Chapter Twenty-One
Mason
“I don’t understand why I’m here,” London says.
“I like to survey the properties I’ve acquired,” I reply between sips of my drink.
Slowly, I unfasten the top button on my jacket, and I don’t miss the way her eyes linger on my fingers.
“You made a deal to pay off your father’s debt, but it doesn’t mean the diner and house are not up for sale should I choose to make an offer. ”
London’s eyes snap to attention and anger flashes across her face. “Is that why you dragged me here? To rub it in my face?”
I eye her over the rim of my glass. “When and if I rub something in your face, it won’t be this.”
A shadow settles over London’s face. “It was one time. It won’t happen again.”
I down my drink and lean forward, and her breath hitches in her throat. “We both know that isn’t true, so let’s agree not to lie to one another, shall we?”
As entertaining as our little cat-and-mouse game is, I don’t have the patience for it today.
I need to focus on finding a way out of this mess.
London’s childhood home is a start, but it’s hardly a prime location.
It’s in a nice neighborhood with manicured lawns, paved driveways, and white fences, but it’s not the diner.
A two-story Victorian in a quaint suburban neighborhood isn’t going to cut it.
I need to wait for London’s father to leave so I can take a closer look and see if I can salvage this deal.
Or you can just march up there and look around anyway. London’s father can’t stop you. Not when you practically own the place. Hell, you can have him out on his ass before he’s even had a chance to protest.
I’m tempted to do just that, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
I don’t know if it’s because London is in the car with me and the sweet smell of her is wafting up my nostrils, or if it’s that I still haven’t gotten my fill of her.
All I know is that hesitating will cost me. It will cost London, too.
I just haven’t decided on a form of payment.
For now, keeping myself on a tight leash around her will do.
“I know you might be tempted to go back after that phone call,” I add after a brief pause, “so I brought you here as a reminder of what’s at stake.”
London’s eyes flash, but she says nothing.
She knows I have her right where I want her.
I find myself doubting how much longer I can keep her there.
I expected her to run. She hasn’t, something that has me both impressed and angry.
Why hasn’t she tried to leave?
Most women do, and I’d envisioned what it would be like to drag her back and punish her for her insubordination.
I still want to, but I don’t have enough grounds, and since we’re still in unfamiliar terrain, I’m not going to push my luck.
I will have London again. It’s only a matter of time.
“I doubt I’ll keep the place anyway,” I continue evenly. “I’d probably make more money if I tear it down.”
London’s mouth falls open, and her eyes widen. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
I shrug. “Deals change; you should know that better than anyone. What use do I have for a house like that in a neighborhood like this?”
London swallows. “I…”
It’s her childhood home, and I know I’m being callous by suggesting this so casually, but I’m doing it on purpose.
It isn’t personal.
London just needs to remember who is in charge, and why she’s at my mercy.
I can’t have her forgetting, and threatening to rip her childhood home away from her is as good of a reminder as any.
Are you more worried about her forgetting, or are you reminding yourself?
Having spent the past few days wanting her has driven me crazy, but until I can figure out a way to have her without forfeiting control, I’m keeping my distance. Yet, part of me wants her near, knowing that keeping her close is better than not seeing her.
I just haven’t figured out a way to get her out of my system.
Whatever you do, it had better be fast. You can’t afford to be distracted for much longer.
With a frown, I watch as London’s father gets into a beat-up silver Honda Civic and drives off.
Once his car turns a corner, I shove the door open and get out of the car.
Katia is somewhere nearby, on high alert as usual, and Carlisle falls into step beside me, surveying the manicured neighborhood with thinly concealed distaste.
London catches up to me easily. “What are you doing?”
“Taking a look around,” I reply without looking at her. “I’d suggest you go in and say your goodbyes.”
London blinks, and her expression tightens.
For a long moment, she stands there watching me as I circle the house and nod to myself. She pauses with her hand on the knob and glances over her shoulder.
I don’t like the look on her face, and I like it even less when it’s on full display.
Damn it.
Why can’t she just accept we are nothing more to each other than a means to an end?
Why does she have to look at me like that?
Like I’m capable of changing.
