Her jean shorts and black shirt fit her curves perfectly, and I wonder who this girl is. It’s been a while since I’ve felt my dick stir from just meeting a woman.
I’ve been staring too long, or maybe my gaze unnerves her because she clears her throat, her cheeks turn pink, and fear flashes in her eyes as if I’ve frightened her. If only she knew how scary I can be.
“I’m sorry, I was just in the back doing some restocking.
” She steps forward, and I see the name tag on her shirt.
London. A box of condiments is leaning precariously in her hands.
She’s so focused on me that she doesn’t seem to notice until it weighs her down, causing her to slip and forcing the box to tumble, with glass bottles of ketchup and mustard shattering around her feet.
She’s close enough to me that some splatters on my ten-thousand-dollar shoes.
“Oh no!” She steps forward and slips on the spilled condiments.
I instinctively reach out to stop her, but I don’t get the chance before she falls to the floor with a thud. I mutter a curse. It’s becoming increasingly clear why this place is struggling financially. The business and its employees are a mess.
I don’t dwell on the fact when London groans. There’s blood coming from a cut on her knee and bruises forming on her arms where she tried to catch herself from falling. The scene hardly bothers me. I’ve seen much worse. It looks like she fell straight on the glass.
This is far from what I expected when I came here.
Against my better judgment, I offer her my hand. She stares at it for a moment, brown eyes peeking up at me from under long lashes and warming as she takes it. I’m pleasantly surprised by the sensation of her skin against mine. It’s warm, soft, and rather inviting.
“Sorry,” she mumbles as I help her up. “This usually doesn’t happen. I don’t know how I tripped. I just…” she looks down. “I’m sorry about your shoes. I’ll get something to help clean this up.”
“I doubt you have anything to fix these.” I look at them, knowing they are stained, and this will be my last time wearing them. “How about you just focus on that knee?”
She must have cut herself badly from the amount of blood oozing from her.
London looks down and gasps as if she’s just now noticing it. “Wow, okay.” She breathes in shakily and exhales, eyes darting forward, and her face flushing. She looks horrible.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Oh, nothing.”
I raise my eyebrows. I despise being lied to. “Want to try that again?”
My words seem to shock her, but they force her to speak up. “I just…” she pauses, and her breathing noticeably changes. “I don’t like the sight of blood.”
She looks about to faint.
“Surprising.”
She’s a mess. A beautiful mess.
“Does it hurt?” It shouldn’t matter to me, but something about this girl has captured my attention, at least enough for me to make sure she’s not bleeding all over the floors when I leave.
I grab her shoulders and sit her on the table, her eyes widening at the way I manhandle her.
“Oh, I can’t sit here. What if someone…?”
“Comes in?” I cut her off. I’ll likely be the only customer all day.
“But still…”
I ignore her, gripping her leg gently in my hands and examining it as has been done to me so many times. “It looks like there’s some glass in there.”
She bites the inside of her cheek to calm herself, keeping her gaze on me rather than the cut. “It stings.”
“I would expect it to. Where’s your first-aid kit?”
“Oh, you don’t have to. I can just…”
“Shut up and answer my question.”
She furrows her eyebrows. “Don’t talk to me like that.”
“Or what? You’ll get up and walk away?”
London looks like she wants to make a smart remark, staring hard at me before pointing to the counter in front of the store where the cash register is. “It’s behind there.” She’s scowling, and I resist the urge to take her over my knee and give her something to be mad about.
I cross over to the counter, find the first-aid kit, and then go back to her.
I open the kit and set it beside her. I take out the tweezers first and gently remove the piece of glass, ignoring her winces and groans. I often forget how delicate women can be.
Usually, I like the silence, but with her, it’s too loud. “You’re afraid of me?” I notice how she’s watched me nervously this entire time.
“Why would you think that?” She’s putting on a brave face.
“I’m good at reading people.”
She doesn’t answer for a few moments. “You’re a bit intimidating. I half expect you to…”
“Kill you?”
She snorts as if that’s preposterous. If only she knew the blood on my hands. “Hurt me,” she corrects. “Stop interrupting me.”
I ignore her smart-ass comment. “Have I hurt you, yet?”
“Do you want to?”
I smile. There are a lot of things I want to do to her.
I say nothing, though.
“Doesn’t mean you won’t,” she says. “It’s in every man’s nature.”
I finish pulling the glass out and notice the relief written on her features. “So, let me guess, you’re a lesbian?”
What a shame.
“Not at all,” she laughs. “I experimented a bit a long time ago, but I like…” She trails off, her face turning pink as if she’s said too much.
“Dick?” I finish.
She’s a bit of a mystery to me, one I’m dying to unravel. And fuck.
“You’re vulgar.” She hisses as I put alcohol on the cut, followed by a band-aid.
“And you’re done.”
She nods and hops off the table. “I’m London.” She holds her hand out to me to shake but one raise of my eyebrow has her retracting it. “And you are…”
“Mason.”
“Like the jar.” She laughs, and I stare at her. I don’t find it funny, but something about the way she laughs intrigues me and makes me want to hear more of it.
She must feel awkward because she lets out a nervous cough. “Well, thank you for helping me.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I remind myself that I’m here for business and not pleasure. If I were here for the latter, I’d have her backed against one of these tables and my dick so deep inside of her, she’d be able to feel me for days.
As it is, I have to resist the urge to pull her to me.
Not yet. Business first, then you can work on the blonde.
“What were you doing lifting those containers anyway?” I ask. “No men work here?” It’s my way of seeing where the owner is without asking outright.
“Not exactly,” she admits. “I’m the only one here right now.”
That surprises me, but this woman seems like she is full of surprises. I wouldn’t expect anyone to be alone in a diner this size despite the lack of customers. It’s not safe. Or maybe that’s just me.
“Are you often left here alone?”
“It’s not uncommon,” she admits. “My father owns this place, and we’re the only ones here. Usually, we’re both here, but sometimes, I have to take over for a bit when he has something else to do.”