Relentless (Mason Family 4)

“I do, actually,” I say, gulping back a wave of trepidation. “I brought it home with me. And now, on second thought, that might not have been a good idea. I just wanted to get to know things a little better, and I didn’t think it would be a big deal. Most things are on the computer these days anyway—wait! I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with not accessing them via an online portal because—”

“Shaye?”

I suck in a hasty breath. “Yeah?”

“Relax.” He chuckles. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? Because I feel like a twit.”

I stare out the window. The moon hangs high in the sky, a sliver of silver amongst the stars. It would be a beautiful moment if I wasn’t ready to puke.

The squeal of his chair breaks the silence.

“There will be no feeling like a … twit? Is that what you said?” he asks.

“Yes. A twit.”

“I’m not sure what that is, but it sounds awful.”

The corner of my lip curls up. “It is.”

“Well, none of that,” he says. “I’m actually impressed you took files home.”

The heat begins to drain from my face. My stomach relaxes a little.

“I find all of this fascinating,” I admit. “Monroe Companies does a fraction of what Mason Limited does. They are one little piece, and you are the whole puzzle.”

“That’s been said.”

I can hear the smile in his voice. I blush in response.

“Do you need the file?” I ask. “I can bring it to you. I don’t live far from the office.”

My words hang in the air. My insides twist at the offer, and I’m not sure if I want him to take it or not. Would I love to see him? Yes. But also … no.

It’s a conundrum.

I glance down at my yoga pants and What The Fucculent shirt.

“Could you? I hate to even ask you to do that.” He groans. “Maybe you could just screenshot a few things and—”

“I can bring them to you. It’s not a big deal. Honest.”

He pauses. “I can come pick them up.”

“No. Let me bring them to you. I have nothing going on.”

“You’re positive?”

“One hundred percent.” I nibble on my bottom lip as I glance at my pasta. “But … I’m in leisure clothes.”

“Oh?”

I still at the tone of his voice. Suddenly, my heartbeat is all I can hear. “I’m just saying that I’m not in work attire, and I’m not changing. So I can bring you this file, but I’m in yoga pants.”

His chair screeches again. “I don’t think that’s a problem at all.”

I gulp. “Good.”

“Good.”

“I’ll see you shortly then?”

He pauses. The line goes quiet. Despite the silence, the connection is filled with an intensity, an anticipation of what comes next.

“Thank you, Shaye.”

The way he says my name sends a shiver bolting down my spine. I part my lips and take in a quick breath—and hope to the heavens he can’t hear it.

“Goodbye, Oliver,” I say as smoothly as I can manage.

“See you soon.”

I end the call.

Twelve

Oliver

“Fuck you very much,” I say, my fingers flying across my keyboard. “Oliver.”

I sit back and review the email that I just composed. The Regards closing I used instead of the one I typed out loud seems to be a good choice.

I hit send.

Blowing out a breath, I sit back and look out the window.

The sky is filled with hundreds of bright stars that twinkle from the heavens. Cars scoot around on the roads below, and Shaye is in one of them.

My lips twitch as I consider the fact that she’s on her way to me—to the office. My immediate frustration at not finding the file quickly diminished when I realized that she might have it. And while I do regret that she has to trek to the office so late on my account, I also … don’t.

I rub my chin.

I can’t decide if Shaye is a blessing or a burden. On the one hand, today exceeded my expectations. She was quick, efficient, and eager to learn. That’s a trio that’s hard to find. But every card has two sides, and this situation is no different. All of that ability is housed in a tight little body with a glowing personality—neither of which I can ignore.

Sure, I work with beautiful women on the regular. I’m always able to put them in a box. Dangerous. A competitor. High-maintenance.

That one is too clingy, and this one expects too much.

Shaye, unfortunately, doesn’t fit in a box.

As Holt reminded me yet again on his way out of the office this afternoon, Shaye is now our employee. Family first. If I’m going to have her in our business, I need to be cognizant of our relationship—keep it on one side of me. Keep it in one of those boxes that I can’t seem to get her in.

My phone buzzes on my desk. I scoop it up, hoping it’s Shaye. The name on the screen says it’s not.