“Paul Martine.” Mason slouched against one of the towering walls of the twenty-foot-tall display. “My spies tell me he’s notoriously temperamental.”
Relief swept like a cool breeze across Arlie’s stinging conscience.
“Well, he didn’t disappoint. But I think his assistant is going to need some serious therapy.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. I had a last-minute emergency to take care of.” A shadow passed over Mason’s features, gone as quickly as it had arrived.
“Not a big deal.” Arlie shrugged. “Samuel stepped in.”
“That sounds like him,” Mason smirked. “How did you like Willow Creek Villa?”
“Pretty amazing,” Arlie said. “Only your father seemed surprised to see me there.”
“And by surprised, I’m guessing you mean he reacted like he’d just found a rat in his vichyssoise?”
Arlie blinked up at him. She hadn’t expected that Mason was at all familiar with this side of his father, as much as she’d watched him lavished with attention.
“Accurate description,” she admitted.
“You can’t let that bother you. Since Mom died, it’s like he wants to personally snuff out every bit of joy in the world.”
“I don’t remember him being especially pleasant before that.”
“He wasn’t,” Mason said, looking as thoughtful as Arlie had ever seen him. “Forgive the trite metaphor from my favorite subject, but they were like a mixed drink. Mom was the soda and Dad was the scotch. She made him lighter, palatable. Smoothed his sharp edges.”
Arlie understood more about that dynamic than she would have liked.
“Speaking of,” Mason looked furtively around, withdrawing a flask from his pocket. He lifted it to his lips then offered it to Arlie.
If Samuel was a lost boy, then Mason was Peter Pan.
“It’s two thirty in the afternoon,” she said, glancing down at her phone. Only to find a new message from Taegan.
You better have something good for me.
“Conference rules,” Mason said. “Some of the attendees come from India and Japan. It’s already tomorrow there.”
Not wanting to compromise their growing bond, Arlie took the flask and brought it to her lips for a quick tug.
Bourbon.
And good bourbon at that. It scalded a smooth, hot channel of brightness all the way to her empty stomach, suffusing her limbs with a pleasant, warm heaviness. She handed the flask back to him just as her phone began to ring in her pocket.
Fearing it was Taegan, she reached down to retrieve it, her stomach flipping when she read the name on the screen.
“It’s Kassidy,” she said to Mason, searching for a spark of recognition. “My best friend from high school?”
Without a word, Mason swiped the phone from her and answered, pressing the icon to set it on speaker. “If it isn’t Kassidy the brain Nichols.” He paused, lifting a mischievous eyebrow. “I’m corrupting your friend.”
There was a beat of silence on Kassidy’s end, through which Arlie could actually feel her friend sifting her mind’s considerable database.
“I’ve been trying to do that for years, Mason Kane,” Kassidy said. Arlie thought she detected a hint of flirtation in her tone. “She need bail money yet?”
“Not yet,” Mason said, “but the day is young. Congratulations on your boutique, by the way. Marlowe tells me there’s a line of desperate Philadelphia housewives down the block on any given Tuesday.”
“What Botox and a butt lift won’t give them, I will.”
“Now there’s ad-worthy copy right there. Let me know if you’re ever in the market. Kane Foods needs more smart people.” Mason winked at Arlie.
“Duly noted.” Kassidy gave him a polite laugh. “Say, is Miss Arlington Banks at liberty to speak?”
“She is and she shall.” Taking the phone off speaker, Mason handed it over to her.
With an apologetic smile, Arlie held up her finger to indicate she’d only be a moment. She stepped away from the booth so she could have a degree of privacy.
“Hey, there,” Arlie said, trying to sound like a woman who definitely hadn’t had illicit sex with one of the Kanes recently.
“You kissed him, didn’t you?” The accusation stung in Arlie’s ear.