Chapter 10 #2
“You’re not seriously considering it,” I said.
“Why not? You made it clear we’re just colleagues. What I do in my free time is my business.”
“We’re there for work, Beau. We need to stay focused.”
“On work. Right.” He shoved the napkin into his pocket. “Because God forbid Mason Price let himself have fun for five minutes.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” Beau turned to face me fully, and his eyes were bright with anger and something else—hurt. “You kissed me, Mason. You kissed me like you meant it, and then you ran away. And now you’re sitting here acting jealous because some guy gave me his number?”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Bullshit.”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why? Afraid someone will hear? Afraid they’ll figure out that uptight, controlled Mason Price actually wanted someone for once in his life?
” Beau’s voice dropped to a harsh whisper.
“You can’t have it both ways. You can’t tell me it was a mistake and then get pissy when someone else shows interest.”
He was right. He was absolutely right, and I hated it.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“For which part? Kissing me? Running away? Or making me feel like I’m crazy for thinking it meant something?”
“All of it. None of it.” I ran my hands through my hair, not caring that I was destroying the careful styling. “Beau, I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Want someone this much and not completely lose my mind.”
The words hung between us, raw and honest.
Beau stared at me. “Mason—”
“Forget I said that.” I turned back to the window. “You’re right. We’re colleagues. What you do in your free time is none of my business.”
“But you want it to be your business.”
It wasn’t a question.
I couldn’t answer. Because if I started talking, I might tell him I’d spent every night since Saturday replaying that kiss.
Or admit that seeing the flight attendant flirt with him had made me want to do something reckless and completely out of character.
I also might confess that the only reason I was so determined to keep things professional was because I was terrified of how badly I wanted him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve begun our descent into New Orleans,” the captain’s voice announced over the speaker. “Flight attendants, please prepare the cabin for landing.”
Saved by the announcement.
Beau put his phone away and buckled his seatbelt. His leg pressed against mine again, and this time, neither of us moved away.
We sat like that for the descent—not talking, not looking at each other, but connected by that single point of contact.
The plane touched down, and I felt Beau relax beside me.
“Welcome to New Orleans,” I breathed.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Welcome to hell.”
* * *
The French Quarter humidity hit us the moment we stepped outside the airport. November in New Orleans was nothing like November in Virginia—the air was thick and warm, carrying the scent of something sweet and slightly smoky.
“God, I forgot how muggy it gets here,” Beau said, pulling at the throat of his sweater.
“You’ve been to New Orleans before?”
“A few times. When I was in San Francisco, we had a client here.” He flagged down a taxi. “You?”
“Once, for a conference. I mostly stayed in the hotel.”
“Of course you did.”
The taxi pulled up, and we climbed in, giving the driver the address for the Windsor Court. The drive took us through downtown, past the Superdome, into the heart of the city. Beau stared out the window, and I stared at him, trying to memorize the way the afternoon light caught in his hair.
This was going to be a very long weekend.
The Windsor Court was exactly the type of hotel Carter would choose—elegant, expensive, dripping with old-world charm. The lobby featured marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and furniture that probably cost more than my car.
We checked in at the front desk, and the woman behind the counter handed us two key cards.
“You’re in rooms 714 and 716,” she said with a smile. “Connecting rooms, as requested.”
“Connecting?” Beau and I said simultaneously.
“Yes, sir. There’s a door between them. Is that a problem?”
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” Beau said.
We looked at each other.
“It’s fine,” I amended. “We’ll just keep the door locked.”
“Of course.” The woman’s smile didn’t waver. “The elevators are just past the lobby. Enjoy your stay.”
We walked to the elevators in silence, rode up to the seventh floor in silence, then found our rooms in silence.
“Well,” Beau said, standing in front of room 716. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning. The meeting’s at nine, right?”
“Eight-thirty. We should get there early.”
“Right, eight-thirty.” He slid his keycard into the lock. “Professional.”
“Professional,” I echoed.
He opened his door and paused. “Mason?”
“Yeah?”
“For what it’s worth? That kiss didn’t feel like a mistake to me.”
Then he disappeared into his room.
I let myself into room 714 and immediately saw the connecting door. On the other side of that door, was Beau. I walked over and pressed my hand against it, imagining what would happen if I unlocked it, knocked, told him the truth—that kissing him had been the least mistake-like thing I’d ever done.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I dropped my bag on the bed, pulled out my laptop, and tried to focus on work.
Two and a half days. I just had to keep it professional for two and a half days.
How hard could that be?