Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Holt
“And then Wade acted like I was crazy,” Boone says. “I told him to go double-check his facts and call me back and maybe I’d answer. Can you believe that?”
“Nope.”
I give myself a mental pat on the back for getting the timing right with my response. I have no clue what he’s talking about nor do I care.
Boone is the youngest of my brothers but only eighteen months after Coy.
The two of them were buddies growing up while Ollie and I book-ended the other side.
That left Wade in the middle. He’s now your proverbial middle child with two older CEOs on one side of him and two heathens on the other.
Sometimes, I feel sorry for him … especially when Boone is on his back.
The late morning sun streams through my office windows as my brother starts in again.
“Anyway,” Boone begins, “Mom called this morning and wants everyone over for brunch next week since Coy will be home. I’m supposed to spread the word.”
I tap the edge of Blaire’s credit card against my desk. Each tap makes it seem like my brain is being split farther in two.
Half of it is here, in my office, processing my conversation with Graham Landry and listening to Boone. The other half is perplexed with a dark-haired woman who I’m now considering might be fucking with me.
I don’t really believe that. She’s not the game-playing type. I’m positive about that. Mostly. But she’s also not the leave-your-credit-card-behind kind of woman, yet here I sit, holding it. It makes a man wonder if this is a game or some fucked-up gift from above.
“You’re coming, right?” Boone asks.
I sit back in my chair and pull my thoughts back to the present. “Of course.”
“Okay. I’ll let her know.”
“Like Mom’s not going to call us all and give us a run-down on her menu and ask if we have any requests.”
“She asked for my help,” he says with a hint of pride. “I’m just doing what I said I would.”
I scoff. “Whatever. She’s just trying to keep you busy so you keep your dick out of … what’s-her-name.”
I can hear Boone’s jaw drop. Or maybe it’s just the way he gasps and hides a chuckle right after. Either way, his reaction makes me laugh.
“Mom does not know who my dick is in,” Boone says.
“The hell she doesn’t. Mom knows everything, and the sooner you realize that, the better.”
“She can’t possibly know I’m fucking Daphne Monroe.”
The edge of Blaire’s card presses into my thigh as I move it back and forth.
“Boone,” I deadpan. “You don’t think Daphne is running her mouth to everyone who will listen—especially to all the women at the country club? That girl is shooting for the Mason family trifecta or whatever it would be called with five people.”
He laughs. “You mean four because Wade isn’t gonna fuck her.”
I laugh too because he’s right. Wade’s not going to get a piece of that because Wade doesn’t get a piece of anybody. If Oliver and I are workaholics, Wade is whatever the next level of that is because no matter how busy Ollie and I get, we do our own versions of dating. Wade does not.
“I’m not fucking her, either,” I say, wrinkling my nose at the thought of banging Daphne Monroe. “I guess trifecta works, after all.”
I flip the card into the palm of my hand and rub my thumb across Blaire’s name.
Maybe I should just stick it in the mail or have someone run it over to the Landry’s.
The raised, gold letters spelling her name prickle against my skin. I can’t help but remember how she felt against me last night. But as I think back, I realize the best part wasn’t the curve of her waist or the way she fit so perfectly around my cock.
The absolute best part was watching her choose to cede control—to let me have my way. It was a deliberate, calculated decision, and there’s something inherently sexier about it than when a woman just rolls over for me.
Fuck.
“What are you doing today, anyway?” Boone asks.
“Going over Wade’s plans again. You?”
“Not sure. I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do—go watch golf with Oliver and Gramps.”
“I’m sure you’ll find something to waste your time.” I pull the phone away from my face and see an incoming call. “Hey, Boone. I gotta go. I have a call I gotta take.”
“Sure, man. Later.”
“Bye.” I waste no time in clicking over to the other line. “Hello?”
“Hello, Holt.”
My heartbeat quickens at the sound of Blaire’s smooth, sweet voice.
I sink back into my seat. My shoulders soften against the leather as I take a moment and listen to her breathe.
“I was starting to think you weren’t going to call,” I say finally.
“To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t going to.”
A grin plays on my lips. I toss her credit card onto my desk, and it skids into my keyboard before it stops. “May I ask why not?”
“I just thought things would be better if we left things between us in the hotel room.”
At the mention of things being left behind, my hand slides into my pants pocket. The lacy fabric slips between my fingers as I imagine her arching a brow in a quiet challenge.
Challenge accepted.
“Like your panties?” I tease.
She coughs in surprise before recovering quickly. “I was thinking more along the lines of not making our encounter awkward or complicated.”
“We aren’t wild animals, Miss Gibson. We didn’t have an encounter.”
“You know what I mean.”
I lean forward, my forearms resting against the desktop. My cock twitches as memories of our encounter flash before my eyes.
I grin.
“Yes, I do know what you mean. What you mean is that we fucked.”
My breath halts in my chest as I await her reaction. The phrase hangs in the air between us. It’s a quick recap of our night together, but at the same time, it’s an impossible-to-ignore statement that quietly demands a response.
“We did indeed,” she says carefully.
“I don’t know about you,” I say, my gaze focused on the sky outside the window, “but the word awkward isn’t one I would use to describe last night.”
“I’m glad to hear that you have a broad vocabulary, Mr. Mason.”
A grin slips across my lips. “My mother always touted the benefits of a good lexicon.”
“A woman after my heart.”
She takes in a quick breath. The air pulls across the phone, and even though I’m not in the room with her, it feels like I am. I can envision her lips parting, her eyes narrowing with a slight twinkle.
“My mama is the best,” I say. “Hands-down. She raised five boys and most of us are pretty well-behaved.”
“Well, my mother was a gem. She raised me and three boys, and none of us are particularly well-behaved,” she says, ending with a laugh.
“Sounds like we’d get along just fine.”
