Chapter 21 – King
Chapter
Twenty-One
KING
“Morning, Mr. Blackthorn.” The name of the junior assistant escapes me, but I nod a greeting as she leans over me to grab a banana from the bowl I’m standing in front of.
I have no idea how long I’ve been stirring my coffee and contemplating the stupidity of what I did last night.
How did a simple walk in the rain lead me to Mason James’s apartment building? Why the hell did he let me in?
I know the answer to that one. Because, behind all of his arrogance and easy charm, he’s a good guy. A really good guy. He’s also technically my boss and the man I fucked last night.
It felt good though. Sinking into him was incredible. Familiar and new. Running my hands over his chiseled body was like heaven. He’s fucking spectacular, but I’m still an idiot for doing it. Which is why I ran out of there as soon as it was over. I’m such a coward.
“Any plans for tonight?” She’s so close I feel her breath on my face, reminding me of her presence. Her eyes rake over me while I’m thinking of her boss’s boss’s boss’s hot ass.
“None that I’d like to share.” I give her a tight smile and walk away. I’ve made a point of not cultivating any relationships with the employees here. That gives them less opportunity to ask questions and discover something about me they shouldn’t.
I’m here undertaking a health and safety audit.
Nothing more. Certainly don’t want to make friends with any of these people, although I think being friends was the last thing Chanel was looking for.
Yeah, that’s her name. Chanel. Like the perfume.
I head down the hallway in time to see Hayden from HR go into Mason’s office.
Hayden has been on my radar since day one.
For one thing, he spends far too much time in Mason’s office.
Why the hell does the HR manager have that much face time with the COO?
Two possible reasons: He wants to fuck him or he’s trying to get information he shouldn’t have.
Or both. He definitely wants to fuck him though.
It’s obvious from the way his eyes linger on Mason’s ass whenever he thinks nobody else is looking. I’m always watching though.
I lean against the wall, blowing on my hot coffee and watching the door for Hayden’s exit. He never remains in there for long, so maybe Mason is onto him too. My cell vibrates in my pocket, and I fish it out.
We need to discuss your grandfather’s will.
A text from my mother. No condolences. No emotion. Cold. Detached. Emmeline Worthington all over. I expect them to contest the will, and maybe they have every right to. My grandma made that thing over thirty years ago, so maybe it won’t hold up now.
Sliding the phone back into my pocket, I decide that I don’t give a fuck at this moment in time.
Grampa is gone. Nothing will change that.
While I’m grateful for the time we spent together, I’m also aware that it has made his loss more acute.
There’s a gaping hole in my life now and nothing for me to fill it with.
In the past, I used work as an escape, but this kind of hole can’t be filled with anything but more of the same. More connection. More feeling.
I spoke with the funeral director this morning, and as per his last wishes, Grampa will be cremated and there will be a small celebration of life with only a few select guests.
Amanda and me, his fishing buddy Leonard, and my parents—if they choose to attend.
As it’s a public opportunity to air their grief and garner some sympathy, no doubt they will.
I sip my coffee and go on staring at Mason’s office. It’s been ten minutes. What the fuck are they doing in there? I’m considering going to find out for myself when the door opens and Hayden walks out, a sheepish smile on his face.
Fucker.
I place my empty mug in a plant pot and stride across the hall.
Deborah isn’t at her desk for some reason, which is probably why that sneaky little fuck got to stay in there for so long, but it’s also why I can walk straight in without knocking.
It’s rude and disrespectful, but I’m acting on instinct.
I need to see him. I need to make sure last night didn’t fuck everything up.
I need him to look at me and not feel guilt or shame.
What we did was reckless and stupid, but it was also something incredible.
He’s sitting behind his desk, brow furrowed as he stares at his computer.
I close the door, and the sound gets his attention.
He immediately starts chewing on his bottom lip.
I wish I could tell what he was thinking.
That look in his eyes could either mean he wants to punch me in the face or suck my cock.
“I wanted to thank you for last night,” I blurt out.
He arches an eyebrow.
Shit. “For letting me up, and you know, listening.” I run a hand over my neck. It’s so fucking hot in here. Why does he need everywhere to be the same temperature as the surface of the sun? “Not for the other thing.”
“You’re not thanking me for the fucking?”
I glare at him. “Do I need to?”
He smiles. My knees almost buckle. The fuck is wrong with me? I sit in the chair opposite him before my legs give way entirely at the sight of those dimples. “You don’t have to thank me for any of it, King.”
Then why do I feel like I should? “Well, you didn’t have to let me come up, so …” I shrug, feeling awkward.
“You think I’d leave you standing in the rain after you told me your grandfather died?” He sounds hurt.
“It’s probably no less than I deserved. Could have been the perfect revenge.” I laugh, but the poor attempt at a joke doesn’t land well.
“How are you doing?” he asks, his voice full of concern now.
I shake my head. “Kind of numb. There’s so much to do. The funeral. The will.”
“Yeah, it’s a lot. You need any help?”
I blink at him, confused.
He clears his throat. “I mean lawyer wise. I’m sure Drake would help out.”
“Honestly, I don’t know yet. Gonna have to take each day as it comes.”
There’s a knock at the door, and Hayden is back. “What is it?” Mason asks with a sigh, like he’s annoyed at being disturbed, which is unlike him. He’s the kind of boss who always has plenty of time for his employees.
“Just wondered if you needed any help,” he offers breezily. “You know, with Deborah being sick today.”
“I’m sure I can cope for one day. And I’m in a meeting.” He gestures at me.
Hayden looks flustered. “Sorry, sir.”
I suppress a smile at his dismissal of Hayden. He’s never done that to me when I’ve interrupted a meeting, which I’ve done both purposely and accidentally.
Mason leans forward in his chair. He has his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and he rests his forearms on the desk. I distinctly remember trailing my tongue over a thick vein there last night. “Did you mean what you said?”
Fuck, he wants to talk about that? Maybe if I feign ignorance … “About what?”
“About the reason you came to my place.”
I could lie, but I owe him the truth. “Yeah. I meant it.”
He doesn’t reply but simply nods and leans back in his chair. As we stare at each other, the room grows thick with unspoken words and sexual tension. While we agreed to one night, I know we both want more.
I can tell by the way his dark eyes keep drifting over my torso, his pupils blown wide. By the slightest change to the rhythm of his breathing.
He loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt, and I stare at his neck. The place I had my mouth last night. The sweet, salty taste of his skin has my dick aching to be let out of my pants.
“You know we can’t do this, right?” His voice sounds pained.
“Why not?”
He pinches the spot between his brows. “I just can’t. We agreed it was one time. We both said that.”
I know I hurt him, but fuck, that was eighteen years ago. How long will he make me pay for it? “Fuck, we were kids, Mase.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them.
The light in his eyes dulls. “Yeah. You’re right, King. We were kids. It meant nothing. Right. You told me that already.” He’s hurting now too. I can hear it in his voice.
“I never said that,” I growl, my temper flaring. “I only meant … How long can you go on punishing me for something I did eighteen years ago?”
“How long?” he repeats. “You say that like you didn’t ghost me for eighteen fucking years and then walk back into my life a few weeks ago expecting me to forget everything that happened. And you know what? I wish I could forget it. I really fucking do.”
I don’t understand him sometimes. He’s so full of compassion and forgiveness, but he refuses to get past this one thing. I fucked up. I hurt him. But how can he not see that I always loved him?
“I think you should leave. You’re good at that, right?”
I take a deep breath and stop myself from telling him to go fuck himself. Stop myself from kissing him until we can’t breathe. Neither of those scenarios are likely to end well.
So I do what I do best.
I leave.