Chapter 2
Ellie
Mason James falls into step beside me as we leave the meeting. “Everything okay, Ellie? You seem a little off your game today.”
Oh, crap. Did I just fuck up with one of our biggest clients? Did I let breaking up with that douche-bucket Owen affect me more than I thought?
I hope not. In fact, after I take a moment, I’m sure I didn’t.
I was fully prepped for this meeting, and I wouldn’t let anything stop me doing a good job.
I still pinch myself at how lucky I was to land this position, and I would never allow myself to get distracted and screw it up. At least I thought so.
The sheer panic I’m feeling right now must be written all over my face, because Mason flashes me one of those easy smiles that makes people so readily bend to his will. I’m not exaggerating either, I’ve seen it actually happen. The man’s charisma is off the charts.
“Relax, Ellie. You off your game would still run rings around anyone else. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said off your game actually, because you just killed it in there …”
Pride and relief—mostly relief—swell in my chest. Screw you, Owen. I don’t need you. I don’t need to change to keep a man who doesn’t value me.
“But you do seem a little … off. I say this as a friend, not as a boss. Something on your mind?”
His eyes flicker over me, and I only see concern, not judgment. Take note, dudes of Manhattan.
I smooth down my skirt and wonder what my hair is up to.
I only had time for a basic blast with the dryer this morning after Owen-gate, and I’ve pinned it up in hopes of looking professional.
Or maybe my buttons are fastened up wrong?
A quick glance down at them confirms they are entirely as they should be. Yes, I look professional. Respectable.
We come to a stop outside his office, and now we’re standing here kind of awkwardly. Mason James is a good boss. The best boss, actually. He interviewed me for this job and saw something that made him overlook hundreds of other candidates and give me the position. He took a chance on me.
He’s cool and easy to talk to, yes, but he’s not exactly a friend, either.
Usually we talk about work, what restaurants are good to eat at, and movies or exhibitions we’ve seen.
Occasionally he’ll show me a cute photo of his niece or nephews, or one of him and his boyfriend, King, with their dogs.
But we do not normally talk about relationships.
It might be good to get his perspective. To ask him why so many men are such prize dickwads. But I recognize that would be highly inappropriate. He’s a nice guy, but he’s still my boss.
I’m sure he’d have some answers for me, though.
Rumor is he used to be quite the serial dater before he settled down with King.
That he dated pretty much every eligible guy in the city.
It’s hard to believe that now because the two of them are so adorable together, but maybe I should take hope from that.
One day, I’ll find my prince. If I kiss enough frogs, maybe I’ll find a man who loves me for who I am. Maybe I’ll find someone who looks at me the way those two look at each other.
Mason jerks his head in the direction of his open office door. “Coffee?”
He has a fancy coffee machine that makes the most delicious americanos I have ever tasted, so yes. Absolutely. I nod and follow him inside before he closes the door behind us.
“Cream and one sugar, right?” he asks, walking directly to the machine.
“Please,” I reply before taking a seat.
The fight with Owen this morning replays in my head again. Is he right? Should I be saying no to the sugar and cream, even if it is one of my favorite treats?
No, I tell myself. I should not—unless that’s a decision I come to myself, for my own reasons. Owen is a loser, and I’m holding out for better. For someone who wants Ellie, not Ellie if she lost forty pounds, or Ellie if she toned up a bit more. Just me. Exactly as I am.
“So, what is it?” Mason’s voice washes over me, as deep and rich as the coffee he’s placed down near me. I realize I’m staring out of the window, maybe have been for a minute. “Is it work?”
My nose wrinkles, and I shake my head. I feel a stray curl come loose in protest. I don’t want him to think that anything about this job is upsetting me, because frankly, this job is the best thing in my life right now. I ponder whether to talk to him about my latest disastrous dating experience.
“Of course you’re under no obligation to tell me,” he goes on, “You can just enjoy your coffee, and we can talk about the Yankees game last night instead.”
“You like baseball?” I ask, surprised, because I love baseball and he’s never spoken to me about it before. I’m also very happy to change the subject.
“What, you think because I’m gay I don’t like sports?”
“What? No. I, I would never—”
His raucous laughter is enough to cut off my stammering. “I’m sorry, Ellie. I know you wouldn’t. I was just messing with you, and you’d usually pick up on that. Wow, you really are off your game today.”
