“I mean, kind of?” She covers her face with her hands. “I need something easy. Something to get me back in the game, so to speak.”

I’m thankful there’s a giant desk between us because, if there wasn’t, I’d have her bent over this motherfucker in two seconds.

“Can we just … take it a day at a time?” she asks sheepishly. “No expectations. No rules.”

What a weird thing to say.

“Yes,” I say. “I don’t want anything from you that you don’t want to give me.”

Her eyes light up. A look of contentment stretches across her face. The same feeling spreads through my body.

“You control the shots,” I tell her.

“Okay.” She grins. “You need to call Greg back.”

Dammit. “Yeah. I do.”

“And I need to find the ladies’ room.”

I look her up and down and growl. It makes her laugh.

“You go do what you need to do and then come back so we can go over this legal file,” I say, sitting down. “I’ll call Greg now.”

She nods and heads for the door. Just before she gets to the doorway, I call after her.

“Shaye?”

She turns around. “Yes?”

“Will you go with me to the Landry Gala tomorrow? It doesn’t have to be a date or anything, if that worries you. You can go in whatever capacity you want. I just think it might be fun.”

Her brow furrows for a long moment before she finally smiles. “All right. I’d love to.”

“Great.”

“Great.” She smiles and turns, but just before she reaches the door, she spins back around. “Oliver?”

“Yes, Shaye?”

“This might be a stupid or presumptuous question, but would you have invited me if we hadn’t … kissed before?”

As Shaye knows, I’ve wanted to kiss her since the moment we met. Taking her as a date to the gala would have crossed my mind regardless if we’d kissed or if she worked for me or anything else as long as I had met her. So a part of my answer is most definitely yes.

But I don’t think that’s what she’s asking.

She said last night that she wants us to be friends. If I’m being honest, I could use one of those right now who isn’t related to me. I like Shaye. I like her for more than her soft, kissable lips and willingness to kiss me. I enjoy her company. She makes me laugh. When I’m with her, my load feels just a bit lighter.

So, yes, I would have asked her for the privilege—or torture, depending on how you look at it—of having her on my arm.

“Yes,” I say simply. “I would have. I would’ve asked you for the honor of accompanying me to the Landry Gala, and I’ll be looking forward to having you beside me now that you’ve said yes.”

The smile that lights up her face is dazzling. She dips her chin and disappears into her office, shutting the door behind her.

I lean back in my seat and take a long, deep breath.

A shot of tension curls around the back of my neck, and it has nothing to do with taking Shaye to the event. It has everything to do with it too.

“You probably just fucked all the way up, Mason,” I mutter before grabbing the phone and calling Greg.

Eighteen

Shaye

“So tell me about the Landry Gala.” I half-grin, half-grimace at Nate.

He looks up from whatever he’s doing at his computer and furrows his brow. “Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I’m going.”

I mosey into his office and ignore the look of surprise—horror?—on his face.

Nate would never admit it, but he’s proud of this space. His ex-girlfriend, Joy, did most of the decorating. I loved her. She was just a bit too much sunshine for him, I think.

He rolls his chair back and faces me. “You are going to the Landry Gala? The biggest event in Savannah?”

I plop down on the little loveseat along the wall. “That’s what I said.”

I smile as if it’s a good thing, as if I’m totally relaxed about my upcoming appearance at the biggest event in Savannah. But Nate knows it’s all a façade. He knows me, after all.

He leans his elbows on his knees. “Do I even want to know?”

“Oliver asked me to go with him. And it sounds fun. It’s a gala,” I say, fluttering my eyes at the romanticism of the word. “I’ve never been to a gala before.”

“Because they’re stupid.”

I make a face. “You can’t call it stupid! They raise so much money if what I’ve seen on the news each year is accurate.

“Yeah, they do. And they could just call their friends and ask for a donation too. Instead, they all get dressed up in fancy clothes and eat things like escargot.”

I wrinkle my nose. “So eat a burger before I go? Got it.”

He laughs. “Definitely eat first. And wear something fancy.” His smile slips, and a twinge of concern takes its place. “Do you have something to wear?”

Tags: Adriana Locke Mason Family Romance
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