Page 17 of Mason

I stab at a chunk of orange fruit with my fork and hold it up for inspection. Then draw it close to my nose and take a sniff.

Mason regards me with cool amusement.

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “What kind of fruit is this?”

“Passion,” he says.

My mouth goes dry and my nipples stiffen. “Oh.”

After a few moments of silence, Mason dabs his mouth with a crisp white linen napkin. “Did you enjoy it?”

I tilt my head in confusion.

“The passion,” he says.

Not for the first time, I find myself speechless, and my thoughts turn to my sister for distraction. Renee would know how to handle this situation. She’d have a flippant reply, some kind of clever response. Her flirtatious instinct is clearly a characteristic she picked up from Dad, while I’m more like my mother—awkward, shy, reserved. Dad was her first boyfriend, and there’s been only a few men around since their divorce.

I shift in my seat, igniting the stinging sensation in my buttocks, still feeling the lingering effects of Mason’s palm on my ass. “I did. But I suppose I’ll only get to have it this one time.”

Mason’s eyes flash. “Then again, life always takes unexpected twists and turns.”

The dual meaning of our conversation doesn’t go unnoticed, but rather than engage in further verbal innuendo, I choose to quit while I’m ahead. This conversation has already jarred me out of my comfort zone and I’m apt to blow it.

Besides, Mason was so clear that we are to remain professional from now on. Whatever it was that happened between us, the man didn’t want anymore of it.

Not from me, anyway.

I finish eating and return to my notes, focusing on the numbers and statistics that will form distinct patterns and help to predict trends. Renee always says I have a knack for making numbers dance. Fitting, since my heart feels like its trapped in an endless pirouette.

Push aside my conflicting feelings about Mason, and I can dig down to the root of my fluttering nerves. I’m doing this—learning how to be a day trader with one of the world’s most successful hedge funds and the hottest trader on the planet. It’s hard not to get excited.

No, the circumstances aren’t perfect. Mason is intimidating and relentless.

But at least I’m here.

I glance up and study Mason’s chiseled jaw. The way it tenses and relaxes as he scrolls through his phone, flicking his thumb across the small keyboard with lightening precision. Is he completing a transaction right now? As the ocean sprawls out beneath us, has Mason just completed a multi-million-dollar trade?

My chest tightens with excitement.

But then the plane takes a sharp nosedive and my stomach flips. As we begin our descent, it strikes me that I still have absolutely no idea where we’ll land—and for the first time in my life, I’m actually thrilled to not know what’s going to happen next.

Chapter 10

Lucas and Holden are not what I expect. And it’s clear from their terse handshakes and tight-lipped fake smiles that they aren’t expecting me at all.

Lucas barely looks at me, which allows me to stare brazenly at the black t-shirt not quite hidden by his suit jacket. An odd pairing, perhaps, but it certainly works for him. He runs his hand through his hair, as if to remove any of my germs transferred in our brief exchange. “This is unexpected, Mason.”

By this, I think he means me, and while there’s obviously something attractive about Lucas, I form an instant opinion of distaste. It’s easy to see how the three have remained friends—a cool, impersonal aura threads through them like antifreeze—but while Lucas and Holden are gorgeous in their own right, neither of them makes my stomach flutter with anticipation. I don’t long for them to smack my ass until I writhe under an orgasm that makes my knees go weak.

Still, it’s clear why they’ve earned their Playboy reputations.

Within a few minutes of entering the hotel lobby, several women have cast lustful glances their way—and daggers of jealousy at me.

“Staff are not generally permitted on this particular retreat,” Holden says, by way of explanation. The words are aimed at me, but he looks at Mason instead, his eyes reflecting a quiet challenge I suspect has been the foundation for a friendship marked with a constant battle of the wits. As much as they are the same, their differences begin to seep through. I catalogue them for future reference, pegging Lucas as a hothead and Holden the brooding macho man.

An explosive dynamic if not carefully managed.

Mason’s spine visibly stiffens. “Miss Landers is my new personal assistant, effective this morning. There wasn’t time to brief her before this trip, so I invited her to join us. She won’t be in the way.”