Page 56 of Unromance

“Yes,” Tess said emphatically. “I’m going to put a polish on your pitch and send it over to Emily this afternoon. Sound good?”

Sawyer nodded before remembering that Tess couldn’t see her. “Yes, I—yes. Thank you.” Even if they accepted this pitch, she still had to finish the draft and a round of edits to get paid. Only then would her bank account’s steady dwindling stop haunting her.

The taxi pulled over outside Mason’s building, and Sawyer slid the driver cash and told him to keep the change. No matter how broke she was, she wouldn’t not tip. She bade the driver a good day before stepping out onto the curb.

“Sawyer,” Tess said again, softly. Sawyer had the distinct impression Tess had been speaking that whole time and she’d completely zoned out, too happy and hopeful to process anything else. “I know this is an early draft, but it’s already really, really good. Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”

Mason appeared, wearing his usual gray coat and navy beanie, her smile widening as she met his gaze. “I don’t plan on it,” she promised.

“Good,” Tess said sternly. “Now get back to work.”

“Will do,” Sawyer said around a laugh before hanging up.

Mason smiled down at her, excited for her even though he had no idea why she was smiling. Yet another person in her corner. It had been so long, she didn’t know what to do with the feelings threatening to bubble over. Stretching up on her tiptoes, she flung her arms around his neck, making a point of keeping her hips away from his as she rocked from side to side happily.

If Mason found her exuberant greeting odd, he didn’t show it. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her back in a rib-crushing hug.

“Sorry I’m late,” she mumbled, pulling back.

He shook his head. “It’s fine. I called ahead and let them know. Who was that?” He jerked his head toward her phone.

The grin worked its way across her face again, and when Mason’s hand took up residence at the small of her back as they walked, she was fairly certain the grin was there to stay. “My agent. I sent her my proposal a few days ago, and she really liked it.”

Mason beamed down at her. “Of course she did. She has taste.”

Sawyer wrapped an arm around Mason, too happy to reply. It was a completely impractical way to walk, but neither of them stopped. If he stopped touching her, she may float away.

Mason’s steps slowed as they neared a boutique with faceless mannequins in the windows. He opened the door for her, and she simpered at the gesture before entering the store. Itsmelledexpensive. She barely had a moment to feel guilty about the snow sludge she’d tracked onto the gleaming tiled entryway before her attention was sucked in by the racks of gowns. Silky dresses, embroidered lace, dresses that sparkled like diamonds, dresses in every color of the rainbow. It was a riot of color and texture and somehow felt elevated in a way her explosion-of-color apartment never could.

“Dress-shopping montage is another cliché,” she muttered out of the side of her mouth as Mason came to stand beside her. “Add it to the list so we can cross it off.” Outside of Christmas dinner, they’d done a good job of sticking to the list. Well, that and when he brought her pho. Okay, they were doing a terrible job, but if she wanted to bend the rules—aka obliterate the cursed Rule #2—then she needed to stick to her other resolutions.

She couldn’t read the expression on Mason’s face before his PR Face slid into place at the sound of heels approaching. She hated that he felt like he always had to filter himself around other people, but she was grateful he never did it with her, at least.

“Mason!” A middle-aged woman in a fitted amethyst pantsuit approached them, arms extended toward him. She kissed him on both cheeks warmly.

“Celia,” he greeted. “Thank you for seeing us last minute.”

The older woman tittered. “Of course. Anything for Moira. Now, Mason, introduce me to your lovely lady.”

Sawyer started, too busy taking in Celia’s many rings and eyeshadow the same color as her suit. “I’m Sawyer,” she said after a beat. Extending her hand, she fumbled her way through an air-kiss when Celia leaned in instead.

“Beautiful,” Celia said, her eyes sweeping over Sawyer from head to toe.

That was generous. She’d gotten ready in the cab, finger-combing her hair and using her phone camera to apply lipstick and mascara between potholes.

They followed her to the back of the store, Celia taking their coats before settling Mason on a leather couch with a glass of champagne. When Celia’s back was turned, he pointed to the glass with boyish glee.

Sawyer repressed a smile, trying to channel Mason’s enthusiasm. She had never been big on shopping. She’d never really had the money to spare, her closet curated over many years of thrifting. Life as an author wasn’t exactly luxurious. The royalty payments were unpredictable and spent almost immediately on her one-bedroom apartment’s exorbitant rent.

Celia pressed a flute of champagne into her hand and instructedher to look around while she hung up their coats. Sawyer wandered along the racks, fingers trailing over the lush fabrics, occasionally pulling one out before slotting it carefully back into place. There were no price tags. The champagne did little to ease the dryness in her mouth.

“Mason,” she hissed, crossing over to him. “This is too much.”

He grinned up at her. “It’s one dress, Sawyer.”

She glanced around to ensure Celia wasn’t lurking nearby. “And how much does one dress here cost?”

Mason shrugged. “The price of my sanity at not having to go to this party alone. Now.” He shooed her away with a hand. “Put on something sexy for me.” He draped his arms along the back of the couch, champagne dangling casually from one hand as he sank deeper into the cushions, legs falling slightly open.

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