He falls silent, but I can see the words still stacking up behind his teeth, all those logical arguments he’s prepared like soldiers waiting for the order to charge.
“I don’t want an objective assistant,” I tell him. My voice comes out softer than I intended, but I don’t try to correct it. “I wantyou. And I’m not going to let you use professionalism as a shield to avoid talking about what actually needs to be discussed.”
Something flickers across his face. Hope and fear and pain, all tangled together in an expression that makes my chest ache.
“Phoenix—”
“We crossed a line. Multiple lines. Lines that can’t be uncrossed.” I set down my mug on the arm of the chair, turning to face him fully. “I’m not going to pretend that didn’t happen. And I’m not going to let you pretend it was some heat-induced hallucination that we can file away and never mention again.”
Mason’s grip on his tea mug has gone white-knuckled. “It wasn’t—I didn’t?—“
“What I said during my heat. And during yours.” I force myself to hold his gaze, even though everything in me wants to look away. “About wanting you. About you being the only real thing in my life. That was true. Not heat-talk. Not hormones. True before, during, and after.”
Mason’s composure cracks. Just a little. There’s a tremor in his jaw, a sheen in his eyes that he blinks away almost immediately. But I see it. I’ve spent three years learning to read the tiny variations in his carefully controlled expressions, and this one screamshope he’s afraid to feel.
“You’re my employer,” he says again, but the conviction has leached out of the words. “The logistics?—”
“Are real issues that need to be addressed. I’m not dismissing that.” I lean forward, closing some of the distance between us. “But you don’t get to use logistics as a reason to deny what we both feel. We can figure out the professional boundaries later, with clear heads and possibly a lawyer. Right now, I need you to stop hiding behind the employee handbook and talk to me like a human being.”
The silence stretches.
Mason stares at me with those storm-gray eyes, and I can see the war happening behind them. The part of him that’s spent three years maintaining perfect professional distance battling against the part that kissed me like I was oxygen and he was drowning.
Finally, he lets out a breath that seems to come from somewhere deep in his chest.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay.”
But I’m not done.
Because there’s something bigger than our blurred boundaries hanging between us. Something that’s been eating at me since I found out about Judah, a hurt I’ve been shoving down because Mason’s heat took priority and my own feelings seemed petty in comparison.
My voice goes quieter when I speak again. Mason recognizes the shift immediately. I see his spine stiffen, his expression go wary.
“Three years, Mason.” Each word lands deliberately, precisely. “Three years of sharing hotel rooms and late nights and every secret I have. And you never once told me you were bonded.”
He flinches like I’ve struck him.
“Phoenix—”
“I told you about Laurence.” The name tastes like ash in my mouth, but I force it out anyway. “I told you about my mother. Itold you about every fear and failure and fucked-up thing that’s ever happened to me. And you listened, and you helped, and you held my hand through panic attacks and bad reviews and all of it. But the single most important thing about yourself? You kept that to yourself.”
Mason’s face has gone pale. His tea sits forgotten in his lap, probably gone cold by now.
“It was a mistake,” he says, and his voice sounds hollow. “From when I was seventeen. The bond is effectively dead. It wasn’t relevant to our…relationship.”
I take a deep breath. “Bullshit.”
He recoils slightly at the word. “C’mon, Phoenix.”
“Can I tell you what I think?”
Mason just looks at me. “Have I ever been able to stop you from doing that.”
“Nope,” I chirp, ignoring the sarcasm.
“I’ve watched Judah for almost a week now.” My voice stays gentle, but firm. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. That man didn’t sleep at all during your heat. He just hung around nearby until I told him you wanted him. And when you finally did ask for him…Mason, the sound he made when he touched you. That wasn’t obligation or guilt. Orhorror.”
Mason takes a deep, shuddering breath. But he doesn’t speak.
