I laugh and press the heels of my hands into my eyes and just... sit with it. The terror. The free fall. The absolute, bone-deep certainty that I have made the worst decision of my life.
And then there's the Beaumont Patisserie deal.
It's been sitting in the back of my skull since Knox confessed to it. When I force myself to really look at it, a partnership like that could be a hell of an option. But my brain keeps circling back to the same nagging question:
Did anyone at Beaumont Patisserie actually see my work?
I'm grateful Knox tried to help, but I refuse to be a charity case. I just rejected an investment firm; I am not about to accept a partnership just because my alpha asked his cousin for a favor. If Dorian Beaumont's name is going on a contract, I need to know someone from that company actually looked at what I've built with my own two hands and decided it was worth something.
The hold music cuts out for a second and my heart lurches, but it's just a gap in the loop. The jazz comes back. My phone screen dims.
1%.
I stare at it, then pick up the phone, my hands still shaking.
I open my browser, find the Beaumont Patisserie corporate page, copy the email for their wedding division, and open a new draft. I type a frantic, direct message and hit send before my phone turns off.
The blue loading bar crawls. Inches forward. Stalls.
Come on.
It moves again. Pixel by pixel. The slowest, most agonizing loading bar in the history of technology.
Come on, come on, come on—
The progress bar barely has time to vanish before the screen turns black.
34
Mason
I'm surrounded by exposed studs in a half-finished kitchen extension on Laurel Lane, and I cannot get my brain to stay inside this room.
It keeps drifting all the way to Chicago, where Beth has rushed. And every time I try to pull my focus back to the header joist, her face is right there behind my eyes.
The way she looked last night. When her heat hit out of nowhere and we stepped in, running on nothing but instinct and the sound of her voice telling usmore.
When the heavy dose of suppressants finally kicked in, all three of us told us we'd take a full day off and drive her to Chicago. But she didn't want to hear any of it. So all I could do was lie there in the tangled wreckage of her bed, fighting every single screaming instinct in my body that wanted to chase her down and fix the entire world for her.
I put the tape measure down.
Focus.
I've got maybe an hour of work left on this extension. Crown molding in the bathroom, final check on the cabinet framing,then I'm done and I can head home, shower, change, and drive to the rehearsal venue with Arthur and Knox.
That's it, the thing I should focus on now is my best friend's wedding. Beth will be fine, she can take care of herself. Maybe I should just try to find the perfect finish to my toast and—
My phone buzzes on the sawhorse behind me. Ben's name's on the screen.
I wipe my hands on my jeans and pick up.
"Hey."
"Mason. Hey. Are you—" Ben's voice is tight and there's music and voices in the background. "Are you busy right now?"
"Finishing up on Laurel Lane. What's going on?"
"Okay. So." He exhales. "Beth's rental car broke down."
