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She laughs. “Am I first? You must have been through the others and found out I’m the only single woman here. Not herehere.” She gestures with both hands to encompass the club. “Here—us. Bexley’s peeps.”
“They’re Grayson’s peeps, too. And Chrissa is single,” I protest. “I mean—”
“I don’t think Chrissa likes boys, but hey, go give it your best shot. I’ll forgo my turn.”
“This isn’t a turn. And I’m not flirting.” She blinks again, possibly with disappointment? I don’t think so. I don’t know what to think about her. “Okay, maybe I am, but it’s natural. It’s how I talk to women.”
She stares at me with those blue eyes, and it feels like she’s peering inside me, pushing aside all the big talk and bravado to see little old me in there. “At least you can talk to women. I get tongue-tied with men.”
“You’re talking to me.”
“You’re not a man. I mean, you are, but I’m not attract—” She pinches her lips closed.
“Attracted to me. Good to know.”
“I didn’t mean...”
“So you are attracted to me?”
Fiona’s mouth carves a thin line across her face, but I can see the way the corners begin to curve up. “This is why I don’t talk to men.”
“You should really start if you’re going to keep showing up in the men’s room.”
She laughs and something pops inside of me, the cork of a bottle of champagne.
I really like the sound of her laugh.
Chapter Four
Fiona
Adifferentwaitress,wearingthe same kind of skin-tight pink dress, takes our order. When she leaves, an uncomfortable silence drops between us like a bowling ball hitting the floor.
I’m sitting here, alone, with Mase Stirling. If this were a Regency romance, my reputation would be forever ruined.
If it were any other type of romance, women of all ages would be cheering for me. He’sthatgood-looking. Rich. Charming. Funny, apparently.Peoplemagazine called him the sexiest baseball player two years ago. He has Pinterest pages for his hair. The picture of him wearing an unbuttoned Twins jersey and a pair of boxer briefs almost broke the Internet.
I’m not attracted. Not. At. All.
“So,” Mase finally says. “You got a little stressed earlier? Anything I can do to help?”
“Oh, no.” I shake my head and keep shaking until hair swings against my cheeks. The heat, or the sheer stubbornness of my curls, have started to defeat the straightening iron and products I used. The wayward tendrils around my face have already started to kink. “It’s bad enough you found me where you found me. I’m not about to go into any issues I may, or may not, have with you.”
“What’s wrong with me?” He actually sounds offended, if you miss the slight quirk of his mouth. Which I notice because I happen to be staring at said mouth.
Look away, Fiona. Look away.“You’reMase Stirling,” I say like it’s not the most obvious problem in the world. “I heard the guy in the bathroom call you Mase Ace.”
“The full name is actually Gordon Thomas Mason Stirling.”
My eyes widen. “Gordon?”
“No one calls me that,” Mase explains. “Well, my grandfather tried once when I was four, but I ignored him because I thought he was talking to my father. Dad is Gordon Harrison Mason Stirling. He goes by Harry, except when my grandfather is angry, then it’s back to Gordon.”
“Is your grandfather often angry?” It’s not like I know the man; it’s like commenting on Jeff Bezos or Warren Buffett. Gordon Stirling owns technology firms, retail stores, and even a basketball team. I’ve seen pictures of the man; Mase-tall, tanned, with a full head of silver hair. He’s handsome, albeit a little scary stern, but now that I think of it, I’ve never seen him look happy.
That strikes me as very sad. One of the richest men in the world and unhappy.
“What do you think?” Mase asks with an uncharacteristic grimace.
