Page 42 of Sapphire Spring

Despite the man’s icy expression, with PeteWorther, an absence of profanity felt like a win, so Masonsmiled before he could stop himself.

“Some little Middle Easterndude’sin your office. I don’t recognize him. What’s he doing here?”

A cocktail of excitement, arousal, and terror caused hisheart to thunder. “I’ll handle him.”

“Soyou know him?”

He pushed past his father through the doorway. “I’ve got it,Dad.”

“Guess this isn’t work related.”

“I’ll handle him and get back to work. Promise.”

He could feel his dad’s eyes on his back as he hurried off,hoping the man was struck by the energetic sheen of his new sobriety and notthe fear quickening his steps.

In Mason’s office, Naser stood ramrod straight in front ofthe desk, holding a few stapled-together papers with a grip more tense thanthey required. Freshly showered and redolent of the cologne that had blanketedMason’s sheets Saturday morning, he’d styled his ink black hair to the samematinee idol perfection he’d sported throughout his high school years, the hairstylethat always made him look like someone dropped out of another time into theirworld of fades and buzz cuts—someone rare and special, classically beautiful.And then there were his tailored slacks that turned his ass into somethingMason wanted to squeeze in both hands until Naser went swaybacked against himand moaned.

When Mason locked the door behind him, Naser smirked andnodded at the floor.

“What?”

“I’m not here to out you, Mason.” He’d whispered the wordsfor added effect.

“That’s not… I’m just trying to give us a little privacy,okay? My dad’s a difficult character.”

“I know.”

Mason sat down behind his desk. “How do you know my dad? Hewas just telling me he didn’t recognize you.”

Naser shook his head, looked to the floor. “It’s uh, I…”

“His reputation precedes him, I guess. Please. Have a seat.I’m glad you came.”

“I won’t be here long. I’ve got to get to work.” Naser setthe papers in front of Mason and gestured for him to read. Mason skimmed,recognizing the bare bones of an investment agreement. Some of the languageseemed boilerplate, and some of it seemed pure Naser. Once he had the gist ofit, Mason set the contract down. “I thought your sister didn’t need investors.”

Naser smiled. “Far be it from me to deny a man a chance atredemption.”

“As far as we are from Saturday morning, apparently. Nooffense, but this is one of the worst investment agreements I’ve ever seen,Naser. The rate of return is basically zero. And the dollaramountsand schedule are both blank.”

Naser smiled and sank into the chair he’d declined a momentbefore. “The investor in question knows nothing about the fashion industry andhas not expressed a desire to learn.In light ofthat,giving the investor any sort of creative control over the business in questionwould be a grievous mistake for all involved. Further, the investor’s motivesfor investing lie far outside any concerns that could beconsidered…businesslike.”

“The investor is sitting right here, and he doesn’t remembermaking any of these statements. Also, I think it’s cute that you startsentences withfurtherout loud and not just in emails.”

Naser raised one eyebrow. “The investor is known to have aspotty memory. And there are suggestions he has issues with reliability andconsistency as well, so any proposed payment schedule should be…dramaticallyshortened.”

“The investor has questions,” Mason said.

Naser spread his hands in a welcoming gesture.

“Did you reconsider my offer because you got more info aboutthe state of your sister’s business after you left my house?”

“Are you bisexual?”

Mason flinched. Naser’s stony expression said that had beenhis intention—and that his sister most certainly did need new investors. “Howare those two questions related?”

“We’re only sitting here because for three years you andyour buddies subjected me to a form of sexual harassment that’s still consideredsemi-acceptable in most secondary school settings.”

Mason took a deep breath. The door was still closed. Andlocked.

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