“I can see you and Lance being friends, actually. He’s a history teacher and wicked smart, but he can drink you under the table.
Machlan would poke at you and see if you’d fight—bonus points if you would,” she says.
“Walker, though … he’d side-eye you until he decided whether he liked you.
And that decision would really have nothing to do with anything you say and just how you respond. ”
“Sounds like a fun guy.”
“Walker is probably my favorite. I’d never tell the others that.”
My laughter is easy as I sit back in my chair again. The springs squeal as I tilt it backward. “Yeah, well, I don’t have a favorite because all my brothers are assholes.”
“Ha. Right. I don’t believe that.”
“You should because it’s true.” I shift in my seat and spot the credit card again. “So what are we going to do about your predicament?”
“What? Oh, the card.”
A smile parts my cheeks. “Yes, the card. Did you forget about that already?”
She balks. “No. Hardly. I have an order pending at a deli near here, and a stomach that’s threatening to swallow my intestines.”
“Sounds like a bigger problem than I realized.”
The sound of plastic being crinkled takes up the silence between us. Finally, she sighs.
“I was just calling to thank you for letting me know you have it,” she says. “I’m going to report it lost and have them overnight me a new one.”
My brow furrows. “Why would you do that?”
“Because it’s easier.”
I can’t stop the snort that comes out of my mouth. “That’s absolutely not easier, and you know it. The easier solution would be to meet me for lunch and get your card back.”
“Holt …”
There’s a wariness in her voice. She knows I’m right because she’s an intelligent, rational woman. I know she wants to see me again because I’m a smart, logical man. But how do I convince her to follow through?
If one thing is clear from spending time with Blaire last night, it’s that she likes to call the shots. She needs to be in the driver’s seat. I’m going to have to give her a map, hand over the steering wheel, and hope she picks the right exit.
“I’m going to be very frank with you,” I tell her.
“I hope you will.”
“I enjoyed spending time with you last night—both at Picante and after. And I was a little disappointed to wake up and not see you beside me.”
She doesn’t say a word.
“But I get it. Can’t say it’s ever happened to me before, but I kind of dig it,” I admit. “Like you said, it keeps the morning after very uncomplicated.”
“Until I go and lose my credit card.”
I grin. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been telling myself all day that you lost it because I had charmed you and made you lose your mind.”
“You just keep telling yourself that,” she says, making no effort to suppress her amusement.
“Ouch. Wounded ego alert,” I say as I laugh too.
“I’m sorry. Honestly? You were charming. You are charming. And I enjoyed my night with you as well.”
She takes a breath, and I use the opportunity to jump in.
“Then why did you leave?” I ask. “I’m usually the one doing the leaving, and now I’m curious.”
“Because you have things to do today and so do I—”
“You’re on vacation,” I interject.
“Don’t remind me.”
Despite the huff in her tone, I can hear her smile—which is a weird thing to be able to hear, but I can. Maybe it’s the subtle, quick breath or the way she ended the phrase with a softened lilt, but I can hear it. That makes me smile.
“Last night was a one-night stand,” she says. “They aren’t my favorite encounters—”
“There’s that word again.”
“But I’m not complaining about getting fucked this time.”
Hearing those words come out of her pretty little mouth sends a shot of adrenaline through my body.
“Let’s thank God for that,” I mumble as I adjust myself under my desk.
“As I was saying, they aren’t my favorite situations,” she says, emphasizing the word, “but they do serve a purpose. Lingering around makes it less of a one-night stand and more like a date that went on too long, and now both parties are uncomfortable.”
Fair enough.
“I left,” she continues, “to maintain the integrity of our arrangement.”
“I didn’t know we had a particular arrangement.”
“It wasn’t a signed and sealed contract, by any means. But there was definitely an unspoken agreement between us. Don’t you think?”
Do I?
Generally, I’d say yes. That sleeping with a woman you just met constitutes something light and simple.
All I’m positive about, though, is that I feel like I’m about to get into a contract dispute.
And while I’m a great negotiator, I might be out of my depths with her. So I ignore her point and switch gears.
“How long are you in town? Through tomorrow, right?” I ask.
“How did you know that?”
“You told me in the airport.”
I think she smiles.
“By the time your new card arrives, you’ll be leaving,” I tell her. “There’s even a possibility of it not showing up until after you’re gone, and in that case, you’ll have two cards floating out there.”
“This is true,” she admits.
I have an opening. I just have to pick my way through it—and hand over the steering wheel—carefully.
Taking a deep breath, I choose my next words carefully.
“If you have a good two days—a day and a half at this point—left in Savannah, you’re going to need to eat,” I say, stroking her practical side. “Meet me for lunch. Get your card back. Enjoy the rest of your vacation.”
I tip my chair back farther and await her response. I have her considering my suggestion, which was a step I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to make.
But I have. And now I have to stay quiet before I ruin the progress.
After what feels like an eternity, she sighs.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
“I’m thinking that I’m not used to men talking logic.”
I laugh. “I hate to break the news to you, but I’m also well-versed in reasoning.”
“Did your mother teach you that too?”
“I think that was actually my father.”
She laughs, her voice blending with mine. “Fine. You’re right. As much as I want to, I cannot come up with a strong argument as to why meeting you and retrieving my card isn’t the easiest answer.”
My seat squeals as I sit upright and put all four wheels on the floor. “What hotel are you staying at?”
“Have you ever been to the restaurant called Hillary’s House?”
“That wasn’t the question, but yes. All the time.”
“Is it good?”
I get to my feet. “Does this mean you’re letting me buy you lunch?”
“This means I might let you sit with me while I eat. And if you happen to order your own sandwich, I can’t stop you.”
I shake my head as I swipe my keys and Blaire’s credit card and put them in my pocket. “I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”
“See you then.”