Nina
I have no idea how long I’ve been walking, but when I arrive at my apartment, the sun has set, leaving the streetlights as my only guide.
The apartment is exactly as I left it. It hasn’t been touched since the day after we got back from Paris.
Paris.
Looking down at my bangle, I turn it over and thumb the words with a bitter smile on my face. It seems like a lifetime ago now, and the reminder of the weekend we shared makes his betrayal hurt that much deeper.
If there is one thing I do know, it’s that the look in his eyes as he watched me leave was one of pure regret. If there is one thing I truly know about Mase–and maybe it makes me a naive fool–it’s that he would never intentionally hurt me. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
If my mother taught me anything, it was the fact shedidn’tcare; my hurt didn’t penetrate her like it should a mother. She could hurt me in one second then leave me the next—probably to go towork.
She never showed me a scrap of remorse.
So the look in Mason’s eyes, although I might not be used to it, I sure as hell know what it means. Because when he hurts, I hurt, and I saw that reflected in his eyes today. He cares, he hurts, and he shows remorse.
And I have no idea how to deal with that.
Mase
The belt of the treadmill flashes under my feet as it swirls around at a ferocious pace. My chest burns with every kilometre I hit, my body dripping with sweat as I push myself harder than I know I should. But I can’t stop. If I stop, I will go to her, and she’s not ready for that yet.
Nina left five days ago, and she isn’t answering her phone or her door. I’ve found Lucy and Megan useless. They won’t allow me anywhere near her right now. The radio silence was anticipated. I never expected her to stay. I wished she would, just once, but her pride would never allow her to.
I make it into the office early and throw myself into work for the day, knowing it’s the distraction I need. I don’t get a single interruption for three hours, and I know it’s George’s doing.
He seems to have picked up on my mood.
“Mason, I have Lance,” his voice chirps through the intercom.
“Send him in.”
My hand runs over my mouth as I stare down at the photo on my desk. It was taken in Paris. Nina is smiling at the camera, and you can tell she has turned and caught me by the way the dimple pops on her full cheek.
“Lowell.”
Lifting my eyes, I nod my head in greeting. “I told Charles and Elliot,” I tell him, straight to the point. Standing, I slide my hands into my pockets and round my desk, leaning back against it. “About Marcus.”
I knew Lance would be pissed about me telling them, but I also know he will back me. He always has.
“Right, and what now?” Lance asks, rolling his lips.
“Nothing, Charlie wants all we have, but otherwise, nothing changes.”
He nods his head. “Does Nina know?”
“No, and I want it to stay that way. I won’t have her involved.”
“I agree.”
“Agree with what?” Elliot asks, walking into the office, Charlie following in behind, both looking sharp in their Armani suits.
“I don’t want Nina to know–in fact.” Pushing off from the desk, I step closer to them, eyeing them all. “It goes no further than here. I won’t have anyone else dragged into this. Understand?”
Lance nods in understanding, and Elliot gives me a wink. “Pixie promise, mate.”
“Prick,” I tell him, unamused. Charlie stands statue-still, his hands in his pockets not saying a word. “Charles?”
