Chapter Twenty
London
A few hours earlier
I have no idea why I’m still in the East Wing of Mason’s residence.
Or why, after pulling on my clothes, I fell back onto the mattress and stared up at the ceiling.
Why am I still lying on the unmade bed?
Why haven’t I slinked back to my room to wash off the shame of the previous night?
Because you’re not ashamed of what you’ve done. If anything, you’re ashamed of how much you enjoyed it.
For the first time in months, the ache between my legs isn’t distracting.
Nor do I feel a burning desire in the pit of my stomach.
Now, there’s more of a dull roar in the back of my head that I just can’t shake.
Goddamn Mason Payne.
Once should’ve been enough.
Once should’ve cured me of the insane need to feel him inside of me, and it should’ve shaken some sense back into me.
I’m annoyed that it hasn’t.
I should be back in my room, figuring out a way to make things right with Noah and my dad.
But the thought of leaving the East Wing and everything that happened between us right away doesn’t sit well with me. I can smell Mason on the sheets, and it makes me want to curl up against the pillow and burrow my face into it.
Why do I want to relive the last night over and over?
Wave after wave of confusion rises within me.
Why don’t I feel guilty?
Hours after my conversation with Noah, I raced into Mason’s bed.
I should be horrified, but I don’t have an ounce of guilt, which scares me even more.
I don’t know what it says about me.
All the time I’d spent fighting Mason and staying away from him, and all those nights I denied myself release, can’t have been for nothing. I’m relieved to realize our chemistry wasn’t just in my head, but I also wish that was the case.
Because I don’t know what to do with myself now.
I don’t know how to process anything that’s happened.
And I don’t know where to go from here.
Or why I keep replaying how it felt to be touched by Mason, how the feel of his hot mouth against my skin made me abandon all my defenses, and how I relished his body pressed tightly against mine.
Mason hadn’t just been inside of me.
He’d seen right through me without flinching.
Every inch, and every dark desire I hadn’t known existed.
With practiced ease and an infuriating smirk, he’d drawn it all out of me, and now that I was lying there in the cold light of day, I didn’t know what to do with the side of me he’d uncovered.
How was I supposed to shove her back into the darkness?
How was I meant to act like last night was a mistake when everything in me is telling me it wasn’t?
And how the hell am I meant to act like I don’t want more?
Jesus, look at you. One night of good sex, and you’re ready to abandon all your beliefs. Have you forgotten who you were fucking? Come on, London. He wasn’t that good.
Except he was.
He was so much better than anything I imagined, and that’s not the worst part.
What did you expect from a man like Mason?
Heaving a deep sigh, I flip onto my back and force my eyes open to look at the ceiling.
Call your dad and Noah. Figure out how you’re going to fix this before it’s too late.
I stay there for the longest time, wondering how hard I have to wish to undo last night.
When the sun is high in the sky, and I still haven’t shaken my thoughts of him.
Finally, I stand, and grimace. In the adjoining bathroom, I let my clothes fall into a heap on the floor, turn on the water, and draw back the shower curtain.
The hot water cascades down my back and shoulders before swirling at my feet.
My fingers tremble as I run a bar of soap over my skin, shivering as I imagine Mason’s fingers there instead.
Once out, I change back into last night’s clothes and run a towel through my hair.
Mason didn’t explicitly say I couldn’t stay, but something about walking back to the complex with the smell of him all over me seems wrong.
I don’t want to be branded, and showering has made me feel steadier.
If only it was that easy to wash away my confusion.
On my way out of the room, I run into a housekeeper dressed in dark pants and a button-down shirt. She brushes past me wordlessly, and I hang my head. I stumble out of the hallway to the dining room, and then, I see the marble kitchen counter overlooking the living room.
An assortment of Danishes is sitting out.
I gulp down a cup of cold coffee and make my way to the elevators, thankful that my ID is tucked into my coat pocket. Once I hear the familiar ping of the elevators, I lean back and exhale. I’m still counting backward and reminding myself of why I can’t walk away when the doors whoosh open.
Miss Deveroux is, thankfully, standing behind the bar talking to one of the bald security guards.
She raises an eyebrow when she sees me.
I wonder if everyone else can see it, too.
How many people will view me as Mason’s latest conquest after today?
