Page 5 of Sapphire Spring

“Yeah, sorry. Don’t mean to make this awkward. But it wasgoing to be two hours, and then you wanted an overnight, so…that’s more.”

“Oh,” Mason said again. “How much more?”

“A thousand.”

“A thousand more, or like—”

“Just a thousand.”

Kill me now.“Gotcha. You take checks?”

The guy reached into a designer backpack resting againstMason’s nightstand and removed an honest-to-God credit card reader.

“Bank cards work,” he said brightly. “You can write me offas a consultant. That’s what everyone else does.”

Mason nodded, got to his feet, and started a search for hisdiscarded jeans, hoping like hell his wallet was still in the back pocket. Ifhe had to search the entire house for it, the mood would go from awkward toawful. He found his balled-up briefs and tugged them on. A few feet away, hiscrumpled jeans were lying on the carpet right inside the open deck doors. Whenhe crouched down to pull the wallet free of the back pocket, his stomachlurched. Just as he tried to catch his breath, he looked up and saw the motherplaying with the kids down on the sand was his next-door neighbor, ShirleyBaxter, which meant the toddlers nearby were her grandkids. A former soap star,she’d taken such good care ofherselfand had so muchexcellent work done, it was hard to tell she was in her late sixties when yousaw her up close—much less from a distance. He lifted a hand to wave. Thefurious look she gave him told him his party—a party he could barelyremember—had kept her up half the night.

Only then did he remember he was barely dressed, and with astrange guy in his bedroom, to boot. He yanked the drapes closed before Shirleycould read the scene in more detail.

One swipe later, his guest was putting his credit cardreader back into his backpack. The guy nodded and started for the door.

At the threshold, the escort paused and looked back.

“And hey, I hope you and Naser figure things out.”

Adrenaline coursed through him, plating his sour stomachwith something that felt like ice. “I’m… What?”

“Sorry. I just…you were pretty upset.”

“I talked to you about Naser Kazemi?”

Since Mason and his buddies had deliberately mispronouncedthe guy’s name throughout high school—turning the s into a z—Mason took care topronounce it correctly now, putting the emphasis on theahsound inthe first syllable and pronouncing the second likeairwith ansattached.

“You didn’t say his last name, but yeah, it sounded like youguys had history or something. And apparently, he’s got beautiful eyes.” Whenthe guy saw the expression on Mason’s face, he grimaced. “Hey, don’t worryabout it. It’s all confidential. That’s how this works. So, you know, if yousee me training a client in the park or something, mum’s the word, all right?”

“Sure thing,” Mason croaked.

Then Mason was listening to the guy’s footsteps rattle theglass and steel staircase to the first floor.

Head spinning, Mason bent over, grabbed his knees, and triedto breathe as deeply as he could.

Had heactually hireda male escortto come over within minutes of Chadwick being in his house? Had Chadwick seenthe guy? He should text him just to be sure, but his stomach rolled at thethought. A knot of shame and guilt twisted his gut whenever Naser Kazemi’sbeautiful face strobed across his mind. And now he’d cried about him to anescort he didn’t remember hiring?

A few minutes later, he was in the shower, the water justbelow scalding.Typicallyon hangover mornings, hetook pleasure from the sight of his chiseled, gym-perfect body, as if thefinely honed perfection of his outer shell was proof that everything underneathwas more healthy than it felt. Lately, it was starting to feel like theopposite was true. The shell, no matter how sculpted, was in danger of crackingand falling away, revealing the pulsing mass of vices and fears that was MasonWorther’slife.

Get yourshittogether, Mason.If you want your life to be a giant party, at least make it a fun party.

3

Because his position hadn’t existedup until three months ago, Naser worked out of a small, windowless room thathad previously been storage for the events department. It shared an interiorhallway with Jonas’s office and anemployees-onlybathroom. Most employees didn’t know the bathroom existed—a relief, consideringthe plumbing was in Naser’s side wall.

Jonas’s office, on the other hand, was palatial bycomparison, a time capsule of how the hotel used to look before a recentrenovation had taken it in a more spare, flat white and Dale Chihuly-inspireddirection.Soit was there, amidst the Louis XIVfurniture and atop the thick Oriental rug, that Naser and Jonas decided to facethe dragon that was Pari Kazemi. On speakerphone.

“Are we ready?” Naser asked.

“No time like the present.” Looking suitably chastened,Jonas sank into his giant desk chair and folded his hands across his lap. Onthe wall behind his head were pencil sketches and vintage photographs of thehotel from throughout history.

Naser hit the speakerphone’s button and dialed his sister’snumber. After a few rings, the room was filled by the gentle, melodic voicePari Kazemi only used on her voicemail.

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