Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)

What the hell is in this drink? Truth serum?

He smiles sarcastically. “My sexual behavior isn’t up for discussion tonight.”

My eyebrows rise in surprise. “But mine is?”

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; “I was merely doing a character analysis.”

I smile against my glass. “As am I.”

His eyes dance with mischief as he watches me. “You’re right, you are refreshingly honest, Miss Brielle.”

I smile.

“If not a little forward,” he adds.

“I could say the same for you, but I don’t see how when I was last with a man has anything to do with my character.”

“It gives me an insight into the kind of life you live.”

I think on it for a moment. "Well, if that's the case, I'm sorry to report that I live the most boring life imaginable, because I haven't thought about a man or been with a man for over twelve months."

“I see,” he murmurs, seemingly impressed with my answer.

"Mr. Masters, I know I may be a busybody, but I can assure you that I am not here to steal your things or fight with your daughter. I'm here to do a great job for you for twelve months, and hopefully find myself in the process."

He narrows his eyes and sits back in his seat. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

I sip my drink as I contemplate my answer. “I’m going to see the country, learn about its history, and spend my weekends with Emerson.” I shrug. “You never know, I may meet a man and have some fun while I’m here, too.”

“And exactly what does that entail?” he asks, bemused.

This man is so intelligent that I have no idea if he’s genuinely interested in the answer to these questions, or if he’s really just being condescending.

“I’m not sure. All I know is that if I really knew what I needed, I would have gone out and found it at home.”

His eyes hold mine.

What the hell is he is thinking?

“Hmm.” He hesitates for a moment. “Tell me about your visa.”

I exhale heavily and sip my rocket fuel. It’s so strong, the fumes go up my nose and I have another coughing fit. “How do you drink this?” I splutter as I pound my chest with a closed fist.

“Takes the edge off.” He smirks.

“Off of what?” I continue to cough. “What edge is this sharp?” I wince.

He chuckles, a deep velvety sound that seeps into my bone marrow, and I feel my heart flutter.

He’s just so…

He arches an eyebrow and I realize that he’s waiting for my answer. “Oh, the visa?” He raises his glass impatiently. God, he really does think I'm dense. “Will you please stop that?” I snap.

“Stop what?”

“The condescending looks and quips.”