Page 45 of Meet Mason, the Billionaire

“Yes, waiting for us.”

“Good.”

I led the way into the office. I pushed the door open and found Theresa the assistant manager seated behind the desk. I couldn’t help but smile. That was a bit of extraterritoriality on her part, as well as a thumb of her nose to Martin.

She had to know she was facing some sort of dressing down, or at least an inquiry. Instead, she was acting like she was the one in control.

“Who are you?” She said with a scowl. “This is a restricted area. You need to get back to a place that’s meant for guests.”

I laughed. She was just proving me right every time she opened her mouth. With every move she made, like choosing to sit behind the desk.

“Theresa, mind your manners!” Martin gently nudged into the office past me and glared at her. “This is Mason Wilder. The owner of the Rafferty Hotel.”

Her eyes bugged out of her pallid face in a way that shouldn’t have been quite so pleasing to me.

“Mr. Wilder.” She stood up and pumped my hand. “It’s truly an honor.”

I laughed again, puzzling her. She didn’t even realize how much trouble she was in. Theresa was trying to campaign for a promotion by sucking up.

“Theresa, I said. “Take a good look at my face.”

Her jaw fell open. “You—you were here earlier. With that riff-raff and that awful woman who sprayed the officer in the face.”

“Yes, so when you called the police on us, you called the police on the owner of the business that you are employed at.” I cocked an eyebrow. “I’m curious as to why you didn't even talk to us. If you thought we were riff-raff, why not just ask us to leave?”

“I was afraid,” she said snidely. “I had every right to call the police.”

“Your job is de-escalation, Theresa,” Martin said. “Instead, you did the opposite and escalated. Don’t you know how bad it is for business for guests to see the police in the building? It makes them think bad things happen here.”

“As this hotel’s owner, I was well within my rights to redecorate the lobby as I saw fit. You made no attempt to speak to us, or even to call Martin before you escalated to calling the cops.”

“So what is this?” She asked with a frown. “Am I—am I in trouble?”

“I’d say so,” Martin said.

She scoffed. “What total bullshit. Any front desk manager would have done the same thing that I did. I was only performing my duties.”

I shook my head. “You know, Theresa, when I first came in the door this afternoon, I wasn’t going to terminate you. I thought this could be a learning experience and get you up on the level of what we expect here at the Rafferty. But based on your attitude and the unwillingness to even entertain the possibility that you were somehow at fault—”

Not to mention you called my girlfriend ‘that awful woman’.

“—I have no choice but to give you your walking papers.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. She strutted over to the desk and got her purse, a snow globe, and a fountain pen.

“These are mine,” she snapped on her way out the door. Martin and I laughed, but it was cut short when she returned.

“I bought this too,” she said, snatching a Travis Tritt mousepad you couldn’t get rid of on a bet.

I returned to the limo, and Megan snapped my photo as I climbed in.

“Well, this has been one heck of a date,” she said.

“Oh, does this count as a date?”

“I think it kind of has to.”

Her stomach grumbled, loud, and I realized that it had been a while since I’d eaten as well.

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