Page 78 of Meet Mason, the Billionaire

“He doesn't have to know that. A little embellishment here and there to keep him patiently waiting for your leisure is a small karmic price to pay, I think. I’m pretty sure the Universe will forgive me.”

I laughed, hugged her again, and kissed her forehead before she headed out the door. I changed out of my waitress uniform and stepped into the shower for a quick rinse. Then I put on a little makeup, did my hair up into a bun with a tail, and put on the dress I’d worn on my first date with Mason.

I was determined not to go into Brian’s gallery with my shoulders slumped in defeat. I would march in there with my head held high and not give him the satisfaction.

In fact, I would have the satisfaction, I decided. I would make it clear that I never wanted to see him again. Ever. For an arrogant bastard like Brian, that would be torture enough.

When I got to the van a light rain had begun to fall. I groaned because that meant my paintings were in danger of getting wet. I’d brought along plastic wrapping the first time, but not near enough for everything.

It was what it was. I figured if we moved fast and instantly dried the canvases my works would survive more or less intact.

“Hey,” Junebug said with great sympathy. He put his hand out and squeezed my shoulder as I settled in the passenger seat. “I’m so sorry, Megan. Want me to draw a big dick over the mural I did in his hotel lobby?”

“Oh, no, I think living well is the best revenge. I’d rather do that than try to be petty.”

“I’m not above being petty,” Junebug said. “But it’s your decision.”

The ride to the galley was spent with all of us talking rather animatedly about things other than my bad breakup and the fact I’d lost my exhibition. They were trying to cheer me up, and I was totally there for it.

I was even laughing when we came around the last corner before the Schrauth Gallery. My laughter died in my throat when I saw that there was a big blue tarp spread out over the entrance to the gallery. A group of men were moving paintings out to a waiting U-Haul truck, its engine idling and sending a puff of black smoke into the rainy skies.

“What’s all of this now? Is Brian kicking everyone out?”

“No, those are MY paintings! He’s trying to steal them! That son of a BITCH.”

I flung the door open and got out before the van had even come to a complete halt. I found Brian standing near the door, sheltering under an umbrella.

“You piece of shit!” I went up to him and slapped him across the face. “You get those paintings out of that truck RIGHT NOW. Or I’m going to put you in traction for the next six months.”

“It—it’s not me! I’m not the one moving them!”

For some reason, I believed him. Maybe because for a change he was actually speaking the truth and the difference was quite jarring.

I turned to follow his pointing finger.

“It was THAT guy!”

My mouth fell open when I saw who was directing traffic with the whole painting operation.

Mason fucking Wilder.

I stormed angrily toward him. “You’ve got some nerve—”

He took me in his arms and kissed me, so suddenly, so naturally, that I didn’t have time to think. And it was one hell of a kiss, too. It was filled with all the things I wished he’d said earlier.

“I love you,” He said, caressing my cheek.

“Youwhat?”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Mason

“I love you.” I said it again, sweeping her wind-blown hair out of her eyes. “I should have said it earlier—right after I apologized for this entire situation with the portrait.”

Megan cocked her head to the side. She gently pushed my hands away and stared up at me.

“What—what are you doing with my paintings?”

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