Page 10 of Meet Mason, the Billionaire

“Are you?”

“Oooh,” I said with an appreciative smile. “Batting the ball back into my court, I see. All right. Well, I’m the wrong person to ask, because I have enough problems following the rules that are actually written down to worry about the unwritten ones.”

“Good answer.”

“So, what about you? I bounced the ball back over the net. You have to try and return.”

“Oh, so we’re sticking with this tennis conceit?”

“It’s working, isn’t it?”

He laughed, a merry sound which contained just a touch of nervousness.

“I suppose so. The truth is, I wanted to talk to you again. I haven’t been able to get you off my mind.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls willing to bang in an empty office.” I was being flip, but my heart fluttered at the idea he might have been sincere.

He chuckled, but it sounded forced.

“You make it sound like I’m banging girls in offices all the time.”

“Well, if the shoe fits, as the saying goes.”

I instantly regretted letting those words slip out of my mouth. I was afraid he would be offended.

“If I were, would I be talking to you now? I’m not going to pretend like I’m a blushing virgin—”

“Obviously not,” I interjected. We both guffawed appropriately.

“But the truth is, I don’t really ‘date’.”

“Why not?”

“Mostly my work. I have crazy hours, and it’s not like I can always work a nine to five shift and be home for dinner every night. That, and well, quite frankly, I’ve been waiting for the right woman to come into my life.”

My heart thudded once, very hard, and then seemed to stop beating for a few seconds before thudding even harder. I was light headed to the point of being dizzy.

“Careful with that kind of talk, Mason. You shouldn’t say things like that unless you mean them.”

A long intake of breath, then “I’m sorry if that came across as creepy. I mean, technically, we haven’t even gone on a date yet—which is why I’m calling you.”

“Oh?” I had to sit down on my battered chair or I would have fainted. I took a long drink of Dr. Pepper and tried to get my breathing under control.

“Yes. I was wondering if you’d like to spend some time with me tomorrow evening.”

“I’d like that very much,” I said. “Just…”

“Just what?”

“Nothing. What time?”

“What time is good for you?”

“I have to pick up a shift at Charlie’s tomorrow morning, but I’m free in the afternoon.”

“Would six o’clock be agreeable to you?”

I did the math in my head. “Yes, it would.”

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