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“Among other things. A phase, time wasted, playtime, like I’m sitting in a sandbox.”
My heart constricts at the hurt in his voice. “They’re not supportive of you.”
“Not my entire family,” he concedes. “Mainly my grandfather, who runs the place with an iron fist.” He taps his fist against the table for emphasis. “His opinions are usually shared by all. My mother is grudgingly proud of me, but my father resents the fact I got out from under Grandfather’s thumb and he never could. My sisters think it’s cool, at least Riese does. Carter just wants me to relinquish my role of heir apparent and let her run everything. And I’m so cool with that, but Grandfather wants nothing less than the first-born son—grandson—running things when he finally goes. Which hopefully won’t be for a good long time,” he finishes.
“What about your father?” I want to know.
I want to know everything, because Mase is more than a problem I need to solve. He’s fascinating with all the sides to him—what the public sees, the love for his sport, the obvious drama within his family.
He’s a very interesting puzzle, and I’ve always liked putting them together.
“Dad does not have a head for business,” Mase says wryly. “He’s been pushed to the side and given a foundation to play with so it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t show a profit. It’s all about profits.”
“Doyouhave a head for business?”
Mase pauses before answering and I wonder if anyone has ever asked him that. Being the grandson of Gordon Stirling means the world assumes he’ll eventually turn to business, but has anyone asked his opinion on it? The thought makes me sad. “I think I do,” he says honestly. “I do a good job with this place. I’ve got a couple others. I think I can manage things without running the company into the ground. It’s tempting sometimes,” he admits with a sly smile. “To know that when I’m in charge, I could make it all go away. But I don’t think I could do that. I’ve got too much…” He hesitates, searching for the right word.
“Pride?”
He nods. “Self-respect. It’d be tempting to make the old man turn over in his grave, but I couldn’t do it. It doesn’t matter anyway, since my love for baseball is bigger than my head for business.”
“You lead with your heart instead of your head,” I point out.
“I do. But that sounds like it’s not something you agree with.”
“My heart makes mistakes,” I say in a cool voice because no one likes to be reminded of their mistakes. “My head rarely does.”
“Who was he?” he demands.
“What makes you think it was one person?” It was three, but I’m not about to tell Mase that. It was my unrequited love for Bradley Cooper—nottheBradley Cooper, but one who thought he was all that, and a bag of chips—that left me with a lack of self-respect that allowed him full reign over my heart and bed without getting much in return. When I finally drummed up the dignity to put an end to it, he shocked me by proposing. My answer was yes for only half a second.
Mase doesn’t need to know any of that because I like the way he’s looking at me, and it would stop if I tell him how much mental energy I wasted on Bradley.
“Who were they?” He sounds angry, which is puzzling because I don’t get the jealous possessive vibe, but rather that he’s genuinely upset that someone hurt me.
“They don’t matter,” I assure him. “But it’s not just relationships. I’ve spent too much time grieving my parents and worrying what they would think of my decisions when I should have realized that they would just want me to be happy.”
“You’d think that’d be mandatory for all parents, but nope.” He gives his head a quick shake. “That makes me sound like a poor little rich boy.”
“I don’t think so,” I muse. I definitely messed up on my initial assessment of Mase. I think. It’s possible I’m being blinded by a pair of pretty blue eyes and confounded by his heady cologne.
He does smell very good. We sit so close on the bench to hear each other that my dress will smell of him tomorrow.
I don’t mind that thought.
“I think you sound like a man who’s been hurt by people,” I say finally to get my mind off the distracting Mase scent. “You’re lucky to have found something to love that much.”
“Baseball hasn’t let me down yet, but it will,” he says sadly. “It’ll throw me over for someone newer. Someday.”
“But not today,” I assure him. “And not for a while.”
“Unless I keep drinking like this.” He lifts his empty glass and looks around for the waitress in her tight pink dress. “You, Ms. Fiona, are a bad influence.”
I laugh at the thought. “No one has ever said that.”
“You convinced Bexley to go on the show, and I’m sure that wasn’t the first time you influenced her about something.”
I give him a secretive smile. “There were a few times when we were growing up.”
