Restraint (Mason Family 1)

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I need to get this.”

“Of course.”

I tap the green button. “Hello?”

“Hi, Blaire. It’s Yancy.”

My assistant’s voice is stressed—more so than it was when I left the office last week. It feels like someone threw a rock into my stomach.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, ignoring Holt’s concerned glance.

“The Grimrose Building is closed,” she says. “The contractor redoing the bottom floor found asbestos, and the city came in and shut us down. Everyone had to vacate the premises.”

“Oh, shit.” I switch the phone between my hands. “What does this mean?”

“No one is allowed in until it gets remedied. We had a few minutes to grab any files we needed and were ushered out by the health department.”

I rub my forehead with my hand. “What about my apartment?”

She sighs. “I think you’re locked out, Blaire. Do you have any pets? That’s one thing they’re letting people go back in for.”

“No. No, I don’t have any pets,” I say, my mind racing. “Do they know how long this is going to take?”

“I’ve heard it’s confined to the first floor so far. It’s mass chaos down here right now. No one knows anything for sure, but the office will be closed until at least the start of next week, and I’m not sure when you can get back into your apartment.” She takes a breath. “I’m sorry.”

Me too.

“Yeah. Thanks. I … Did you get the Lawson files? I have a hearing on that next week. Shit,” I say, fidgeting in my seat.

“I didn’t. I literally had five minutes to get things, and I forgot about Lawson. I’ll file an extension with the court now.”

I groan. “Thank you, Yancy.”

“Is there anything else you need me to do immediately that you can think of?”

“No. I just … Let me get back to my files in a little while and get back to you. I’m supposed to fly home tomorrow, so I might need you to help me find a place to stay until they sort this out.”

“For sure, Blaire. Anything you need.”

“Thanks for calling.”

“Absolutely.”

I end the call.

My body ripples with energy. I want to head to the airport immediately and get back to Chicago. But it won’t help. It’ll probably just make it worse.

“Is everything okay?” Holt asks.

I blow out a breath. “I work and live in the same building. Apparently, asbestos was found and the building’s been emptied until it’s fixed.”

“That’s fun.”

“Right?” I rub my temples again. “There’s nothing I can do. I just need to make a list and look at my calendar and see if I need to push anything back.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

His tone is kind and sincere. I drop my hand and appreciate him sitting across from me.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “I do probably need to go and see which one of my brothers I’m going to stay with.”

“If I was ever homeless, I wouldn’t be living with my brothers. That’s for sure.”

I laugh. “Yeah. It’s not the best-sounding solution, but it beats staying in a hotel for God knows how long.”

Holt shifts in his seat. He starts to talk but stops. Then slowly, his lips part again. “I have an idea.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Stay here.”

I laugh again. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Well, first of all, even if I wanted to, all the hotels are booked for the weekend. Something about a seafood festival.”

He nods. “Yeah. I forgot about that.”

“Second of all, I need to work. I need quiet. The people across the hallway this morning had a crying baby while I took a shower. That was irritating enough. I can’t imagine how that would go over when I’m actually picking apart witness statements, and someone’s freedom is on the line.”

His chest rises and falls. With each second that passes, the rhythm grows quicker.

He leans forward again, his eyes searching mine.

Our food is untouched between us. Our drinks have barely a sip removed.

My brain slows down as time seems to stall around our table, and Holt begins to speak.

“Stay with me,” he says.

It’s a simple sentence—three whole words. But it feels like he’s just spoken a complex mathematical equation in Mandarin because he can’t possibly be asking me to stay with him.

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“Stay with me,” he says again—this time with more force.

“And you called me confounding.”

He shifts in his seat again. “I’m just going to lay out a few facts as I see them, and then you can make whatever decision works for you.”

I don’t respond. I’m not sure what to say.

“You can’t go home,” he starts carefully. “Staying in a hotel isn’t optimal. Neither is staying with your brothers. But I have a big house, and it’s really quiet. You could work all day unbothered, and I’ll take you out to see Savannah at night.”

“Holt …” I say, an uneasiness creeping in my gut. It’s not from his offer but because his offer is tempting. He’s tempting. I don’t want to be tempted.