Run those boxes of programs straight over to Mr. Thorne’s office.
CHAPTER TWO
Mason
They say in the vacuum of space no one can hear you scream.
What about the vacuum called my life?
Standing at the window, looking out over a city I probably own half of, checking the time on the Rolex I’ve chosen for today I’ve just picked from a cabinet full of them, I wonder.
I wonder how much of this I can take before I actually scream into the vacuum.
Into the void of a life that is Mason Thorne’s existence.
The watch keeps perfect time, but checking it gives me something to do. Something to distract me.
The view, the palatial office and apartment beyond, my six thousand dollar suit and custom Italian leather shoes that don’t make a sound on the marbled floors.
I’ve seen and done it all before.
Alone.
My direct line rings from the desk. I know who it is.
Picking up with no real answer, I breathe in, wincing when he reminds me. Then I breathe out.
Breathing is better than screaming.
“Well, too bad if I signed up for it. I really do feel sick. I’m burning up,” I lie.
There’s a cold silence from the other end of the line.
If there’s one person I can’t bullshit, it’s my personal assistant, Nicholas.
It’s why he’s my PA.
More like my conscience most days, and old enough to be my damned father.
Whatever that feels like.
“It’s a charity auction gala you yourself arranged months ago,” Nicholas reminds me gently, almost sounding concerned.
“What are they auctioning?” I ask absently looking again at my watch, wondering if I can just buy my way out. Just buy everything so I don’t have to make an appearance.
“Employees and their bosses are auctioning their time to do work for good causes. The company’s paying their personal time and matching dollar for dollar all winning amounts from the winning bidders, with all the money going to the charity of the bidder’s choice,” he reminds me, making me wince again.
“And it’s my company that arranged it?” I ask.
“Yes, sir,” he says gently.
Nope. No buying my way outta this one, looks like I already tried.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on holiday, Nick?” I ask dryly, wondering why he’d be calling me so early on a Saturday, even if he wasn’t on vacation.
Still trying to change the subject too.
“When was the last time I took a vacation?” he asks, and I know the answer because it’s the same as mine.
Never.
“I’m only calling because I forgot to remind whoever it is you have filling in for me.”
No one.
“Someone from the office who’s managing the event will be dropping off your personal programs, as well as some boxes of the regular ones for you to look over. Familiarize yourself with the event, see what’s on offer,” he says with a tone of encouragement I don’t like.
I grunt a reply and look around the office, the gleaming light from what must be a half acre of marble, leading my eyes back out to the window.
“I’ll look it over,” I tell him, not wanting to hurt Nick’s feelings.
“But this is the last one,” I caution him. “If you catch me trying to commit myself to any more public appearances, just remind me I said no, okay?”
“Very good, sir. Have a good night tonight and if you need anything, anything at all,” he starts to say, but I roll my eyes instead.
“Nicholas. Go have your damned vacation will ya? I do remember paying for it,” I remind him, trying to turn the tables a little.
Making him feel guilty for a change.
He breathes through his nose and hangs up. I listen to the silence on the line for a moment, wondering maybe if I screamed now, would anyone actually hear me?
The sound of boxes tumbling, and what sounds like a lot of expensive charity gala programs spilling across my reception area breaks my somber mood.
I catch a glimpse of myself reflected in the window, adjusting my tie, and smoothing my hair back.
Pity. All these years and Mrs. Right just hasn’t made herself known. Guess she misses out.
I try to tell myself it’s her loss, whoever she is. But I know it’s slowly killing me inside.
For twenty years I’ve waited and watched. Traveled the whole world on business, looking for her.
I’m starting to think maybe she doesn’t exist. That this whole idea of waiting for the one is just wishful thinking.
One more stupid dinner, then maybe I’ll just buy a mountain, go live in a cave.
But what I see through the glass of my office door when I turn to go. Out there in the reception area.
It makes my heart stop.
I stand, froze.
Glued to the spot. I feel my jaw dropping and an involuntary sound escapes me as I study her bent over, trying to pick up folders but kicking them further away.
I’ve never been an ass man.
But I can see now it’s because I’ve never come across the perfect ass.
Until this very moment.
I never knew I had a ‘type’ either, only that every woman who ever tried to get past more than a handshake and a kind word did nothing for me.
But her.
She’s here!
I blink, shake my head, and force myself to grip the handle and pull the door open.
I’m drawn to her without even having seen her face, her front. She could have a god damned beard for all I know.
For all I care.
She’s perfect. I just know she is.
I know in an instant that I’ve got a chance at something I’ll never have again. A chance meeting?
I don’t believe it.
I make my own results in this life, and I know what I see in front of me is going to be mine.
All mine. No matter what.
Each step I take gets more difficult, my dick getting harder with each pounding beat of my heart against my ribs. I feel my suit pants filled to capacity in three steps and know I’m gonna have to cover myself with something.
I’d prefer my dick to be covered
