Restraint (Mason Family 1)

“Just answer the damn question,” he says.

“I did.”

“No, you didn’t.” Oliver stands. “And I don’t actually care, but now I’m curious. And I like watching you squirm.”

Larissa leans against the door, her head resting on the wood panels. “I think he answered it, Oliver.”

“I’m not bringing Blaire to the concert,” I say. But as soon as I do, I regret it.

It’s none of their business.

Fuck them for putting me in this position.

“Suit yourself,” Larissa says, exchanging a grin with my brother. “But may I remind you that you’re getting old. You might wanna settle down and have kids while you still can.”

“What?” I ask, my jaw dropping for her benefit.

She laughs. “Thanks for the tickets. I’ll see you two later.”

“Bye,” Oliver calls after her.

I give her a wave before heading back to my desk.

My heart pounds in my chest as I sit back at my seat and overtly ignore my phone. I rifle through my drawer as if I’m searching for the meaning to life when, in reality, I’m just searching for my fucking sense.

This situation shouldn’t screw with my head like this.

But my whole family shouldn’t know about Blaire, either.

It’s not a big deal, and even if I wanted to bring her to the concert, what would it matter? Would it really be that different than if I’d bring Daphne Monroe or some other debutante?

I pull out a peppermint, then slip the wrapper off and pop it into my mouth. My mind tries to rationalize the last few minutes when I lift my head and my eyes meet Oliver’s.

He’s staring at me with a smug smile on his face.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He shrugs and looks back down at his papers. “You’re just so full of shit.”

Before I can respond—before I can get my head wrapped around what he’s insinuating I’m full of shit about, exactly—Rosie knocks on the door. Her head pokes around the corner.

“Boys, Graham Landry is in the conference room,” she says.

“We’ll be right there,” I tell her.

She nods and disappears, pulling the door softly behind her.

Oliver shuffles his papers into a neat stack. “I need to get one more file from my office before we go in.”

“You go ahead,” I tell him. “I’ll meet you there in five.”

He nods and disappears out the door too.

I tuck my tie in my jacket once again before pulling at the knot around my neck. I’m not sure if it’s too tight today or if my office is unusually warm. Either way, it’s uncomfortable.

My lungs fill with air as I step around my desk. But before I can get all the way to the other side, my gaze falls on my phone.

I stop.

No worries. I get it.

“No worries, huh?” I mutter.

Shaking my head, I pick up the phone and glance at the clock. After a quick mental calculation, my fingers fly across the keypad.

Me: I apologize for bailing on you today. I should’ve called. Meet me at The Carriage House tonight at six. It’s on Harrison Street. I’ll make it up to you.

Before she can respond, I turn my phone off and toss it on my desk.

“Now, let’s go make some money,” I say as I march out of my office.

Seventeen

Blaire

The evening air is crisp and smells faintly of rain.

When rain is on the horizon in Chicago, the city takes on the odor of a rich stew saturated with gasoline. But here, in a cozy section of Savannah, it’s different. The air hints of the earth and sea. It’s evocative.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep lungful of air and am whisked back to summers on Lake Michigan with my family. I can almost hear my family’s laughter and smell the barbecue pit that Dad tended with the care of a surgeon.

“I’m glad you’re still here.”

I whirl around at the sound of Holt’s voice.

He tugs at his tie, his forehead wrinkled as he approaches me on the sidewalk in front of The Carriage House. He looks divinely handsome in his tailored suit and freshly shaven face. The air of sophistication mixed with the razor-cut jaw and wide, strong shoulders make me forget about everything but him.

“A horse-drawn carriage?” I lift a brow. “I wasn’t about to miss my chance at being a princess.”

He grins. “You being a princess is an interesting concept.”

“And why is that?”

Holt stops in front of me. His tie is slightly askew, and it’s all I can do not to reach out and straighten it. I grip my sweater harder to keep myself from running my fingers through his rumpled hair.

“Which princess would you be?” he asks. “The one who waits for a knight in shining armor to rescue her from a tower? Or the one who needs a kiss from a prince to awaken?”

I half-laugh. “How about the one who rescues herself?”

“My point.”

He narrows his eyes, and I can see the stress he’s trying to hide with his slow smile. It’s the aftermath of a day of battling at work. I’d imagine his body aches and his brain feels like a pan of scrambled eggs too. And suddenly, I wish he wouldn’t have offered to bring me here and would’ve gone home instead.