Resolution (Mason Family 5)

“Do you think I want to give a speech?” I ask.

He grins. “No.”

“But you asked anyway?”

“Yes, Wade. I asked anyway.”

I hum.

“Just tell me that you’ll do it so I can get back to the office,” he says. “I’m sure you have shit to do too.”

This visit has been nothing but manipulation in its purest form.

“You opted out of being in the wedding,” Holt says. “Surely, you can find it in your cold, black heart to give a speech and pretend you’ve enjoyed being my brother for the past few decades.”

I sit at my desk. “You know, Blaire is making you soft. You used to drive a hard bargain. Now you just get sappy and expect everyone to capitulate to your wishes.”

“Is that a yes?”

My head falls back to the headrest, and I close my eyes. “Yes. Fine. But it’s going to be short. I don’t have a lot to say.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

“Good.” I lift my head. “Now get the hell out of here so I can figure out what just happened.”

“Will do.”

He turns toward the door.

“And Holt?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time—knock.”

He grins before escaping.

As soon as he’s gone, the room feels smaller. Eerily quiet. The energy is definitely stained with the events of the last hour.

I growl, getting to my feet as if I have somewhere to go. But I don’t.

Every cell in my body wants to move, to do—to fix some of the mess I’ve found myself in.

But I don’t know how to fix it.

Dara Alden is a slippery slope. I knew that the day she walked in here spouting off about relational intimacy and giving hugs like they’re free.

Still, I saw her again.

She drove home the potential hurricane my life would become with her in it the day I saw her at the park.

Still, I saw her again.

It was crystal clear at Hillary’s House and even more apparent at the property with the lake.

Still, I saw her again.

I saw her again because she’s embedded herself in the back of my brain like some kind of parasite that I can’t shake. I’m not sure what it is about her that makes me think of her on and off all day.

She’s beautiful. Her smile is infectious. She’s smart and clever and creative.

Everything about her frustrates me. She frustrates me. And now she’s my date to Holt’s wedding.

I run my hands through my hair and tug on the roots.

“I’ll be with her for hours,” I say out loud, trying to work through the situation. “There will be pictures. Dancing.” I tense as the thought of having her in my arms on a dance floor barrels through my brain. “Fuck.”

I’m stopped in my tracks by the sound of the phone buzzing.

“Mr. Mason? Sir?”

“Yes, Eliza,” I say, my tone tense.

“Mr. Correra is on the line for you, sir.”

My body stills as I hear Eliza—maybe for the first time. I hear the caution in her voice, the heavy hesitation. She doesn’t ramble on like her predecessor and doesn’t fumble around for the information she failed to prepare.

Dara is right. Eliza isn’t comfortable, and while I don’t particularly want her that comfortable—comfortable people don’t do their job to the best of their abilities—I also have no interest in her being anxious.

“Eliza?”

“Yes, sir.”

“First of all, please, for the last time, do not call me sir.”

“I’m sorry.”

I sigh and squeeze my temples. “Also …” I grimace. “Thank you for being so efficient.”

The words come out in a rush as if I’m spitting them out to get it over with. Maybe I am. But the fact is that I said them, I meant them, and now she knows.

Even if it was cheesy and ridiculous that I have to be so … whatever that was.

“Wow. Um, thank you, si—Mr. Mason.”

I roll my eyes again. “Can you send the call to my voicemail, please?”

“Absolutely. And, Mr. Mason?”

“Yes, Eliza?”

She pauses, the line crackling. “Thank you for saying that. It really means a lot.”

A brief shot of warmth shoots through my veins, and I try to shake it off. But as I war with the feeling, another one sparks through me too.

Dara is the one who pointed out Eliza’s discomfort.

“Maybe … compliment her occasionally.”

This second sensation is a chill that puts out the heat of the first.

“Your refusal to make your employee feel seen is a reflection of your apparent disregard for intimacy in relationships.”

Whether she was reaching or speaking from a place of understanding, Dara was right. I do have a disregard for intimacy in relationships. The main point being—I don’t want it.

Never again.

But what did Dara mean by that? Was her focus on Eliza as an employee or Eliza as a potential recipient of a relationship with me that would include intimacy?

“Surely not …”

I pace around my office, going back and forth in front of the windows. No matter how I look at it, I can’t conclude anything that I feel good about.