Mason
MASON
L ast night was stupid. Such a juvenile word but I can’t think of anything better. Fucking stupid.
I’ll blame it on the alcohol. A low exhale travels up my throat as I walk away from the floor-to-ceiling window in my office. The hustle and bustle of the street below is what drives me to keep moving. This city never sleeps and the work never ends.
Last night was about taking a moment to unwind from the shitshow my life has become. From my father, the arrogant prick and criminal that he is. The awareness of just how ruthless my father is has never hurt me more.
That’s what it really is. Pain. Coming to the realization that your father’s a disgusting excuse for a human being and should be behind bars is ... difficult to handle. It’s even worse when you’re tied to his bullshit.
I sink into my leather desk chair and it protests the movement with a groan until I’m comfortable.
Unlike my father’s office, traditional and smelling of polished wood and old books, my office is the opposite.
It’s airy and open, modern and sleek. A model of our newest planned development sits in the very center of the space.
That’s what started all this shit. A celebration for my company’s first suburban development.
No more apartments downtown. We’re ready to expand into uncharted territories.
I’m an idiot for thinking this would change things between my father and me.
I really thought things would be different.
I’d attributed the tense relationship with him to my own doing.
A rebellious child with pent-up anger over his mother’s death. Born into this black-tie bullshit.
I was always supposed to act right. Always supposed to say the right thing, stand the right way, behave and pay attention.
Well, I didn’t want to. I crack my neck remembering the fights I started.
A smile kicks up my lips. Four boarding schools and hefty donations from my father still couldn’t keep me in line.
Working in construction was just another way to stick it to my father.
Higher education? Fuck that. I got a job .
.. but it didn’t last for long. I’m just not made to work for someone else and I wanted a more physical job.
So, I started Gray’s Homes with Liam nearly three years ago.
He had the schooling and I had the designs.
I didn’t think it’d be this successful or grow so quickly.
So successful, in fact, that I ran out of capital and so did he.
I took out loan after loan, investing in myself and I’d do it all over again.
It was worth it to keep growing and taking advantage of the momentum we had.
I should have known better when my father came to me and offered to invest in me too.
Clients were eager to sign contracts with his name on them. Having him back me made bids easier to attain and everything run smoother. I knew it was too good to be true.
He just wanted to be able to hold it over my head.
He wanted to own me. I narrow my eyes at the model in the center of the room.
It’s all because of this one project. Now I’m in debt.
I owe more than I’m worth and everything is hanging in the balance as we move forward with this one project that I’d love to trash just to spite my father.
I should cancel it all now that I know the truth, but that would mean bankruptcy and more people than just myself being affected.
Liam and all our employees and contractors.
At the thought, there’s a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
One even a night of whiskey and great sex can’t dissolve.
I pull my eyes back to the computer screen, back to reviewing all the invoices that have been paid. Everything’s moving accordingly and on schedule, but only because of my father’s loan.
I run a hand over my face knowing I’m just as much of a fucking prick. I don’t deserve to breathe the same air as someone as sweet as Jules.
The thought of her shy smile and innocent looks ... God, it does something to me. The guilt and anger are minimal compared to the desire. I want to feel her again. I want to get lost in her touch and be the one to do the same for her.
I can make it all better.
She has no idea how screwed up this situation is. If my father knew who I’d spent last night with, I imagine I’d never hear the end of it. He may be a piece of shit and deserve to be locked away for the rest of his life, but if the world knew what I’d done, they would think the same of me.
I click the mouse to light up my screen as it goes dim once again. I can’t think; I can’t focus.
As my temples throb and irritation grows, I think back to last night. Back to Jules.
Out of every possible way for this morning to start, I never guessed she’d sneak out.
I imagined how the morning would go over and over again while I watched her sleep, her long hair a messy halo on the pillow. So peaceful and beautiful.
I couldn’t get over how fucked up it was. How selfish. But it was everything I wanted and more. It was fucking worth it.
As she slept, exhausted and spent from the raw fuck, my fingers longed to travel along her curves. I was still hard for more.
Staring at her lush lips, the vision of her eyes shut tight, her head thrown back, and her mouth parted with soft, strangled moans spilling between them was etched in my memory.
It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Jules was utterly in rapture from what I was doing to her.
She was completely at my mercy and I know she loved every minute.
I tugged the blankets over myself and lay there watching her, debating how I’d end it in the morning.
I could crave her more than anything, but it was over.
It should never have started to begin with.
As I thought up exactly what to say to ease the sting, I watched her steady breathing and my lungs filled with her sweet scent.
Just once more. I should have woken her up, spread her legs wide and taken her again. Had I known that I’d wake up alone, I would have.
I lean back in my seat, letting out the aggravation in a groan as I watch the security footage again.
She slipped out just before dawn, leaving only a note behind.
I watch in amusement as she keeps looking up from the pad of small sticky notes she’d found on my kitchen counter.
The pen never even touched the paper for a full two minutes as she contemplated what to write.
She’s lost and confused. She doesn’t even know what she wants.
But I do.
I fidget with the yellow sticky note, passing it from my middle finger to my pointer and back again mindlessly.
Thank you.
If last night was more than just last night …
I trace the delicate, feminine script of the letters. She was made to tempt men. I’m convinced of it. Everything from her soft sighs to the way she carries herself.
It’s as if she was designed to lure me in unknowingly.
Even the way she’s written her phone number calls to me. Each graceful curve makes my fingers itch to punch in the numbers on my phone.
Weakness. Stupidity.
Last night was a one-time thing. I don’t have to call her. I don’t owe her anything and I’m sure she doesn’t expect a damn thing either.
Why does that bother me even more?
The sticky note moves from finger to finger more rapidly now. I know I shouldn’t call her. Nothing good can come from this.
My eyes look back to her message and focus on her phone number.
Selfish. So fucking selfish.
That’s the problem, though. I just don’t give a damn about anyone else. The thought is what strengthens my resolve. It’s all going to come crumbling down around me soon. I deserve to enjoy what little time I have left.