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I feel an unexpected tingle at the casual familiarity with which he says that. He does that a lot these days, makes these observations about me like he knows me.
Because he does.
I realize that in spite of everything, I’ve opened up to Mason more in these last several weeks more than I have to anyone else in years. Probably because he makes me feel safe.
A few times when I’ve had a particularly stressful day, he’s asked if I was okay, without me saying a word. When we meet up to review the plans for the campaign, he arrives with dark roast coffee with half and half and one sugar. Exactly how I like it.
It feels so couple-y. It feels so right. And that’s what’s wrong.
All of my life, I’ve made a practice of keeping things casual. Of withdrawing when things start to feel real. But I can’t withdraw because he’s my client, and he’s also more than that.
What he is, exactly, I won’t let myself speculate.
I’ve been silent too long. Mason clears his throat. “Hello, earth to Rowan. We’re having dinner together, by the way. Tonight. That’s why I was asking what you are wearing.”
“Having dinner, as in going out to dinner together? We can’t do that,” I protest. “I can’t be seen with you in public.”
“Ouch.” But he’s laughing.
I let out a sigh of exasperation. “It’s nothing personal, for heaven’s sake. It’s just that you’re hideous and embarrassing and I don’t want anyone to think I’m dating you. I’m a solid eight and a half on a good day, and you’re barely a four at your best. The numbers just don’t work.”
“You’re a twelve, and I’m the lucky ten who’s going to meet you at your doorstep in half an hour. If you don’t want anyone to recognize you, wear a disguise or something. I’ve booked a table at a very nice restaurant, it’s only fifteen minutes from your place, and to make this an offer you can’t refuse, I have important work matters to discuss.”
“Did you seriously just callyourselfa ten?” But he’s already hung up.
And how presumptuous is he? He thinks he can just snap his fingers and I’ll jump?
Hmph. I’ll show him.
Precisely twenty-nine minutes later, because he can never just be on time, he has to be early, he rings my doorbell.
When I throw the door open, he does a double take. “You can’t be serious.”
“What?” I demand.
“Rowan...” He shakes his head. “I have no words.”
“And yet you’re speaking.”
“What sane woman even has this kind of thing on hand, in her apartment?” He waves his hands at me. “You are certifiable.”
“I mean, you never know when one of these things will come in handy.”
“Handy for what?” Mason pins me with a suspicious scowl.
“Terrifying door-to-door salesmen.”
Okay, maybe I went too far, but his reaction was worth it.
I pretend to fluff my hair. “You don’t like it?”
Mason narrows his eyes at me. “It’s several sizes too big for you, so obviously you were planning on making me wear it.”
I just smile and blink innocently.
He heaves a sigh and shakes his head. “You know, some women would have greeted me at the door in the outfit you described earlier. Lingerie and heels.”
“I think we’ve already established that I’m not ‘some women.’”
