Page 1 of The Master

One

Nate

A beadof sweat rolled down my forehead and into my eye, the salt stinging as I lowered the weights I’d been lifting for the past twenty minutes. Before that, I’d been on the treadmill for twice as long. I wanted to keep going, pushing myself until I could barely stay upright.

It wasn’t healthy, but I didn’t give a shit about that. I liked keeping in shape, but no matter how much I wanted to pretend that the reason I’d been spending hours in my gym every night was because I was on a health kick, the truth was there in the back of my mind, a gnawing annoyance that I refused to give any additional attention.

What a load of bullshit.

As I’d done for the last week when these thoughts came into my head, I reminded myself that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I’d never forced my desires on anyone. I’d never recorded a partner without their knowledge or consent. I’d never made a woman do anything she wasn’t game for. I’d been protecting myself, and considering my position, it wasn’t out of line for me to want that.

Besides,shehad been the one snooping around, putting her nose where it didn’t belong. We’d been in my house, and there wasn’t anything wrong or strange about me expecting to maintain at least some modicum of privacy. The DVDs had been in a closed cabinet, and I hadn’t exactly hidden what they were.

And we were back to the fact that I hadn’t done anything wrong.

I cursed as another drop of sweat made it into the same eye. I grabbed for my towel and wiped my face before looking for the time. If I wanted to sleep tonight, I needed to exhaust myself the same way I’d done all week. Except tonight wasn’t the same since it was Friday, and I didn’t need to worry about how to avoid…her. Finally, I had an entire weekend where the chances of our paths crossing without deliberate choices were slim.

Except that wasn’t necessarily a positive thing.

I didn’t need to see her for my thoughts to head in that direction. Hell, the fact that I kept using pronouns instead of her name was proof of how much she’d fucked with my head.

Apparently determined to be a total masochist, I crossed to my rowing machine. Logically, I knew I’d regret this tomorrow when I was at my nephew’s birthday party and could barely move, but the mind-numbing exertion was worth future physical pain.

I refused to think about what I’d say or do if anyone asked why I was at the party alone. Considering how fragile this new truce was with my family, I doubted any of the adults would risk rocking the boat, but I would’ve been concerned about my niece and nephew if I’d let myself think about it. Catherine and Jacob knew that things had been tense between me and the rest of the family, but they didn’t know enough to understand how to avoid sensitive subjects.

Not that I was sensitive abouther.

Dammit.

About Ashlee. There. I said her name. Ashlee Webb, the twenty-three-year-old redhead with turquoise eyes and curves to drive a man insane. My employee. Sort of.

When she’d first come to work at Manhattan Records – the record label I’d created with the man I’d only recently learned was her biological father – she’d been a normal employee. Her promotion to the A&R department had put her on my radar, and since I hadn’t wanted to risk my company when we started having sex, I’d changed her position to a freelance one where she answered to Stu Hancock, one of the two people in charge of A&R. It meant that, legally, she couldn’t come after me professionally for whatever shit she suddenly decided offended her.

“Dammit!” I ran both my hands through my hair in frustration. No matter how often I told myself I wasn’t going to think about her, I couldn’t seem to stop.

Then it hit me. Maybe the key to this internal torture wasn’t to stop thinking about her. Maybe I needed to thinkmore. More about how to get her out of my life completely. I’d been avoiding her at work, but it wasmyfucking company. I shouldn’t have to avoid her. Sure, I’d been an idiot for getting involved with an employee, but in my defense, I’d just been looking to get laid, and I’d never done my best thinking with my dick.

Which was probably what my younger brother would say if anyone asked him.

Dammit.

At some point during my revelation, a little voice in the back of my head piped up with an accusation of self-deception. It seemed to think that I wasn’t remembering things correctly, as if I was somehow determined to place all of the blame on Ashlee for the way our semi-relationship had blown up. I knew this wasn’t the case since I’d admitted that my cock had done the driving when it’d come to the stunning redhead.

Then I remembered the last time I’d seen her, just before she turned and walked away. The expression of hurt on her face still cut me, and I pushed it aside.

The only good thing I could say about this whole mess was that Ashlee at least hadn’t gone to her father with some sob story. Finley Kordell wasn’t only my business partner, he was one of my few friends, and I’d have been pissed if she’d ruined that friendship.

I supposed there did exist the possibility that Finley would have chosen me over her, considering he’d known me longer. Hell, we still didn’t know if she really was his daughter.

What a fucking mess.

My mind kept racing now that I’d let it off its leash, trying to find avenues with which Stu could dismiss her without giving her ammunition to use against me. And I had no doubt she’d find some way to screw me over since she undoubtedly hadn’t gotten whatever she wanted out of me before I kicked her out of my place. No woman I’d dismissed before she thought we were done had ever simply walked away.

Which was exactly what happened when I fucked my brother’s girlfriend. The one he’d had ten years ago, not the one he had now. As far as I could tell, his current significant other, Trissa Harring, was one of the rare good ones. Even if she wasn’t, I’d learned from that particular mistake and wouldn’t be repeating it.

I glanced at my wrist before realizing that I hadn’t paid much attention to when I’d started rowing. I supposed it didn’t matter since I wasn’t really going for a specific timed goal, but pretending that was what I was doing would’ve been nice. Now all I could do was keep at it until my arms and legs couldn’t do it anymore.

My entire week had been like this. Pushing myself to the limit. Dropping into bed exhausted. Waking up to the same reality morning after morning: I didn’t want to go to work.

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