AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“See?” Camden said, sitting back in his chair. His smile was encouraging though, not smug. Camden might be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he never gloated. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.”
An image of Mason licking tiny, sparkling pieces of candied ginger from Addison’s skin flashed through his mind. Where in the actual fuck did that come from? Shoving it into a box at the back of his mind and slamming a lid down over it, he focused on the task at hand—undoing his fuck up.
“It’s incredible,” he agreed, gathering everything left on the plate into a final bite and closing his eyes as he chewed. Certainly a step or three above the Manor’s current breakfast pastry offerings.
Fuck.
Still smiling, Camden got up and headed toward the doorway. “Well, see you tomorrow night. Good luck with Gabriel and—” He paused, frowning. “What was her name? Allison?”
“Addison,” Mason corrected. Addison Walker, a truly gifted baker to whom he owed a genuine apology.
Mason trailed behind Camden until they reached the lobby. While his friend headed straight out the double front doors and off toward the parking lot, Mason made his way upstairs instead. He hoped he’d find her up on the third floor. If she already said fuck it and left, Gabriel would probably poison his next dinner. Or, even worse, follow through on his threat and quit.
At the far end of the second-floor hallway, Mason pushed open the last door, heading up what had once been the servant’s stairs. The enclosed staircase did a one-eighty halfway up, before finally letting him out at one end of the long, narrow third-floor hallway. No guests ever came up here, which allowed for a more relaxed atmosphere than the rest of the house—a sharp counterpoint to the old-world elegance and rich decadence of the lower floors.
The soft gray of the birch hardwood floors went perfectly with the light blue walls. Photos of the Manor in different seasons hung within simple black frames. The overall effect was incredibly soothing, something they all needed from time to time when dealing with difficult guests.
Though someone had plugged cheap, ugly nightlights into almost every outlet down the length of the hall. He’d have to talk to housekeeping about removing those. They threw off the whole ambiance.
For now, though, he had much more important matters to deal with. Mason frowned at the eight closed doors lining the hallway, four on each side. Where would Gabriel have put her?
Three of the rooms were obviously out. One was the office where Zach sorted all the applications of potential guests into different categories for the Doms to look through. When one of them chose a new guest, he put his name at the top of the first page and left the application in the Accepted box so Zach could send out one of his fancy, handwritten acceptance letters. If, on the other hand, a Dom knew the applicant wasn’t for him, he put his name on the bottom of the final page. Once all five Doms passed, Zach sent out a polite rejection instead.
Another door led to a large break room, complete with a leather sofa and matching overstuffed chairs, a full-size fridge stocked with drinks and snacks, and a seventy-five-inch flatscreen—the only TV in the house.
The last door on the left led to what was a bedroom once upon a time. In the seven years since the Manor opened, it turned into a giant storage closet, with several rolling racks and boxes of costumes for various types of roleplay; spare sheets, pillows, and duvets; assorted seasonal decorations not currently in use; and even bankers boxes full of financial documents from previous years.
Which left five possible bedrooms for Addison. Wanting to get this over with, Mason strode down the corridor, knocking on the doors as he passed. He’d taken two steps beyond a door in the middle of the hall when it swung open behind him. Turning in a slow, dignified manner, Mason faced the blond baker.
At least she didn’t scowl at him like she had downstairs, though she certainly didn’t look happy to find him knocking on her door. She leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her stomach, eyes cool and assessing, chin lifted in a clear challenge. “Can I help you?” she said, her voice as cold as her eyes.
Fuck, she really was beautiful, her hazel eyes an incredible mix of green, blue, and gold that seemed to change color in different light. Soft tendrils of hair escaped her bun and framed her face, curling slightly at the ends. And her lips...so full and soft and perfect, he found himself wishing she was a guest, not an employee. As a guest, he’d likely be able to join in one of her scenes. But as an employee, his chances of kissing those perfect lips stood distressingly close to zero.
Especially since she hated his guts.
Realizing the silence had already dragged on far too long, he said, “I want to apologize for my behavior downstairs. I assure you it had nothing to do with you or your food.”
She arched her honey blond brows at him and waited, not saying a word.
Seriously? For fuck’s sake. Why not just take the win and move on?
Dragging a hand through his hair, he forced himself to add, “I was in a bad mood and felt like complaining. I did try your cinnamon roll after you left, and it was delicious. Clearly the, uh”—Jesus Christ, this was awkward—“the Cinnabon comment was uncalled for. Again, I apologize.”
“Hmm.” She pursed her lips again, but some of the tension eased out of her shoulders. “Which one are you exactly?”
“Mason St. John,” he said, holding out a hand.
Addison looked down her perfect nose at his hand for several agonizing seconds before finally shaking it. “Pleasure.” She said it like it was anything but. “Now if you’ll excuse me. Since it seems I’m staying after all, I’d better finish unpacking. See you around.” With that, she slammed the door in his face.
Staring at the white-painted wood, he clenched and unfurled his hands several times. Every dominant bone in his body longed to crash through that door and turn Addison Walker over his knee.
Yes, he’d been rude. But he fucking apologized for it. Maybe he could’ve done a little bit better with some time to plan out the wording, but really, what more did she want from him?
And not for nothing, he was partial owner of the Manor, which made him her fucking boss. Social norms weren’t always his strong suit, but he was almost sure an appropriate response would’ve been to politely accept his apology and agree they could start over from scratch.
Yet here he was, glaring at a door only inches from the tip of his nose, his palm itching to dole out a punishment he couldn’t deliver. Especially since he knew virtually nothing about her. What if she wasn’t a sub, or even kinky?
With one more long, slow exhale, he stepped away and headed back toward the stairs. With any luck, she just wanted revenge for the way he ruined her big entrance downstairs. He supposed that was only fair.
