Page 74 of Rival for Rent

He smiled sadly, then stood. “Sleep well, Mason.”

16

KAI

Mason insisted on going back to my house the next morning, despite Dana’s very vocal objections. Honestly, I wanted to object too—he shouldn’t have been moving around more than absolutely necessary, even in a car—but at least if we were home, I could try to get a little work done in my office.

After a slow breakfast of donuts from the local shop—Mason had offered to cook, but Dana had pointed at him like an angry god and declared him under strict no-work orders—we piled into my car. I drove. Mason grumbled the whole time about being treated like an invalid.

We hadn’t even been gone a full minute when my phone rang in my pocket. I frowned. I usually kept it on silent, but I’d turned the sound on yesterday to make sure I didn’t miss a call from the hospital.

“Do you need to get that?” Mason asked.

“No, it’s fine,” I said. Whoever it was could wait.

As soon as the ringing stopped, it started up again.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I can get it for you.”

He reached a hand towards my pocket, and I jerked away instinctively.

“Stop,” I said, sharper than I meant to.

“I’m not trying to molest you,” he said dryly. “Just help out.”

“Well, you don’t have to,” I said. “You’re not supposed to be moving that much. It can wait.”

The ringer finally stopped, but then the pings started—one text after another, rapid-fire.

“Whoever it is, it seems like they really want to talk to you,” Mason said. “What if it’s time sensitive? Something to do with your work?”

“Then it can fucking wait.” I didn’t even know why I was so on edge, but I was grateful when he fell silent. Even if my phone kept ringing and chirping away like a goddamn arcade machine. It was driving me as nuts as it clearly was him. I wanted to pull over and check, but I’d already insisted it wasn’t a big deal, and I wasn’t about to backtrack and look like an idiot.

Even once we got home, I didn’t look right away. I helped Mason settle on the couch, walked into the kitchen to pour him a glass of water, and only then pulled out my phone.

“Fuck,” I whispered, my stomach plunging through the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Mason’s voice came from behind me as he popped up from the couch like a jack-in-the-box.

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t even move. I stared at the screen as the world slowed around me. My chest went hot and tight, my face flushed, and for one terrifying second, I thought I might pass out.

I tossed my phone onto the kitchen island like it had burned me and bent double, hands braced on my knees. That wasn’t enough. I sank to the floor and leaned against the cabinets, tears springing to my eyes.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

“Kai, what happened?” Mason asked, crouching beside me.

“They—they fucking—” My throat closed up. I forced the words out. “They released the video.”

My shoulders started to shake. I didn’t want to cry, but I was hanging on by a thread.

“Oh,” Mason said, so gently it broke me completely.

A sob tore from my chest. He picked up my phone and started scrolling—he could probably see the avalanche I’d been hit with. Three missed calls from Carolyn, plus a flood of texts. A call from Nancy Michaelson. Messages from Amir, Brent, and even Kevin, who made the damn video. Two missed calls from the Butterfly Center board chair. A call from my mom.

I felt sick.

Mason slowly sank down beside me.

---