Chapter 9 #2
“Good. Because this is a big deal, gentlemen. MediCorp is watching how we handle this. They want to see that we can work together seamlessly.” He leaned forward and frowned.
“Whatever is going between you two, get over it. I don’t care if you two like each other.
I don’t care if you want to grab beers after work or if you’d rather never see each other again.
What I care about is that you walk into that meeting room in New Orleans and show them the best damn legal team in the Southeast. Can you do that? ”
“Yes,” Mason said.
“Absolutely,” I said.
“Excellent.” Carter stood. “Patsy will coordinate the logistics. Flight information, hotel details, meeting agendas—she’ll send everything by noon. Questions?”
I had so many questions. Most of them started with how am I supposed to spend an entire weekend in New Orleans with someone who kissed me and then ran away and ended with, please kill me now.
“No questions,” I said.
“Price?”
Mason shook his head. “I’m good.”
“Then get back to work. I want both of you prepared. Read every document, know every detail, anticipate every question. This is your chance to prove yourselves.” He grabbed his briefcase. “Don’t fuck it up.”
He left.
Patsy waited until the door closed, then turned to us with a grin. “Well, this should be fun.”
“Fun,” I repeated flatly.
“New Orleans! Jazz, beignets, Bourbon Street!” She was way too enthusiastic. “And you two get to spend an entire weekend together. Bonding. Team building. Maybe you’ll actually learn to like each other.”
Mason’s jaw tightened.
“We like each other fine,” I said.
“Right. That’s why the temperature in this room dropped ten degrees when you sat next to each other.
” Patsy stood, gathering her things. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you two, and honestly?
I don’t need to know. But Carter’s right—you need to figure it out.
Because if you two can’t work together, this whole merger might fall apart. None of us wants that.”
She left, and suddenly it was just Mason and me in the conference room.
Alone.
The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.
“So,” I said finally. “New Orleans.”
“Yes.”
“Together.”
“That’s what Carter said.”
“For an entire weekend.”
Mason finally looked at me, and for just a second, I saw something crack in his carefully controlled expression. Something that looked like panic, or maybe longing, or maybe both.
“Beau—”
“You haven’t texted me back,” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them. “I sent you eight messages Saturday night, and you haven’t responded to a single one.”
“I know.”
“That’s it? You know?”
Mason’s hands clenched on the table. “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know, Mason. Maybe something? Anything? We kissed, and it was—” I stopped, not sure how to finish that sentence. Incredible? World-altering? The best moment of my entire weekend?
“A mistake,” Mason whispered.
The word hit like a slap.
“A mistake,” I repeated.
“We work together. We’re on the same case. Getting involved would be—”
“Complicated. Yeah, I got that message when you ran out of the bar.” I stood up, needing to move, needing to do something other than sit there and watch Mason shut down. “So what’s the plan here? We just pretend it never happened?”
“That would be ideal.”
“Ideal.” I laughed, but it came out bitter. “Sure. Totally ideal. We’ll just spend a weekend in New Orleans together, working side by side, pretending we didn’t—” I stopped. Took a breath. “Fine. You want to pretend it never happened? We’ll pretend.”
I grabbed my laptop and headed for the door.
“Beau.”
I stopped, my hand on the doorknob but didn’t turn around.
“I’m sorry,” Mason said, his voice so quiet I almost didn’t hear it.
I wanted to tell him that sorry wasn’t enough, that he couldn’t just kiss me like that and then act like I was nothing. Wanted to tell him I knew he was scared, that I got it, but that running away wasn’t going to make this easier.
Instead, I just said, “Yeah. Me too.”
And walked out.
* * *
I made it back to my office and closed the door before the full weight of what had happened hit me.
New Orleans. With Mason. For an entire weekend.
I slumped into my desk chair and stared at my computer screen.
My phone buzzed. A text from Lisa.
Coffee break in 10?
I typed back.
Make it 5 and bring something stronger than coffee
Her response was immediate.
That bad?
Worse
On my way
I set my phone down and tried to focus on my emails. Tried to think about medical technology provisions and regulatory compliance and anything other than the way Mason had looked at me in that conference room.
The way he’d said I’m sorry like it was killing him.
My phone buzzed again. Another text, but this time from an unknown number.
I opened it.
Flight confirmation: United 1447, Richmond to New Orleans, Thursday November 9, 2:00 PM. Seat 12A.
Followed immediately by another text.
This is Mason. I’m in 12B. I know this is awkward, but we need to make this work. For the case. I’m willing to be professional if you are.
I stared at the message.
Professional.
Right.
I could be professional.
I could sit next to Mason Price on a plane for two and a half hours, spend a weekend in the same hotel, work alongside him in meetings, and be completely, totally professional.
Every time I looked at him, I’d be remembering what his mouth tasted like. And every time he spoke, I’d be hearing the way he’d said my name in that bar, rough and desperate.
I typed back-
Professional. Got it.
Then, I set my phone face-down on my desk and dropped my head into my hands.
“I am so fucked,” I whispered.
There was a knock on my door.
“It’s open,” I called.
Lisa walked in with two cups of coffee and a concerned expression. “Okay, talk to me. What happened?”
I looked up at her. “How much time do you have?”
“For you? All day.” She handed me a coffee and sat down across from my desk. “Start from the beginning. And leave nothing out.”
So I did.
And by the time I finished telling her about Saturday night—the bar, the shots, the dancing, the kiss, Mason running away—Lisa was staring at me with her mouth open.
“Holy shit,” she breathed.
“Yeah.”
“Mason Price kissed you.”
“Yep.”
“And then panicked and ran away.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And now you have to spend a weekend in New Orleans with him.”
“Starting to see my problem?”
Lisa sat back in her chair, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Beau, this is either going to be the best weekend of your life or the worst.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“No, listen.” She leaned forward. “You said he kissed you back. Like really kissed you back. That means something.”
“It means he was drunk and made a mistake.”
“Or it means he’s freaking out because he doesn’t know how to handle it.” Lisa pointed at me. “That man is scared, Beau. Scared of what it means, scared of what could happen. But he’s not scared of you.”
“He literally ran away from me.”
“Because he’s terrified of his own feelings, not because he doesn’t have them.” She took a sip of her coffee. “New Orleans might be exactly what you two need. Time away from the office, time to actually talk without everyone watching. Maybe something good comes out of it.”
“Or maybe I make a complete fool of myself and ruin everything.”
“Well, yeah, that’s also possible.” Lisa grinned. “But where’s the fun in playing it safe?”