When I reach her, she reaches for a bottle from the shelf behind her and pours a shot directly into the glass.
I sink onto the stool and lean against the counter. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You look like you could use it,” she replies, pausing to pour herself the same amount. “Or maybe I need it. Judging by the look on your face, I’m going to guess that you finally gave in.”
I blow out a breath. “It wasn’t like that.”
Miss Deveroux leans forward and offers a sympathetic smile. “Honey, it never is. What happened?”
“My boyfriend and dad, they… they found out I work here. Not here here, but at the club, and they didn’t take it well—”
“What did you expect?”
Miss Deveroux’s words shouldn’t hurt, but they do.
It feels like someone has reached inside my chest and is twisting my heart.
I know she doesn’t mean any harm, but having that fact thrown in my face makes it harder. I shouldn’t be sitting here pouring my heart out to her. I should be on my way back home to grovel and make whatever amends are necessary.
Grovel for what? You didn’t do anything wrong. Your dad got himself into this mess, and you did what you had to do to get him out.
And I can’t tell them the truth, so what good would asking for forgiveness do?
For the first time in my life, I don’t have a clear plan for myself, and my dad and Noah feel farther away than ever.
I shrug. “I guess you’re right. I shouldn’t have expected anything else. I mean, I’d be pissed, too, but I was hoping…”
I have no idea how I expected them to react, but I know I deserve their anger and disbelief.
I wouldn’t have known how to handle them being understanding and compassionate, so logically, I know the way they reacted is for the best.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Miss Deveroux’s hand darts out, and she offers my hand a small squeeze. “You were hoping they’d get it and offer their support?”
I blow out another defeated breath. “I know it sounds stupid, and I know better than that. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess it’s better they know the truth. At least I don’t have to hide it.”
They might not know the full picture, but knowing I’m not abroad helps ease some of the ache. At least I don’t have to spend a few minutes online before every phone call, looking up weather reports and time zones in a different country.
Miss Deveroux sips her drink. “But you were still angry, and that’s how you wound up in Mason Payne’s bed.”
I nod. “Yeah, I don’t know how that happened.”
The older woman’s expression softens. “He has a way of sneaking up on people. I know I’ve joked about how you should screw him, but in all seriousness, you should be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
She makes a face. “He might seem harmless, but getting involved with a man like that is a bad idea.”
I search her face, and something in me tightens. “I thought you said there were no bad ideas, just good ideas that seem bad.”
Miss Deveroux shakes her head. “Not with him. Just make sure you know what you’re getting into.”
“I don’t understand.”
Miss Deveroux takes a rag out from under the table and averts her gaze. “Screwing him is one thing. Hell, I even think it’ll do you some good. I can tell you enjoyed yourself, but make sure you don’t go thinking about the man behind the mask.”
I swallow. “I won’t.”
Miss Deveroux gives me a knowing look. “It’s normal to wonder, but people steer clear of him for a reason. It isn’t because of what he does; it’s because of who he is. Don’t go tricking yourself into believing there’s a heart under there, because there isn’t.”
Why is she sharing this now?
After weeks of telling me to bang his brains out, Miss Deveroux is backpedaling so fast that it makes me wonder if there isn’t more to the story.
“It’s just sex,” I say unconvincingly. “You have nothing to worry about.”
Miss Deveroux’s lips lift into a half smile. “Good, because the only things that man can commit to are his ambition and desire for power. He loves his work, but his drive and ambition get him places, so that’s all that matters to him.”
I blink. “Okay.”
“He’s as cold as they come,” Miss Deveroux continues, her features changing into something less recognizable. “It’s important to remember that. It will save you a lot of heartache and wasted time.”
A lump rises in the back of my throat. “Of course. I appreciate that.”
Something about her tone and the look on her face leaves me wondering.
How well does she know Mason?
And what did he do to her that compels warning other women at the risk of her livelihood?
Had she seen something in him that was worth saving?
Is she warning me because she sees herself in me?
Am I doomed to live out her mistakes?
Miss Deveroux turns away and walks to the other side of the bar before I can question her. I sit there for a while, studying my shot glass as if it has all the answers. I’m desperate to call her back over, but there’s no point.
I’d recognize the pain on her face anywhere.
It’s the same haunted look my father often gets when my mother comes up.