Relentless (Mason Family 4)

I look at him dumbfounded. Then I look at Holt. “Is he serious?”

Holt shrugs. “Apparently so. Legal called and said they’d crafted a proposed contract and said this dipshit sent them the contact information that they couldn’t find.” He looks at Boone. “How? Just … how?”

“Okay, so, I used to fuck this girl—”

“Nope.” I laugh, opening my drawer for a pen to throw at him if he keeps it up. “We get the idea.”

I reach to my right and move my hand around. Instead of finding the hard plastic of an ink pen, I touch something soft. Then something silky. Then the unmistakable shape of a thong.

I don’t have to look down to know the soft pair of panties is pink, the silky ones are red, and the thong is the color of Shaye’s skin.

My cock gets hard. Again.

I shove the drawer closed. When I look up and into Shaye’s office, she’s gone.

My attention goes back to Boone and Holt.

“I didn’t discuss price,” Boone says. “But I know they want to sell—or they will sell if given a solid offer. The old man doesn’t use the property for much anymore, and with the city expanding that direction, he doesn’t figure his only son that fled the city life to Montana will want to come back and do anything with it.”

“That’s good for us,” I note, pleased. “Good work, Boone.”

He grins like a child. “Thanks, Ollie.”

A knock raps against the door that separates my office from Shaye’s. We all glance in that direction.

“Excuse me,” she says, her gaze lingering on me for a second too long before she addresses my brothers. “Hi, Boone. Holt.”

They say hello and watch her walk toward us.

Instantly, my instincts are on high alert. Something is wrong. Her shoulders are stiff. The smile on her face isn’t genuine. Her steps are short and stressed.

“I have the proposed contracts from legal,” Shaye says, handing a folder to each of us. “An electronic copy is in your emails, as well. Oliver, please don’t forget that you have a call with Greg in ten minutes. I can move that if you would like.”

“It’s fine. We’ll be done by then.”

She nods. “Boone, it’s your wife’s birthday. Please stop and buy her flowers on the way home.”

Boone smacks his forehead with his palm. “Oh, fuck. I forgot.”

“I did not. Someone put a hot pink note on my calendar last week so I—you—didn’t forget.” Shaye pats him on the shoulder like a child and laughs. “You have a reservation for three tonight at six at Picante. I figured you wanted to take Rosie.”

Boone’s hand slides down his face. “You’re serious?”

Shaye laughs. “Yes. But all I can do is make the reservation and remind you to get flowers. You will have to figure out how to wow her yourself.”

Boone hops to his feet. “I need to call Mom.”

“You need to grow the fuck up,” Holt calls after him as he heads for the door.

“Thank you, Shaye! Love you!” Boone calls over his shoulder. Then he stops on a dime and turns. He glances quickly at me and then back to a giggling Shaye. “I was kidding. It was just a natural … You know, you’re like a sister … I’m, um, just gonna stop now.”

“Good call,” I say, wishing I had the pen to throw at him.

Shaye fixes her gaze on me. What the hell?

“I’ll check this contract out and get back with you, Ollie,” Holt says, standing up. “Thanks for the hard copy, Shaye.”

“Of course.”

Holt gives me a curious look like What the fuck is going on here? before exiting. He shuts the door behind him.

I lean back in my seat and take in the woman in front of me. She crosses her arms. She means business.

We haven’t fought or disagreed, really, until now, so I’m not sure how to deal with her. What approach will work best? I have no idea—mostly because I don’t know why she’s pissed.

But she is. That I have little doubt.

I consider telling her that she looks hot as fuck when she’s angry, then think better of it. Instead, I choose to play it off like there’s nothing to be mad about.

“What?” I ask.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well, pick something and let’s get this over with.”

This is not the reaction she wants. She drops her arms to her sides.

“Okay, first,” she says, tipping me off that there will, indeed, be a list, “my car was miraculously fixed today when we had lunch.”

I hum.

“Do you know anything about that?” she asks.

“I know that you cannot hold a bumper onto a car frame with zip ties indefinitely. I do know that.”

“Oliver.”

“Yes, Shaye?”

She blows out a breath. “You didn’t even ask me first.”

“You want me to ask you before I do something nice for you?” I raise a brow. She has to be kidding me. “If that thing fell while you were driving, you would’ve wrecked. That’s a danger not just to you but also everyone else on the road, my lady. I’m not going to know it needs repaired and not have it done.”