Chapter 24
Lila
Ismoothed the satin of my emerald wrap blouse, waiting for Mason to answer his door.
I’d dressed for this date with meticulous care.
Favorite top. Snug jeans. Casual heels. It was supposed to read relaxed.
Effortless. Like I’d thrown myself together in five minutes instead of engineering it down to the last swipe of mascara.
My heart kicked up a jittery rhythm in my chest as I anticipated our night together, alone and away from prying eyes and tabloid cameras.
I steadied myself as the door swung open and Mason’s broad shoulders filled the frame.
He wore faded jeans and a fitted black T-shirt, with that unfair ease I’d spent an hour trying to fake.
His dark hair was rumpled, like he’d dragged his fingers through it and called it a day, and the cotton of his shirt pulled snug over his hockey-carved chest and arms. That was all it took.
My thoughts scattered like I’d dropped them at his feet.
He grinned and pulled me inside before I could say hello, his mouth a breath from mine.
“Hey.” His blue eyes softened as they took me in. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks.” The crisp scent of his cologne wrapped around me like a warm embrace, making my fingers twitch to get my hands on him.
His hand rested lightly on the small of my back as he guided me into the living room. Mason’s place looked amazing. I’d done a great job. It was stylish and comfortable, soft grays and muted blues creating a space that fit him.
“It looks even better than I remembered,” I said, gesturing around. “You’ve kept it nice and tidy.”
Mason nodded. “Not much time to mess it up with preseason starting.”
I tilted my head, aiming for casual. “So how’s preseason going? I saw you guys won the first game.”
Mason answered like it didn’t matter. “It’s going well.” The edge in his voice said otherwise.
“Must be a whirlwind for you.” I stepped closer, close enough to steal some of his warmth. “I’m really happy we could carve out time for dinner tonight.”
“Me too.” His fingers closed around mine in a brief squeeze, but I still saw the faint pull at the corner of his mouth.
“Everything okay?” I asked. “You seem… off.”
He raked a hand through his already messy hair. “Yeah. Just… there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
A beat of silence. Then he gestured toward the couch. “You might want to sit down.”
My stomach clenched as I perched on the edge of the sofa. This sounded serious. Had he changed his mind about us? Was he being traded again?
Mason paced a few steps before joining me, leaving a careful pocket of space between us. “I guess you haven’t seen it, but there’s been… a leak.”
“A leak?” I repeated, confused.
“Photos. Of my bedroom.” His gaze fixed on the coffee table. “Miami Whispers picked it up, and now it’s everywhere.”
I blinked, my brain lagging behind. “Your bedroom? You mean—”
“Yeah.” He watched me, gauging my reaction. “The, uh, ‘sex dungeon,’ as they’re calling it online.”
Oh God. The bedroom. The insane decor Gideon had insisted on for his stupid prank.
“How did they, who would…” I stammered, thoughts sprinting. “When did this happen?”
“The photos hit the site yesterday.” Mason grabbed his phone from the coffee table, thumb scrolling through what had to be the article. “By this morning, every sports blog and gossip site had picked it up. It’s out there, and it’s… not great. There’s all kinds of speculation about me now.”
He passed me the phone, and I froze, every muscle going rigid as I read the headline: MIAMI FUSION STAR’S SECRET SEX LAIR EXPOSED.
“Mason, I’m so sorry,” I whispered, scrolling through the article and its lurid speculation about his “wild private life” and “kinky escapades.”
I scrolled to the comments and immediately regretted it. The internet was having a field day. Some were crude jokes, others were oddly supportive of his “lifestyle choices,” but most were people marveling at the spectacle.
My heart squeezed, memories of banana-printed spanx and public humiliation flashing through my mind. I knew what he was going through. Every detail of my own public disaster still felt painfully fresh.
“I had no idea.” I handed his phone back, unable to stomach any more. “I don’t really do social media, so…”
Mason raised an eyebrow. “Really? None at all?”
“Not if I can help it.” I fidgeted with the cuff of my blouse, the familiar knot of anxiety tightening at the thought of online exposure. “I just… prefer to keep a low profile.”
“Smart.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Wish I had that luxury.”
“This is awful. And I feel partially responsible.” The words tumbled out. “I’m the one who designed that ridiculous room. If I hadn’t gone so over-the-top—”
“Hey, no.” He shook his head once. “This isn’t your fault. It’s some jerk trying to make a buck.”
“Still…”
“You didn’t take those photos, did you?” He watched me closely, like he was braced for whatever I said next.
