Page 53 of Your Masked Haunting

Rich prick.

His golden-brown eyes are full of joy when he finally manages to suppress his laughter and hold my gaze. “My name’s Casper.”

Shrugging, I try to find a middle ground between playful and professional, pinching my hand behind my back. “It was close though, right?”

The tip of his tongue runs across his top lip as he inhales, and I find myself watching it, tracking every movement before it disappears back inside his mouth.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me, Myra?”

Okay, now he’s just begging for my true self to come out. His purposeful mistake means that he knows the real thing, and I may be his employee, but it’s still shocking. Granted, I think he hit on me at Moore’s Crafts before he was aware that I worked here, but he had to learn it somehow. Probably from Clara on the walk over here.

“Point taken,” I bite out through my teeth, confused at why I feel so … animalistic right now. I want to pounce on him, sink my claws in. But I have a feeling he'd probably like that, and I don’t want to please that man for a second. “Well, you’d better catch up with your sister. After all, it isn’t a royal tour without the other half.”

A slow blink and roll of his brow, he opens and closes his mouth, unsure what to say. When he speaks, his voice is softer. “A royal tour.” He scoffs. “Cambrie’s the only one with a crown.”

“And she’s the only one with the accounts? Or do you get that benefit just because of your name?” I snap, crossing my arms. An invisible hand grabs my throat, self-loathing sinking in my skin. I know I’m being a bitch. Part of that is just who I am. The other part is … jealous and scared. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. I’m sorry.”

Where is that bridge again?

My eyes fall to his tennis shoes, my throat closing up. I feel myself slipping away, shrinking into the back of my mind. “Mr. Ridley, you have been very kind and generous. I’m sorry for lashing out. That was wrong.”

The shoes move, striding closer to me, and I look up, scanning his body as I go. Black sweatpants. A baggy black sweatshirt. Sharp jaw. Bright eyes. Kept brows. Messily styled blond hair, like only someone who’s done it a million times before can pull it off. He’s objectively attractive.

He’s fucking hot, and you know it.

I argue back with myself. But it doesn’t matter because we have a boyfriend. Or a guy that is … close.

“Mona”—he holds his hands up in surrender, as if he isn’t the one with all the power—“if I can call you that?” I nod, and he continues, “I don’t like a yes man. If I wanted someone close to me who kissed my ass, I’d talk to Brett in makeup.”

“He would do more than just kiss your ass.” I slap my hand over my mouth, my eyes wide. “Wait, you want me close to you?”

Casper’s cheek twitches with amusement, pulling into a confident smirk. “In some ways, I already feel closer to you than I do some of my friends.”

Okay, you fucking weirdo.

Ooh, maybe I could use this to my advantage and get a raise at some point. Jot that down in my mental notebook.

“You’re very nice.” I appeal to his need for assurance. “I’m always here to tell you like it is.”

“No sugarcoating.” He chuckles, stating a fact rather than a question. “I’d expect nothing less.”

I never thought I’d say this happily but … “I’ve gotta go. I’ve got a kid’s face to paint.”

I shrug, turning my attention to the little girl in a rainbow dress and a black tutu, wearing little black gloves. She is certainly a vibe.

He bites down on his bottom lip, nodding and conceding. “Catch you later, Mona.”

Spinning on his heel, he heads to the main house, and I grab my palette, ready to bring whatever this icon wants to life.

Is this little girl who I would’ve been in another life if I had grown up in a family like hers, loving and accepting? A sassy ball of attitude who somehow already knows who she is.

While I paint a unicorn with a rainbow coat and black hair on her cheek, she tells me all about her pet lizard who doesn’t love her as much as she loves him. She spends the few minutes we have together unloading some of her family drama and some dirt on her brother, who’s been cursing behind their parents’ backs lately.

Her mouth is like mine—off the leash. I love it.

Flipping the mirror over, I reach over her shoulder from behind her. “Have a look.”

She gasps, a shriek tearing from her a second later. “Oh my God! It’s perfect!” I have to lean away from her so her scream doesn’t hurt my ears. “I love it! I love it! I love it! Thank you!” Hopping off the stool, she rushes down the step and straight toward her parents. “Look! Look!”