CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
LEXI
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Day one of what I’m calling Post-Mason, there’s a knock on the door in the afternoon. I hear my name being called, and when I open the door, one of the security guys, George, is standing behind a delivery man looking unimpressed.
The package is enormous.
My eyes dart around, confused.
I haven’t ordered anything...least of all—
“Lexi, we told you when you first moved in that if you’re having big items delivered, you need to tell us in advance.”
Mouth gaping, I do this little dance thing to stop him, the delivery man, who is trying to enter my apartment with the huge item.
“It’s not...wait, stop, I didn’t order anything.”
“Lexi Grant?”
George and I share a look as he confirms it’s for me, and I stand back, letting him, the man and a second one, carry in the sofa.
They walk out and bring in a second item.
What in the Mason Kingsley is going on?
I know it’s him.
“Sign here,”
“I didn’t order this, George, I’m sorry,” I take the device shoved into my hands and keep eye darting from face to face.
George shrugs and walks off.
The delivery guys leave, and I stare at the sofa, which now takes up all the free floor space in the apartment.
My eyes widen, and I race to the door, ripping it open.
“Hey! Want a free sofa?”
The delivery guy's turn and shake their heads.
“Donate it. Drop it off to someone in need. Please.” I flutter my eyelids and prop out my hip.
In my low sweatpants and tight tank, it does the job.
“Fuck me,” one of them replies, pacing back, and I race back inside, grabbing the cushions and hoping Emily doesn’t get mad at me for donating her old sofa.
I’m not even sure if she owns it. Oh well, the apartment owner just got an upgrade.
I have no idea why Mason felt the need to buy this for me. I knew what our night and day together meant. He doesn’t owe me anything. I’m torn between being annoyed, but also the soft gray sectional sofa is incredibly soft.
I reposition it when the delivery guys disappear and sink down into it.
Oh, my lord, it doesn’t smell.
I’m in heaven.
I was really hoping to not think about him, and this is not helping. There are two weeks until the wedding, and now this lovely piece of furniture is just another reminder of him.
Who am I kidding? I’ve fallen for him, so I was never going to just forget.
Damn you, Mason.
I reach for my phone.
I assume you’re responsible for the delivery I just got. Are you crazy? Also, thank you. Flowers would’ve been fine.
...
...
...
You’re welcome.
That’s it?
I shake my head and turn the TV on, and fall asleep, waking up just in time to start work.
Day two Post-Mason: A new bed arrives, and the same delivery guys stare at my existing one. I nod. “Take it.”
I bite my nails as I take in the visibly high-quality bed with a gorgeous cream plush headboard and wonder what is going on.
I don’t want to phone him.
If I hear his voice, I’ll invite him over.
Then he’ll tell me to quit my job, and I’ll have to explain how poor I am and sleep with him... I can’t call.
Honestly, I could sell this damn stuff and earn more than I do at On The Rocks. But I’d never do that.
I don’t understand his motivation, but I was taught manners and to be grateful. Pulling out my phone, I take a selfie of myself lying on the bed, then send it to him.
You need to stop, but thank you. It’s almost the Five Seasons here now.
I lay staring at the ceiling and wondering why Mason would go to all this trouble. For someone who was accusing me of wanting him for his money, it’s absurd that he’s throwing it at me.
Sure, it’s no big deal for a billionaire to buy a couple of household items, but I’m suspicious.
Sleep well, beautiful.
Tonight is my night off, and I promised to go out with Terrance. I almost canceled but decided it could help me get my mind off Mason.
I was wrong.
I feel guilty the entire night, watching the clock and wishing it was someone else sitting across from me. Terrance is funny, but he doesn’t hold a torch to Mason.
By ten I tell him I have a migraine coming on, and he walks me home.
“I get the feeling you’re not as interested as I am,” he says as I pull away from our goodbye hug and avert my face so he can’t kiss me.
“I’m sorry.” I tug my jacket closed. “I have a lot going on. You are nice—”
“Not the n word.” He chuckles, then rubs my arm. “Take care of yourself, Lexi.”
I race upstairs, glad it’s over, and climb into my bed wishing Mason was with me.
If that was his plan, it worked.
My suspicion grows...but I’m still confused.
Day three: a Keurig coffee maker arrives.
