At the front desk on his floor is a beautiful woman who instantly stands up and smiles. “Hello, Mr. Hunt.”
“Madison, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Ms. Snow.”
“Hello, Ms. Snow.” She can’t stop smiling.
“Enough with the giggles, Madison.”
“I’m not,” she says holding back the giggles.
“Lying ass. Winter, come on. There’s a lot of work to do today so we can enjoy the Christmas break.”
After we enter his office, and he closes the door, I ask, “Did I miss something back there?”
“I’m guessing my mother called her.”
I don’t know what their relationship is, but now I can’t let it slide. “Have you and her?” I stutter out truly afraid of the answer.
“God, no,” he exclaims. “My mother wanted us to get together because, well, she wanted me to find someone. We’re not anything more than boss to employee. And lately, I’ve been extremely moody, and now she knows why.”
“Oh. But why would you be moody?”
He closes the distance, sliding his hands around my waist and looking down in my eyes, and states, “Because all I could think about was you and you did your best to avoid me or at least they did it to hide you.”
“That’s true. I suppose I wasn’t in the best moods after we met, and I thought you were engaged to Carissa. In fact, I was miserable.”
He flinches then shudders in revulsion. “That’s a miserable alternate universe.” And it’s my turn to giggle. “Oh, you think it’s funny.” He starts tickling me around my waist, and I can’t stop laughing.
“Stop, Mason. Stop,” I chuckle and pant, trying to catch my breath. I clench my fist and bang on his arm until he stops.
“Say you’re sorry,” he orders.
“Sorry.” He loosens his hold on me. “Not sorry.” He shakes his head and moves over to his desk.
“Sit your pretty ass down, while I get some work done.”
“Do you need me to do anything?”
“Just to sit down before I pin you to the desk and fuck your brains out.”
“Is that a promise or a threat?”
“A promise. Just try me. And I don’t give a fuck who hears me smashing your pussy.”
“Just so you know. You’re not thinking this out very well. It’s as if you’re asking me to misbehave.”
“Maybe I am,” he growls, standing back up and stroking his hard bulge through his slacks. I bite my lip and stare. “Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll keep you very busy on your knees.” My pussy is rioting, demanding I rebel. I squeeze them together, hoping to stave off the urge to undo his pants.
His phone rings before I can cross around his desk, but he wags his finger at me, calling me to him. I do because…I just can’t get enough of Mason.
“James, what’s up?” I can’t hear what his friend is saying, but from the growling coming from Mason, it’s not good. I wonder what it’s about. “I’ll talk to her. Yes. I’ll call the cops.” He looks at me, and I can see the concern in his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Talk to you later.” He hangs up the phone and sets it on his desk.
“We need to talk.”
“What’s this about?”
“When they brought your things, they found a tracking device. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what it was for or why it was there, but they decided to see if they were being tracked. Someone showed up at James’s house and attempted to shoot him and his sister.”
“What! Oh my God,” I screech, nearly fainting. Mason holds me tight, hoping to call me down. “Who would do that?”
“Well, she’s in custody.”
“Who?”
He pauses longer than I expected, then reluctantly comes clean. “Your mother. She was implicated by the actual shooter who was caught on James’s surveillance.”
“What? Why?” I thought it would be Carissa for sure.
“All I know is that she has a life insurance policy on you. How she got anything in there is a mystery to me, but they’re questioning her now.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s always looking for another jackpot. I told her that I was going to be moving out some time after graduation the last time we spoke.”
“Wow, she didn’t hesitate. I won’t let her harm you, but the police are wanting us to join them downtown.”
“When?”
“As soon as possible.”
We get down to the station, and I pretty much listen to what Mason has to tell them. I only add my last conversation with my mom when they ask. It’s frustrating to feel like this, but what can I do.
“I’m curious how she got a tracking device inside my things,” I question.
“Yes, that is tricky since she hasn’t been there since she filed for divorce, she claims, but the shooter revealed that little tidbit to us. His cousin worked at the Grable estate and did it on her behest. Apparently, they were lovers. It explains how it got in your belongings.”