Page 45 of Mason

“Maybe not consciously,” he says.

“Not in the slightest.” In my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of Misty, hovering at the end of the hall. Eavesdropping or waiting to go into the ladies room. I lower my voice. “Look, I don’t know why you have such a low opinion of me, but I’m not that girl.”

Lucas leans close enough for me to smell the minty scent of his mouthwash. “Mason is different with you.” The sentiment echoes what I overheard on the island, and I’m still no clearer on what it means. “Distracted.” He runs his hand through his hair. “It’s a pivotal time for the company—I need Mason on his A game. Clear?”

My body trembles with a dangerous cocktail of emotions, from angry to terrified. I lift my chin. “My job is to ensure Mr. Wood has everything he needs to stay focused.” A thin smile crests my lips. “I’m very good at my job, Mr. Hammer. So yes, we’re crystal clear.”

Chapter 25

I cradle two hot dogs drizzled with mustard in my hands and weave my way through the crowd of people waiting in line at Nate’s Hot Dog Stand. My grin is wide, despite the chaos, and my adrenaline hums with anticipation. I can’t believe Mason has never had a Nate’s dog.

I grew up on them.

Plain with mustard. No ketchup or onions. No freshly grated cheese. Just a good old-fashioned wiener stuffed into a mostly-stale bun. They’re not worth the six bucks I just paid for them, but to see the look on Mason’s face when he bites into one? Priceless.

I quicken my pace, anxious to get them to him before they’re cold and soggy.

A man in a hat steps to the side to avoid a cyclist and BAM! His shoulder knocks against mine with enough force to jostle the hot dogs free. They land face down on the concrete, mustard splattered like blood spray across the sidewalk.

“Shit.”

“Double shit,” the guy says, crouching to pick them up off the ground. “That was totally my bad. I wasn’t paying attention and—” He looks up, our eyes connect. He smiles when recognition hits. “Miss Landers! Imagine bumping into you.”

Buck Andrews. His hair is longer since our brief interaction in Hawaii, but he looks more mature, almost haggard. Patchy stubble peppers his jaw. His eyes are bloodshot.

I glance over my shoulder, nervous someone will see us together. Mason’s office window faces this street, and if he happens to look out—I shudder to think what he’ll assume. “Buck…right?”

He nods with enthusiasm. “Good memory.” Mustard smears his wrist. He glances down at it, helplessly, and shrugs. “Let me buy you a couple more.”

“It’s fine,” I say, with an effort not to seem disappointed. There’s no time for me to stand in line at Nate’s, and a hot dog from any other vendor isn’t the same. “I’ll just grab a sandwich from the kiosk.”

Buck dumps the hot dogs in a nearby garbage can and wipes his hands on his tan slacks. A yellow streak smears his upper thigh, the color of baby shit. He follows my stare. “Good thing I’m not heading into the office.”

Good thing, indeed.

“You’ve got quite the appetite,” he says, grinning.

I lift an eyebrow.

He nudges his head toward the trashcan. “Two hot dogs.”

“Oh,” I say, chuckling. “They weren’t both for me. Mason has…” My voice catches as I realize my mistake. Damn it. “I really should be going.”

Buck rocks back on his heels. “Mason, is it?” He winks. “Looks like things are going well between you.”

My cheeks go warm. “I really have nothing to say to you.”

Buck nods. “Understandable.” He pinches his chin, as though in thought. “I imagine Daylight Savings forces its employees to sign a strict non-disclosure agreement.”

My spine stiffens. “NDAs are common practice with hedge fund firms.”

“Right, right.” He bobs his head like a chicken. “Lots of secrets at Daylight, though, given the history of the owners.”

“I really have to go.”

I spin around, but Buck grabs my wrist. I yank it free and clutch it to my chest.

“Listen, Olivia,” he says. “May I call you that?”