Day four: a sixty-five-inch TV, which takes up half the apartment, arrives.
Day five: The thickest rug you’ve ever sunk your toes into is carried in by Dave—I’m getting to know them well. His wife is having a baby in three weeks. He rolls out the rug.
“Goes well with the sofa.” He nods.
“It does, doesn’t it?” I stand beside Dave, nodding along with him.
“Well,” he sighs. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yup,” I reply, more focused on what to do about Mason and this out-of-control gift-giving, knowing Dave will lock up behind him.
This has to stop. I swear Dave and Kelly will invite me to the baby’s christening at this point.
I pick up the phone.
“Hey, babe.”
“Emily, I, ah, I’ve given away a few of the things in the apartment.” I tell her.
“What? No, it’s a furnished apartment. It doesn’t belong to me.” She gasps.
I flop down onto the sofa.
“Trust me, they’re not going to be upset. Mason is refurnishing it for them. Day by day. I have a new sofa, bed, and Keurig coffee maker, which barely fits on the bench.”
Silence.
“Hello?” I glance at the screen.
“Mason is buying you housewares?”
“So,” I flop down onto my back and hug one of the cream cushions that came with the sofa. “Long story short....”
I update her, sans all the sexy details—okay I leave a few in—of what happened after they left On The Rocks last weekend.
“Are you still leaving?” Emily asks.
“Yes. I bought my ticket this morning.” I pout, knowing I don’t have a choice.
The apartment is only paid up for three months, then I need to pick up the tab. The money I make at On The Rocks won’t cover it.
She’s quiet again for a long moment. “I understand. I wish you could stay, and I could fix this situation for you, but I do understand.”
“Same.” I sigh.
I’ve thought about asking Mason if he’d be a reference for me so I can secure another job, but I suppose my pride gets in the way. He isn’t sure if I’m guilty of whatever Mr. Harrow told him.
We never talked about it.
Which I assumed meant we were simply spending the time together to, well, fuck.
Billionaire or not, why would a man refurbish your home after a one-night stand?
“So, Mason is sending you furniture?”
“Apparently, flowers are boring.”
We both giggle.
“It has to mean something.” Romantic Emily preens.
“Probably not. He accused me of being after his money, Em. Maybe he has some Superman complex and thinks I’m living in poverty.”
“Well, Sebastian hated the place.”
“They are snobs,” I reply, and we laugh again.
“Look,” Emily says after we stop. “I don’t really know the guys that well yet, but it’s obvious to everyone that Mason likes you.”
“He likes my body.”
“Men don’t buy sofas and coffee makers to get a girl into bed.”
“Mason is not just some guy though, is he?” I flip onto my side, taking the pillow with me.
“True, but how many billionaires have you shagged?”
“One.” One really amazing one who I’m going to miss like crazy when I leave America. Who I can’t stop thinking about.
Who I dream about every night.
When I wake, my body is alive, wanting his touch. His mouth. It’s not just the desire to sleep with him, I want to cuddle up with him, eat breakfast on his lap, listen to him talk about business and watch him be all protective and hot.
It is hot.
Also annoying, but it’s still hot.
I’ll never understand all this gift giving, but the fact is, he’s stayed away, and our past history doesn’t allow for a relationship to flourish.
If that’s what he wanted, Mason would’ve asked me out. Taken me to dinner and a movie or whatever it is billionaires do.
“He’ll never trust me completely, Em. Not while this Harrow & Armstrong situation hangs over my head, and there’s no way to change it. I know it’s worked out for you and Sebastian, but our situation is different.”
My chest tightens as the words leave my lips, creating a deep sadness that I’ll always be that English girl he fucked and never quite knew what I’d been accused of.
Then forgets as he finds the perfect wife and gets married.
Sips on a cool beverage during the summer while his wife and children swim in the pool at their Hamptons home.
One day he will be driving along and get a flash of that girl–with a name he can’t quite place.
Mine.
“Talk to him. Tell him what you told me.”
“I can’t. Mr. Harrow is his client. It’s too risky. I don’t want him to get involved and potentially make things worse or risk his contract.” I sigh. “Anyway, he’s a little neurotic for me.”
He’s not.
He’s just the right amount of everything.
I think I’m in love with him.
But that thought is going to the grave with me.