Page 26 of Making It Burn
This was absolutely a mistake.
He pulled off the sunglasses and spotted me standing on the front steps.For a moment, we just stared at each other.
"Hey," he said.
"Hi."My voice came out rougher than intended."You didn't have to come."
"Patsy said you needed help."He walked toward me, and I was acutely aware of how different he looked outside the office—younger, somehow, and more approachable."I can't exactly say no to Patsy."
"Right.Neither can I, apparently."I shoved my hands in my pockets."Look, this is ridiculous.You don't have to stay.I've got movers, and I can handle unpacking on my own—"
"Patsy told me to help you," Mason said, his tone leaving no room for argument."I can't say no."
"Mason—"
"Where do you want me?"
Everywhere, my brain supplied unhelpfully.Pressed against a wall.Spread across my new bed.On your knees—
"Let me introduce you to my parents," I said instead, because apparently I hated myself."They're inside."
Mason's expression shifted to something that might've been alarm."Your parents?"
"Welcome to the nightmare."I opened the front door and gestured him inside."Try not to let my father interrogate you too much."
The foyer of my parents' house was all marble floors and crystal chandeliers and furniture that cost more than most people's cars.Mason looked around, taking it in with those sharp blue eyes, and I wondered what he was thinking.
"Nice place," he said neutrally.
"It's a museum."I led him toward the dining room."Oh, and I’m sorry it’s so cold.My mother thinks arctic temperatures build character."
We stepped into the dining room, and both my parents looked up.
"Mom, Dad, this is Mason Price.Mason, these are my parents—Claudia and Howard Thatcher."
My mother stood immediately, extending her hand with that gracious smile she'd perfected over decades of charity galas and country club brunches."Mason, how lovely to meet you.Beau's told us so much about you."
I had absolutely not told them anything about Mason.
"It's a pleasure to meet you both," Mason said, shaking her hand.His manners were impeccable—the kind of polish that came from good breeding and expensive schools.
My father stood as well, giving Mason the kind of handshake that doubled as a test of character."Price, you said?Any relation to the Prices from Hanover County?"
"Not that I'm aware of, sir."
"Where'd you go to school?"
"Princeton."
My father's expression shifted to something approaching approval."Fine institution.Law school?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you're working at Hollingsworth, Rhoads, and Brown with Beau?"
"Yes, sir.We're on a case together."
"Well."My father released Mason's hand and clapped him on the shoulder."Any colleague of Beau's is welcome here.Can we offer you some coffee?Breakfast?"
