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“You said you’re having lunch with Mason today?” he questions with a slight shake of the head. “He’s not in.”
The elevator pings and he breezes past me as he strides out and into the foyer of the finance department.
The receptionist wasn’t lying?
“Wait!” I yell before the doors can close. I rush forward on shaky legs, putting my hand between the doors and reaching for his jacket. I don’t grasp it, but he does turn when he hears me.
He comes to a stop on the marble tile and shifts so he’s looking down at me. “What do you want?”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Mason isn’t here? Are you messing with me?”
He watches me, his eyes flicking between my own before he looks to the ceiling and curses. Then he takes off toward the other end of the floor with long, purposeful strides.
Did Mason forget? Why wouldn’t he tell me he was going to miss lunch? Why would he embarrass me like that?
“You,” Lance calls, poking his head around the doorframe. “Come here.”
My feet carry me in his direction, but I have no idea why. I’d rather go home, spend the day with Dad and cut the grass in Mum’s garden.
I need to leave.
As I reach the room at the end of the corridor, I see that what was once an empty space on this floor is now an office. I remember playing in this room when I was a child. Years of Dad bringing us here after school when Frey couldn’t pick us up or watch us.
“Here.” Lance holds out a phone to me, his face as hard as stone despite the kind gesture. “Use the phone and call him.”
I give him a sad smile, realising he doesn’t know a single thing about my family. Stepping further into the room, I cast my eyes over the furniture. “My brother cut open his finger on that door.” I point at the bathroom that sits in the back of the luxury office space. “We were playing hide-and-seek—they didn’t use this floor for years when they first bought the building. Anyway, our friend Elliot was seeking, and Mason and I were in the bathroom. I hid in the shower, but Mase stood at the door watching, a shit-eating grin on his face because we’d been hidden for ages. Elliot came to the door, and Mase wouldn’t let him in, so Elliot started to push against it. Just as Mase curled his hand around the latch, Elliot yanked it open. Our dads were so mad at us.”
My gaze is fixed on the lock, the memory vivid.
When did we stop making those memories? Why can’t I remember the last time we were brought here, instead taken by our driver to the estate to fend for ourselves? I was ten. Mason fourteen. He didn’t want to play with me at that age, and I spent the majority of my time on the estate alone while he was in his room. I’d paint—not that I was any good—or read or keep up with the things Dad never got around to—Mum’s garden.
Being an oblivious child is utterly underrated.
Lance moves in my peripheral, and I tear my eyes away, catching him laying the phone back in its cradle. “If there’s nothing else, I have work to do.”
I watch him as he gets comfortable at his desk, already focused on his screen.
He seems aloof. Cold and detached from the world around him. Although, he didn’t have to offer up his work phone or invite me into the office. It’s not his fault he doesn’t know that my brother won’t answer. He never does.
My eyes scan the office one more time, noting the size and decor, almost an exact replica of Mason’s. I clear my throat. “Will you call him from your own phone?”
He looks up from his screen, a black curl slipping down to dust his thick brow. “Me?”
“He’ll answer for you, right?”
“I’d fucking hope so.”
“Why? Because you’re his…” I search his desk for the standard, gold-plated name plaque.
Lance tips his chin, his pride clear. “His CFO.”
I pop an eyebrow. “Chief financial officer—impressive.”
“I’m more impressed you know what one of those is.”
Please. Someone get this guy a chair. He’s got to be tired from carrying this conversation. “So, I need to set my name to “Asshole CFO” in my brother’s phone to get an instant response. Good to know.”
When his face remains deadpan, I decide to leave.
