Page 20 of Mason

I squint through half-lidded lashes at a thin young man, a bit boyish despite his wrinkles and laugh lines, staring at me with mild amusement.

“Yes it is,” I say, smiling a little.

“That feels nice, doesn’t it?” he asks.

At my slow nod, he raises his cocktail glass in mock cheer. A messenger bag is slung over his shoulder, the strap tight against his surprisingly fit chest. I’d peg him early forties, but I’m usually shit with ages.

“Such a shame Mason couldn’t join you.”

My throat goes raw, and tiny pinpricks of alarm spring up all over my skin. I slink lower into the water, covering more of my skin, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and alone with this stranger who clearly knows more about me than I know about him. I scan the perimeter, but amid the blooming Birds of Paradise and thick jasmine bushes, we’re away from prying eyes. Beneath the swirling water, I clench my hand into a fist. “Do you know Mr. Wood?”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Mr. Wood. Charming.” He tilts his head and regards me with puppy dog eyes. “Doesn’t everyone know Mason?” He licks his lips. “Actually, Mason and I go way back. I’m with the New York Times.” I can actually feel the color drain from my cheeks. “My name’s Buck Andrews.” He extends his hand. “I saw you and Mason in the lobby earlier, but thought I’d let him settle before knocking on his door.”

“In Maui for a holiday?” I say, unsure how to feel. But the Times is the paper of record, so maybe he’s legit.

“On the clock,” he says, with a wink that makes my skin crawl. “But I suspect you understand. Unless…” He leans in close. “You wouldn’t happen to be the new lady in Mason’s life?”

His eyes gleam with the hope of catching a scoop. I won’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, but I’m also reluctant to admit I’m nothing more than Mason’s personal assistant. Some girls might wear the title like a badge of honor. I have my eyes on a much more meaningful prize.

“Mason is here on a corporate retreat,” I say, hoping that will be enough to cut short any further discussion. “And I’m not at liberty to discuss anything connected to Daylight Holdings.” Which also includes any information about myself.

I glance over at the pool, and to my room on the other side. I could make a run for it, but hurrying away makes it look like I have something to hide. Last thing I need is a tenacious reporter knowing where I sleep.

“Oh, I know,” he says, cheerfully. “This is my favorite gig of the year. An all expenses paid trip to Hawaii, hanging around the pool, surrounded by pretty ladies.” His attention is drawn by a girl in a red bikini, stretched out on a towel in the middle of the grassy courtyard.

My eyebrow lifts. “An annual gathering of the Daylight Holdings CEOs is newsworthy?”

For Star Magazine maybe, but it’s a bit of a stretch for a respectable paper like The Times.

“Everything about the company is,” he says, smiling. His face goes somber. “Though certainly even more so when that annual retreat lands on the anniversary of the tragic school shooting that killed…” He pauses. “You do know about that, right?”

Damn it. Another gaping hole in my research. A massive one. Although I’d read enough to know of how the incident affected Mason and his partners, I didn’t make the connection with the date.

Today’s date.

Twenty-eight teens, slaughtered, before the gunman shot the teacher, and then turned the rifle on himself.

“But the retreat itself is nothing new,” I say, trying to regain my footing in the conversation, but feeling out of my depth. “So why come to Hawaii? Are you working on an article about hedge funds?”

I know about enough of them to fill in any blanks in his story—though I doubt he’d care for a woeful tale about the companies that refused to hire me as a day trader. If not for my new position at Daylight Holdings, I’d consider pitching him a feminist-charged piece on misogyny in the workplace. Sure to get me axed.

He shrugs. “Not exactly.” He glances over at the pool where a few people are gathered around the bar. One of the men waves at Buck, which he acknowledges with a slight lift of his chin. “You’ll run into a few of us over the next couple of days. The partners are known to unveil new business strategies, or sometimes even make a major trade during the retreat.” Another wave from the bar, this time by a pretty blonde I recognize as a news anchor from New York. “We’re all just trying to avoid being scooped—so this retreat has become traditional. It ends up being more of a party.”

And slightly manipulative on Mason’s part.

From what I’ve already learned about Daylight Holdings, the partners have built a successful business model by remaining mysterious, recluse, and strategic.

The media flocks to this resort practically salivating for a big story, which ensures the major players are too distracted by what’s happening with Daylight Holdings to care about the competition. Clever.

Buck takes a business card out from shirt pocket and slides it next to the hot tub. “My cell is listed,” he says, leaning close. “In case there’s anything you’d ever like to discuss.”

My chest constricts. I push the card away and press my lips together in a thin smile. “I’m afraid you’ll need to find another angle for your story. I’m not interested.”

He climbs out of the hot tub and slips on his sandals, leaving the card on the pavement. “Keep it,” he says. “You just never know.”

Chapter 12

I tuck the business card into the pocket of my robe with the intent to toss it later, and sneak through the bushes to take the long route back to my room. Buck may have been easily dissuaded, but the other reporters in that group might be hungrier, or worse, more desperate, for a story. I’m not about to become the center of a media scrum.