Page 50 of Making It Burn
My phone buzzed again.Another text, but this time from an unknown number.
I opened it.
Flight confirmation: United 1447, Richmond to New Orleans, Thursday November 9, 2:00 PM.Seat 12A.
Followed immediately by another text.
This is Mason.I’m in 12B.I know this is awkward, but we need to make this work.For the case.I’m willing to be professional if you are.
I stared at the message.
Professional.
Right.
I could be professional.
I could sit next to Mason Price on a plane for two and a half hours, spend a weekend in the same hotel, work alongside him in meetings, and be completely, totally professional.
Every time I looked at him, I’d be remembering what his mouth tasted like.And every time he spoke, I’d be hearing the way he’d said my name in that bar, rough and desperate.
I typed back-
Professional.Got it.
Then, I set my phone face-down on my desk and dropped my head into my hands.
“I am so fucked,” I whispered.
There was a knock on my door.
“It’s open,” I called.
Lisa walked in with two cups of coffee and a concerned expression.“Okay, talk to me.What happened?”
I looked up at her.“How much time do you have?”
“For you?All day.”She handed me a coffee and sat down across from my desk.“Start from the beginning.And leave nothing out.”
So I did.
And by the time I finished telling her about Saturday night—the bar, the shots, the dancing, the kiss, Mason running away—Lisa was staring at me with her mouth open.
“Holy shit,” she breathed.
“Yeah.”
“Mason Price kissed you.”
“Yep.”
“And then panicked and ran away.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And now you have to spend a weekend in New Orleans with him.”
“Starting to see my problem?”
