Page 11 of Meet Mason, the Billionaire

“Splendid.” He didn’t seem to know what to say after that. I didn’t know what to say, either. Normally you have at least the first date before you have sex. We’d gotten ahead of ourselves in a big way, and apparently it was uncharted territory for both of us.

I decided to get us both off the hook.

“Listen, Mason, I’m so glad you called me, really, but I was in the middle of a paying gig type of project when you called—”

“Say no more. I will monopolize your time no longer. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

The call ended and I sighed. I’d been telling the truth about the gig—the painting I worked on was destined to become the art for a collectible card game—but I doubted I would get much work done on it that night. One has to be in a certain state of mind for doom and gloom, and after Mason’s call, I certainly wasn’t feeling that.

I went to bed soon after, and awakened in the morning feeling like a kid on the way to the amusement park. My shift at the restaurant flew by, and I even made some really good tips. Which was good because I needed a new pair of shoes to match the dress I had in mind for my date with Mason.

I just had time to stop off in the thrift store and come out with a pair of beige leather heeled ankle boots. After tucking my hair under a cap, I took a quick bath, shaved my legs, and then figured what the hell and shaved between them, too. Just in case the date ended the way I hoped it would.

The dress I’d picked out was a muted rainbow split floral maxi with short sleeves and light, breezy material. A ruffled, glittery gold trim made an inverted V, matching the neck but pointed the opposite direction.

I added a light lavender felt gambler’s hat to complete the look, and smiled at myself in the mirror. My smile faded as I began to lose confidence in my choice.

It wasn’t that I didn’t look good. It was a good ensemble, damn it all. Rather, when I’d met Mason I was dressed in a black evening dress, and on the day of our date I’d chosen to go my usual bohemian route.

I was worried I’d gone withtoobohemian of a look, however.

“Maybe I should change,” I muttered when I heard a knock at my apartment door. “Fuck.”

I had spent so much time trying to get ready, I hadn't had a chance to clean up my loft. I called out ‘just a minute’ while I raced around picking up empty chip bags and water bottles. I put a lampshade on my bong and then opened the door.

“Hi,” I said, smiling through my panic when I saw how he was dressed. Mason looked like a male fashion model who’d just stepped off a men’s clothier ad. Dressed to kill, but very… conventional.

We didn’t match. We didn’t match at all, and I was afraid he would hate my dress even more.

“Hello,” he said, eyes shining as they took me in. “I love your dress.”

“Really?” I asked, my pulse racing. I wanted to believe him so bad.

“Yes, the pattern, the ruffle and the bottom, the boots, the hat—you look great. It’s obvious you could teach me a thing or two about style.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t lay it on too thick, Mason. It’s only the first date.”

“I’m afraid I have two modes,” Mason said. “Stop, and turbo speed.”

“Oh, that’s disappointing.”

It took him a moment to grasp my meaning, but when he did, his face split in a wide, sincere grin.

“Oh, I get it. Well, when it’s appropriate, of course, I’ve been known to take my sweet, sweet time.”

His eyes glowed with promise. I remembered the feel of his lips on my body, and suppressed a shudder.

Does this guy even know how hot he is? I don’t think he does. There’s a fun-loving, almost goofy vibe that dispels the male model thing.

Thank god, because he’d be insufferable if he acted like guys who look like him usually do.

He stepped back. “If you’re ready, shall we?”

I stepped out and locked my door before we walked out to the street. I couldn’t keep a smile off my face.

He likes my dress. I think he likes me, and isn’t just looking to get laid. That, or I’m making a huge mistake.

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