Page 47 of Meet Mason, the Billionaire

“I feel like that too, Mason. You make me feel like it’s okay to be me.” I blinked rapidly because I was feeling all emotional and I really didn’t want to cry in front of him. “I owe you so much for that, because no one else has ever made me feel that way. Well, not that I’ve dated, anyway.”

“I’m glad that I make you comfortable. Remember that in case my cooking turns out to be terrible.”

I laughed. “Oh, stop. You wouldn’t even suggest cooking if you were terrible at it.”

The elevator let us off in a short hallway. One direction led to a door marked ‘roof access’ and the other had elegant numbers denoting it 51-A.

I noticed something right off the bat. No doorknob.

“How do you get inside?”

Mason grinned and put his hand on a touch screen panel beside the door. The door slid to the side, revealing an open concept loft-style dwelling. The living room wrapped around the entrance tile—which I thought of as a courtyard in and of itself. The kitchen was on the opposite side, a modern, expansive, and spacious work area with a floating island and a sink with one of those fancy pot fillers on the extendable arm.

Fine art hung on the wall. Good stuff, too, not just kitschy. It was all postmodern expressionism, and the colors complimented the earth tone décor.

But the best part of all was the view. Three-quarters of the environment was covered by big windows taller than I was. You could look right out onto the city.

“Nice place,” I said, feeling a bit banal that was all I could come up with.

“Thanks.” He gestured past the living room. “Powder room down there, full bath with ensuite upstairs along with the bedroom and guest bedroom.”

“Thanks.” My belly rumbled. “But I’m most interested in this dinner you promised me.”

He smiled, cute face dimpling. The guy was just adorable in every sense of the word.

“Here, let me whip up a charcuterie board to tide us over while I cook dinner.”

“Sure, whip up a… what did you call it?”

“It’s a fancy way of saying cheese and crackers.”

My ass, it was cheese and crackers. Sure, there was cheese—four different kinds—and crackers, but it wasn’t saltines and Kraft. Fancy round crackers with black sesame seeds, smaller buttery crackers with ridged edges, and wide, flat wafers meant to be nothing more than a transmission device for other food.

He’d cut up olives, and a chipotle dip which I kept going after even after it made my eyes water. It was the best-tasting snack ever.

“Okay,” I said, dipping my finger in the sauce and then suggestively sucking it off. “What am I supposed to do while you cook dinner?”

“Relax?” He laughed and tied on a neatly pressed apron. I had no doubt he sent it to be dry cleaned when necessary.

“Sounds boring. I could help you. Be your assistant.”

He gave me a smoldering look.

“Okay, but you need to put on your uniform.”

Mason reached up into a cabinet and brought down a white apron with Kiss the Cook written across the front, with large red lips. I unfolded it, and started to put it around my neck.

“Hey,” Mason snapped.

I glanced over at him in query.

“I said you could wear youruniform.”

I stood there puzzled for a moment, until I caught his meaning. I unzipped my dress, noting that some of my pores were still orange from the body painting excursion earlier. I don’t think he minded. His eyes danced all over my body as I slithered out of the dress and laid it over a barstool. My panties came next, followed by my bra.

“Is this better?” I purred as I donned the apron over my now naked body.

“Yes,” he said, “But there’s something missing. Just a moment.”

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