Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)

I huff and put my hands on my hips. Of all the nerve. It’s the weekend.

A trace of amusement crosses his face as he speaks. “Thank you. She’ll see you then.”

What the hell?

I glance up to Willow who is smirking to herself. “This isn’t funny, Will,” I call to her, and she smiles down at her paper.

Finally, Julian’s eyes rise to mine.

“Mr. Masters. I’m not coming home tonight. I’m staying at Emerson’s.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Brielle, I need you here in the morning as I’m playing golf. Some other time perhaps?”

My face falls. “But… I had plans tonight.”

His eyes hold mine and he raises a sarcastic brow. “Change them.”

He gets up and grabs his keys. “Come on.”

“Come on, where?” I sigh. Damn it. Emerson’s going to be pissed because she really wanted me to stay over at her new house. She’s called me five times today already.

“I’ll drive you into town… unless you’d prefer to walk?”

I smile and put my thumb out playfully. “I could always hitch a ride.”

“Looking like that, you wouldn’t last long.”

“Looking like what?”

He looks me up and down and frowns. “Like a gold and glittery Barbie.”

I smile. Oh, he’s being cute now. “It is a strain being this beautiful, you know.” I bat my eyelashes playfully and put my hands on my hips, wiggling my behind.

“Oh God,” I hear Willow moan, and Sammy giggles in the background.

Mr. Masters smirks. “I have no doubt. Now get in the car before I throw you in the trunk.”

I bite my bottom lip and smile at his playful return. Has his mood switched because I am no longer staying out?

Interesting.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” he tells the children.

I smile at his fancy accent. He sounds like British Royalty or something. I’ve never known anyone who talks as snootily as he does.

“Okay,” the kids reply, going back to what they were doing.

I follow him as he walks down the front steps and out to the garage. The roller door goes up slowly and the Porsche lights beep as it unlocks.

My eyes widen in excitement. “Are we taking the pimp car?”

His face falls. “The pimp car?” He slinks into the lowered seat.

I bounce in beside him. “Yes, you know… I would expect the mafia or something to own this car.” I look around. Wow! This really is a pimp car. It’s compact, sporty, sexy…not at all something I would have imagined he would drive.

He rolls his eyes and looks through the rearview mirror to reverse the car out of the garage. "Or perhaps just a man who has studied at university for twelve years," he replies dryly.

“That, too,” I giggle. “Although a pimp car does sound way more exciting.”