I decide to call his secretary.
"You've reached the desk of Mason Kane, how can I help you?"
"Hi, it's Becca."
"Oh Becca! Hi! It's been a while," she says. "It's always good to hear from you. Where have you been? I've haven't seen you on our floor."
"I've been around," I say. "Just busy. Listen, I've been looking for Mason. Is he in the office today?"
She thinks for a moment and then responds. “He isn't taking calls. Can I take a message?"
"No, that's okay," I say, slightly pissed off that he’s not taking calls from me. Whatever list he made of people he’d take calls from I guess I didn’t make it. "Do you expect him back in the office today?"
"He asked me to re-schedule all of his meetings today, so I figure he isn't planning on returning today," she says.
"I see, do you have any idea where he might be right now then?”
She contemplates for a moment whether or not she should give me this information and then relents. "Between you and I, he's at the Four Seasons."
"The Four Seasons on 57th?" I ask.
"Yes, that's the one."
Thank you!" I shout. I hang up the phone and can barely contain myself. I need to catch Mason before he leaves. I need to leave now myself. I grab my purse and keys and throw on my coat. I run outside and hail a cab. I can feel the minutes ticking away. If I don't catch Mason at the Four Seasons, I may not have the opportunity again for a while. Especially with the way he's been playing hard to get.
A cab pulls up in front of me and I hop in, directing the driver to the hotel.
"As fast as you can, please," I tell the driver, and he listens because I hear the squeal of our tires against the asphalt.
Within minutes I'm at the Four Seasons. I pay the fare and run toward the hotel, which is situated in an ideal spot in the city—minutes from Central Park and the Museum of Modern Art. But I don't have any time to gawk and take in my surroundings. Instead, I run into the lobby.
I realize I didn't think to ask his secretary what he was doing here. Is he renting a room? Is he in the middle of a conference? Or?
I decide to walk up to the front desk.
There's a middle-aged woman in dark-rimmed glasses staring at me.
"Can I help you?" she asks.
"Yes, I'm looking for a Mr. Mason Kane. I think he may be renting a room here for the night."
The woman types the name into her computer and my heart is racing with each click of her keyboard.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. We don't have a Mason Kane booked for the evening."
Fuck.
"Thanks," I say, walking away from the desk and wondering what my next move will be. I start walking and then, by chance, notice a restaurant off of the main lobby. It's called The Garden and it's decorated with faux trees and plush, neutral colored chairs. It looks like an inviting enough place.
When my eyes scan the patrons, I can't believe my luck. I spot Mason … and he's dining with Lorna. They seem to be smiling, eating, and drinking cocktails.
What's he doing here, with her? I thought he wasn't even taking any of her calls?
None of it makes sense.
I debate whether or not I should approach them. On the one hand, if I walk up, I look like a desperate, lost puppy who can't keep her hands off of Mason. It feels like a blow to my ego. But on the other hand, if I don't talk to Mason now, there's no telling when I'll have the opportunity to again.
I take a deep breath.