Relentless (Mason Family 4)

His gaze is intense, his eyes searching the depths of mine for a truth that I can’t name. I just let him see what he wants to see because I have nothing to hide.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice steady.

“I don’t know what the kids call it these days, but as far as I am concerned, you and I are exclusive.”

My throat constricts as I absorb his admission.

Exclusive.

We’re exclusive?

We’re exclusive.

Holy shit.

His shoulders fall. “I want to give us the space to get to know each other, Shaye.”

“I do too.”

He looks relieved. “I don’t want …” He sighs.

My stomach roils, a mixture of anxiety and joy swirling together. The longer we go without saying anything, the more the anxiety overtakes the joy.

So I act.

“I don’t know what’s happening between us,” I say. “I feel like we just met—”

“Because we did.” He gives me a wry smile.

“And it feels like it in some ways, right? There’s all this newness and excitement. Everything is fun, and it feels like there’s so much potential.”

He nods, caution rippling through his features.

I reach over and take his hand. I trace the lines in his palm with my finger.

“But it also feels like I’ve known you forever,” I say. “When I’m with you, I … I don’t feel like my world is about to be split in two or that I have to look over my shoulder.”

“You don’t. I’m already looking over it for you.”

The sincerity, the pure genuineness of his words makes my eyes water. Because I know he means it.

I believe him.

And that, in and of itself, is monumental for me.

Oliver takes my hand and urges me out of the chair. He leads me in a half-circle until I’m facing him.

He holds both hands in his and looks up at me.

“Are you positive you can’t stay with me today? I don’t want you to go,” he says.

“I have to.”

“Okay.” His jaw tenses, but the frustration doesn’t reach his eyes. “Can you spare me another hour?”

I bite my lip. “It depends on what you have in mind.”

He stands abruptly, scooping me up in his arms. I shriek at the motion.

My legs dangle over his thick biceps as he grins at me.

“I’m not about to let my woman go to work for another man without being completely certain that she’s satisfied in every fucking way.”

He crushes my mouth with his. His fingers burn into my skin.

My insides ache as we make our way through his house.

I’m not sure where we’re headed or what is to come, but I know that it’ll be great with Oliver.

And maybe it’ll be great after that too.

Just maybe.

Twenty-Six

Shaye

“Would you like a ham sandwich, Joe?” I know the answer, but I wait for his response anyway.

The little old man from Kentucky slumps on the stool. A knit cap sits lopsided on his head. Strands of hair that resemble a Brillo pad poke out from beneath the edges and through the hole at the top. The tear in the fabric has gotten bigger every day since I noticed it a month ago. I need to remember to get him a new one before the weather turns cold.

Joe’s skin is stained with engine grease. I think he does odd jobs here and there—working on cars for people who can’t afford to take them to an actual mechanic. But I also suspect those same people take advantage of his kindness and how badly he needs twenty dollars. It’s why I didn’t take my car to him to be fixed when I damaged it.

“If ya got one back there, I’d take it.” He gives me a lopsided, toothless grin. “Maybe some mustard if ya have that handy.”

“You know it.”

I wave at Travis, a friend of Nate’s, as he comes in. Travis did the roofing on The Gold Room when Nate remodeled before I started working for him. Apparently, the place was practically in shambles back then. You wouldn’t know it by the looks of the place now.

“Is Nate in his office?” Travis asks.

“I think so.”

“Can I head back there?”

“Go for it.”

He gives me a little salute and disappears into the hall on the far side of the building.

“Thank God for Sunday evenings,” Paige says as I enter the kitchen. She slides a knife through a tomato with the precision of a surgeon. “I think we’d be perpetually behind without Sunday evenings.”

“You’re right.” I reach in the cooler for the ham that Nate keeps for Joe. “I actually look forward to Sunday evenings without the alcohol and the crowd that brings.”

Paige’s knife hits the cutting board in even intervals. I get to work making Joe’s sandwich.

My mind drifts, thinking about how different my job is here than it is during the day for Oliver. I don’t think I prefer either one of them. Mason Limited makes me feel accomplished as a professional; The Gold Room makes me feel accomplished as a human.