I close my eyes and take a breath. “Yeah, maybe I am.”
“Actually, I hate baseball, but King loves it. And my friend Tyler works with the Yankees, so he got King and me some tickets. It seems there are no lengths I won’t go to for that man.”
I file away the fact that he has a friend who works for the Yankees as information to explore at a later date. When I’m in a better mood. Less ‘off my game.’
“What you just did was kind of mean,” I say before taking a sip of my coffee. Yum. I am never giving up the sugar and cream.
“Yeah, it was,” he says, deep brown eyes twinkling. “But you are definitely not your usual happy self today. Talk to me. Is there anything going on I can help with?”
He looks so sincere, so open, that I can’t resist. I blurt it out, the words tumbling from my mouth without really checking in with my brain. “Okay. Do you happen to know why most of the single guys in New York are either fuckboys, commitment-phobes, or just plain old-fashioned assholes?”
He looks surprised, but he did push me to open up. He made the conversation casual with his little joke, so I’m just following his lead.
His lips twitch in a smirk. “So definitely not work-related then?”
I shake my head, starting to feel a little mortified. He gives it some thought, his expression unreadable. I begin to feel a thread of anxiety. Is he regretting asking me in here? Is he wishing he never let this get personal?
“I think I’m guilty of being all three of those things at one time.” He winces as he speaks. “But, yeah, the New York dating scene is brutal. Kinda soul-destroying sometimes.”
I can’t keep the surprise off my face. I’d be a terrible poker player.
“Don’t look so shocked. I know what you’re thinking. That I must have had it easy, right? Rich. Good looking. Nice teeth.” He flashes his perfect white teeth at me and arches an eyebrow in amusement.
“And so humble too.” I take another sip of my delicious coffee, interested in where this is going.
“Exactly. I’m the total package.” He grins.
Then he tugs off his tie, stuffing it into his desk drawer before he opens the top button of his shirt.
“But what I’m trying to say is that the guys I dated would have said the same thing about me.
Fuckboy, commitment-phobe, etcetera. And they’d have been right.
I never intended to hurt anyone, and I was always honest, but I know I broke some hearts.
I wasn’t in it for the right reasons, or necessarily on the same page as some of the guys I dated.
But I’m not any of those things with King.
Well, maybe I’m occasionally a bit of an asshole. I like to stay in practice.”
“So, what was it about King that made it different?” I ask, genuinely curious.
His grin turns wicked. “Have you seen the guy?”
Of course. Objectively, he’s hot as molten lava. But I imagine most of the guys Mason dated were, given his own demigod status. I know for sure there were some models and A-list actors on his list. “I think there is no appropriate way for me answer that question, Mr. James.”
He hums, nodding his agreement. “Fair. Truth is, I don’t entirely know why it’s him.
It just is. I could reel off a list of all the things I love about him and all the reasons I love him, but they still don’t explain it.
I just feel different when I’m with him.
I always have. There’s something magical that happens when we’re together. ”
“That’s so romantic, and also unhelpful. How do I know what a guy wants from me if he doesn’t even know himself? How do I find magical in a world where everything feels so…ordinary?”
Mason clasps his hands on the desk in front of him and leans forward.
The amusement disappears from his eyes. “You’re asking the wrong question for a start, Ellie.
It doesn’t matter what a guy wants from you.
It only matters what you want for yourself.
Answer that, and you’ll find someone who’s right for you. ”
I do see his point about the whole knowing what I want thing, but I guess that’s easy to say when you’re a man. Especially a handsome, successful billionaire who probably had a whole smorgasbord of guys to choose from.
It’s different when you’re a chubby girl who’s still a little bit of a geek and never quite learned how to charm or do the sexy sultry stuff you see on TV.
My teenage years were not blessed with flirting or fun, and I skipped out on a lot of normal life experiences.
I don’t suffer from a lack of confidence, and I’m proud of who I am.
Sometimes I just wish I was better at girl behavior.
Which, now that I think it, sounds lame.
I should be aiming to be a goddess, not a girl.
“You make that sound so easy, Mason. Like it’ll all just fall into place.”
“Trust me, when it’s the right guy, or girl, it will.”