Page 119 of Mr. Almost

That’s why I’m surprised when Tristen comes up to me, a worried look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Danielle called. She needs to see you in the conference room in the office. She said it’s urgent.”

I swallow hard. Of course it is. I knew I would have to face my aversion to that room sooner or later. I guess I secretly hoped the time would never come.

Seems like today is the day.

“Thanks, Tristen. No worries. I can handle it.”

“I wish I could go in your place.”

“I need to be professional. We both knew this day would come. I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Thanks. You’re a great friend.”

Walking to the staff elevator,

I hold my head high.

I can do this.

Getting into the elevator, I pep talk myself the entire way up. When the doors finally open, I take a final deep breath and force a smile on my face.

When I get to the conference room, I’m confused. It’s empty. My heart starts racing as I remember waiting here for Mason, only for his mother to come in.

“Breathe, it’s going to be okay.” I hear in my ear.

I spin, startled. Mason is standing in front of me, hands in his pockets.

“What are you doing here?”

“We have a meeting. Would you please step into the room, Ms. Knight?”

I do as he asks, my mind too busy trying to figure him out to panic.

“I thought we were keeping business and pleasure separate, Mason.”

“Who said this isn’t business?” he asks, shutting and locking the door.

“What are you doing? This is where we work.”

He moves closer to me, pushing me back until my ass hits the edge of the table. Then he picks me up, setting me on it. Settling between my legs, he cups my cheeks.

“This room has such a bad memory for you. You love working here, but this will always be a sore spot for you. I don’t want that. If I could, I would tear it down and plant something beautiful in its place. It’s a building, though, and it’s not even on the first floor. Instead, I’m going to have it repainted and redecorated. Have some different artwork put up. Buy a new table and chairs. Until then, though, I want to give you a better memory to think about when you come here.”

My heart is thundering in my chest. “What kind of memory?”

He smirks at me. “One that will likely get me in trouble with you. Lie back.”

He pushes me back until I’m lying on the table.

“I’m glad you wore the skirt,” he murmurs as he starts kissing up my inner leg.

This morning when he suggested I wear my black skirt, I thought nothing of it. I did it because I thought he liked thinking of me in it. Now I see that I was set up.

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