The sooner she accepts that we’re both using each other, the better it’ll be for everyone involved.
Whatever inconvenient feelings she’s stirred up within me will end.
I won’t let this go any other way.
“Don’t take too long,” I warn, my eyes narrowing. “I don’t think I need to remind you not to try anything.”
“You’ve made that clear.”
She slams the door behind her, and I return to circling the house.
It’s not personal, and the sooner you both come to terms with that, the better it’ll be for everyone involved.
***
London
“You’re so stupid,” I mutter through my tears. “How could you let this happen, huh? Why would you do this to yourself, London?”
I pause as if I’m expecting an answer.
I take another look around my childhood room, at the chipped purple paint, the faded old wallpapers, and the same dresser I’ve had since I was a teenager, and something in my stomach hardens.
It’s one thing to know my father risked all of this for the diner.
It’s another thing to realize that, in my haste to save my father’s diner, I hadn’t thought to cement the deal for the house, too.
You don’t know that Mason would’ve let you barter for both properties. I’m sure they cost a lot more than your service.
Still, knowing that I squandered the opportunity doesn’t sit well with me.
How can it?
I’ve only been able to stomach all this by reminding myself that I’m saving my father’s legacy and a cherished part of our history.
How could I have let my childhood home slip through the cracks?
And what will Mason do with it?
I’m torn between wanting to march back downstairs and demand answers and knowing that having them won’t make a difference.
Mason doesn’t owe me anything.
It’s my fault for letting myself get sidetracked by the pull between us.
You have no one to blame but yourself. You’re the one who brokered a deal, remember? You could’ve let Noah take care of things. You could’ve turned a blind eye to all of this.
Except I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.
Noah wouldn’t have been able to pay Mason back in time, and pretending otherwise wasn’t going to do anyone any good.
More tears fall as I drag a suitcase from under my bed and fill it with things.
I stuff a few of my clothes, some books, and an old box of trinkets from my childhood hidden in the back of my closet.
Then, I sit on the edge of the bed and bury my face in my hands.
It takes a few deep, shuddering breaths for me to push the tears away.
My head is heavy, and my chest is tight when I look up, and my eyes land on the picture on my desk.
It’s a picture of me at senior prom, standing in a blue dress between my beaming parents.
It’s the last time I remember being happy, and one of the last times we were together as a family.
I had no way of knowing it was the beginning of the end, and that the cracks they’d tried so hard to hide were starting to show.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and run a hand over my face.
You are not going to cry. You’re here to pack up your things and hold your head high. Mason doesn’t get to see this side of you, or he’ll find a way to exploit that, too.
I want one thing to remain untouched, the memory of my old self untarnished as I leave her behind.
Slowly, I stand up and look around the room, seeing myself as a six-year-old sprawled on the carpet with my legs crossed as I colored.
Then, I look at the bed and imagine ten-year-old me with a scarf wrapped around her neck and a brush held to my lips as a microphone.
When I blink, fifteen-year-old me is on her back staring at the ceiling as she twirls a lock of hair and whispers to her friend.
Of all the versions of me this room has witnessed, my eighteen-year-old self is the one I want to remember the most.
The one who stood in front of the mirror in her graduation cap and gown, stomach swimming with butterflies and heart open to possibilities.
I have no idea how I’ve let myself stray so far from the life I envisioned.
All I know is that it started with the diner, and I briefly allow myself to feel resentful of the run-down place for taking so much from me.
Exhaling, I press two fingers to my temples and rub in slow, circular motions.
A short while later, I drop my hands. I’m doing another survey of the room when I hear a loud banging sound coming from downstairs.
Without thinking, I reach for the nearest weapon, an old baseball bat from middle school, and I race downstairs.
My heart is hammering in my throat, and I taste fear on my tongue as I skid behind the nearest wall and raise my arms over my head.
I hear another clattering sound again and grip the bat tighter.
Then I jump out, the bat held high over my head, and wait.
Noah comes out of the laundry room, his face covered in dirt, and a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. My grip on the bat loosens, and my heart stops.
No, no, no. What are you doing here, Noah? You’re not supposed to be here. You need to leave before Mason sees you, or there’s no telling what he’ll do.