“Of course not!” The suggestion stung, but the idea that he might suspect me even a little stung worse. I watched his face ease, tension slipping from his shoulders. “I would never do that. To anyone.”
Relief flickered across his face. “I know you wouldn’t. I’m sorry. I’ve been going crazy thinking about it. You and Gid are the only ones who’ve had access to my condo. I can’t figure out who took them or how they got out.”
“I’m sorry you’re going through this,” I said softly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Mason’s shoulders loosened as he laced his fingers with mine. “Having you here helps. Some celebrity will do something ridiculous tomorrow, and everyone will forget about this.”
“Just remember, people care about you for who you are, not whatever the internet decides.” Wow. That was straight from my therapist’s mouth, and I wasn’t even sure I believed it.
Mason’s lips curved into a grateful smile. “Thanks, Lila. I needed to hear that. Now let’s eat dinner before it gets cold. I ordered from that Mediterranean place you said you liked.”
We sat down at the dining table. Mason poured me a glass of wine while I unpacked the takeout containers. The rich aromas of garlic, lemon, and herbs filled the air as I lifted the lids from hummus, tabbouleh, and grilled chicken.
I surveyed the spread. “This looks amazing.”
He set a plate in front of me, ceramic clinking softly against the glass tabletop. “Chicken souvlaki, brown rice, roasted vegetables. But there are plenty of other options if you want something different.”
“This is perfect. Thank you.”
We began eating, but I could sense the unspoken tension hovering between us. Neither of us mentioned the photos, but they were there.
Mason’s phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at it, frowned, and flipped it facedown.
“More fallout?” I asked gently.
“Just my agent. Again.” He speared a piece of chicken with more force than necessary. “Wants to get ahead of the narrative. Whatever that means.”
I took a small sip of wine, letting the crisp bite steady my nerves. “Can I see them again? I want to check something.”
Mason hesitated, then slid his phone across the table. I studied the photos again, this time with a more analytical eye, zooming in on details, noting what was there and what wasn’t.
The shots were taken from different angles, like someone had moved methodically around the room, documenting every salacious detail. The dance pole gleamed in the corner, and the mirrored ceiling reflected the king-sized bed and the masculine bedding. But the disco ball was noticeably absent.
“These were taken right after the pole was installed.” My certainty grew as I compared the images in my mind. “There’s no disco ball yet.”
Mason peered at the screen, brow furrowed. “Does that mean anything important?”
“Yeah.” I zoomed in on another one. “And the framed shots from your Apex Gear campaign weren’t even up yet. These were taken mid-project.”
“Okay, but then who—”
“The guy who installed the pole.” I set the phone down, the realization hitting me like a bucket of cold water. “It had to be. I swear I never left him alone in there, but he must have snapped a few quick photos when I wasn’t looking.”
Mason’s jaw tightened, then he breathed out slowly. “It’s not your fault, Lila. The guy probably saw dollar signs the second he realized whose place it was.”
“I can’t believe we did this to you.” My hands trembled as I considered the implications. “I never told him it was your condo, I promise.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Mason speared another bite. “Property records are public. Wouldn’t take much digging to figure it out.”
My mind raced, guilt gnawing. This was my company’s mistake, my responsibility. “I’ll talk to Sam first thing tomorrow,” I said firmly. “We’ll blacklist that installer, maybe even look into legal action—”
Mason shook his head, cutting me off. “No point. I can’t really prove anything, and a lawsuit would only keep this in the news longer. I’ll lay low and let it blow over.”
“Still, I feel responsible. It was my company, my contractor, in your space because of my ridiculous design choices that you didn’t even want.”
Mason reached across the table, his large hand covering mine. “You were doing your job. Following Gideon’s very specific, very stupid requests.”
“Which I should have talked him out of.”
“Have you met Gideon?” A wry smile tugged at his lips. “There’s no talking him out of anything. Don’t worry about it, Lila. Now that I know what happened, it doesn’t bother me as much.”
“It’s so unfair.” My mind raced with ways to fix it. “I’ll talk to Sam. Make sure we never use that guy again. She’s going to be pissed. Client confidentiality is sacred in our business.”
Mason’s phone vibrated again. He picked it up and silenced it. “My agent. He can be relentless. He’s pushing for a statement. I’ll deal with him tomorrow.”
This wasn’t Mason’s first PR crisis, and it probably wouldn’t be his last. Another reality check about the fishbowl he lived in.