“I told you yesterday. Mr Peterson wants to meet with me and Sean first thing,” I remind him.
“I’ll call Christian—”
I cut him off. “No. I will be really angry with you if I get a call from him cancelling, so no, but when we’re done we’re heading straight to you so pencil me in for eleven o’clock and we’ll christen your new temporary space,” I say, referring to his office on the floor below the flat as I am about to start the full renovation on his real office having already planned it and ordered everything I need for it.
“Okay.” I hear his reluctant huff that I know will be accompanied by a pout. “Keep your pants on,” he adds, making me laugh.
“Forever or…”
“Just until I can remove them with my teeth,” he replies, making me laugh again.
“You have yourself a date, but if I am going to be on time for it I really, really need to go.”
“Okay,” he says again. “And we have a date tomorrow afternoon with my family.” His announcement startles me. “My sister is having a baby shower of all things, at my mother’s house and everyone is expected to attend.”
“Mason, you are expected to attend, not me. I can entertain myself on a Saturday afternoon.” A visit to a baby shower full of people I don’t know is my idea of hell.
“You could, but you won’t need to entertain yourself because you are coming with me. We can argue about it later if you want,” he offers, meaning I can protest, he will refuse to take no for an answer and tomorrow I will be going to a baby shower.
“I hate pregnant women.” I frown, getting out of bed, but he just laughs. “And I hate families,” I add, although it’s only really my own family I hate. “And I really, really hate babies,” I lie.
“Baby, you might hate pregnant women and families but I would put money on the fact that you don’t hate babies, it’s hormonal,” he says, sounding more sexist than anyone I have ever met, but he is right, not that I will admit that, yet.
“Well on your own head be it if I tear heads of fluffy bunnies or eat someone’s precious bundle.”
“Duly noted. Eleven o’clock, complete with all underwear, don’t be late.”
I grin as I hang up and wonder how I, someone like me, someone so damaged and undeserving, got to be this happy, to have found someone as good as Mason, but I have. As quickly as my grin curves my lips upwards my inner demons dissolve it as I question how long this can really last.
Chapter 23
Mason
Glancing to my left I see Olivia nervously wringing her hands in her lap and I hate that she is so concerned about meeting my family, although I know they will love her. I wonder whether I should have introduced her to a few more members before today in such a crowded environment, but they’re expecting her and know she is important to me.
“Olivia, please don’t worry, it will be fine. They’re nice, most of them.” I am using my best reassuring voice as I stretch across and squeeze her knee.
“This is big though, and we are so new,” she says with enough nervousness that I think she is going to cry so pull over into a fast food restaurant where I park at the furthest point of the car park.
Once parked I reach over to undo her seat belt and then my own before taking her hand, urging her over to my lap. Olivia almost leaps into the space between me and the steering wheel where she quickly settles into my embrace. I kiss her temple gently before pushing her back slightly so she is forced to look at me and I can talk to her, properly, to reassure her.
“Talk to me, Olivia. What is so worrying about meeting my family?” I study her face, searching for some kind of clue about how she is feeling and why.
“What if they don’t like me?” Her voice is a near whisper and her face is so sad that it makes me want to pull her close, take her home and keep her all to myself where nobody will ever be able to make her think they don’t like her.
“Why wouldn’t they?” I’m clueless as to why anybody wouldn’t like her.
She shrugs, making me frown at her lack of words. I need words from her, to understand why this, today, is such a big issue. Moreover, I want to know why she can’t see that there is nothing about her to dislike, that she is quite possibly the nicest, most likeable person in the world.
“Sometimes people don’t like people, they just don’t, and I am not good with people. I seem to naturally bring out the worst in them.”
I am staring at her, dumbfounded that she not only thinks she brings out anything but the best in people but worse still is that she’s completely resolute in this belief and is in no way fishing for compliments. She really believes this about herself.
“Baby, I don’t want to pay you platitudes that you interpret as being disingenuous, but you really are the most likeable person I know,” I tell her with complete sincerity.
“Isn’t that because I fucked you on the night we met? And I did it very well if memory serves me right.” I grin at her calmer, more confident poise as well as the memory of the night we met.
“That may have influenced me initially and I would have to say that as good as that night was you have fucked me better since we added names to the arrangement. Look, if you don’t want to do this today, really don’t want to I will call my mum and make an excuse, it’s not a problem.”
