It shouldn’t throw me as much as it does to hear him talk about benders and bottles as if he’s been in our house. My father’s drinking problem is supposed to be a secret. It’s not supposed to be something that people like Mason Hill, in their gleaming high-rises, use in business negotiations.
I summon all my disdain, but it’s impossible to look down my nose at him. He’s too tall. He has the advantage. He’s tall enough to tower over anyone. With his height and his icy control he’d be the king of any room he walked into. But I draw myself up anyway. “What my father does with his money is none of your business.”
“Of course it is. It’s his company you’re pleading with me to save. It’s his habit that has Van Kempt Industries halfway to its grave. If he’s spent the last ten years drunk, it’s my business.”
My mouth drops open and I snap it shut. Too late. Mason saw, and what flashed across his eyes was pure satisfaction. Fresh hate scorches the back of my neck. “What happened in the past isn’t relevant.” Oh—that was the wrong thing to say. Mason’s jaw tightens, and the part of me that senses danger screams to back up a step. But I don’t. Those small expressions on his face never last. “What matters is that I’m here to deal with you now.”
“You, instead of your father. You, instead of the CEO himself. Tell me again how it’s not relevant that he can’t be bothered to show up to a meeting and save his own life.”
“He didn’t know about the meeting,” I shoot back.
And freeze.
Delight flares across Mason’s eyes, his face. The carved planes of his face make him look like a Greek god. Like something to worship. “He didn’t know,” he muses. “You kept it from him. Little Charlotte Van Kempt planned this all by herself. Things must be much worse than I thought.”
“No. They’re not. I wanted to handle it by myself. Then once we’ve worked out the terms, I’ll bring it to him.”
Mason Hill is breathtaking when he grins, even when that grin is pure evil. It’s there for a blink, settling quickly into an expression so piercing that it shoots down my spine and makes my thighs engage underneath my skirt.
Shit.
Please, let him not have noticed.
Another flare in his eyes—of light? Of heat? I can’t tell, and I can’t look away.
“If you’re handling this yourself, then you’ll want to take special care not to tell him about the final clause in the new offer.” It’s lighting me on fire to look into his eyes like this, but he’ll see if I look down at his body. He’ll use it against me.
“What is it?”
“You’ll spend a night with me at my apartment.”
If I weren’t already standing, I’d be out of my seat. All I can do now is take several steps back. At least now I’m out of his reach. My face burned before. Now I feel like a house fire. Images flicker through my mind at high speed. Mason Hill. An apartment as gorgeous as this high-rise. His hands on me. His body. “This is a joke.”
At joke, the delight in his eyes hardens to ice. Or maybe it was always frozen through and I didn’t notice. I’ve angered the god, and I hate, down to my bones, how beautiful anger looks on his face. Artists would fall all over themselves to paint him. “Is anyone laughing?”
“You’re disgusting.”
He raises an eyebrow. “How badly do you want your family’s company saved, Ms. Van Kempt?”
“Not badly enough to do that.”
“To do what, exactly?” He’s mocking me now, and I know because his tone hasn’t changed. Mason Hill sounds like we’re having an actual business meeting, and that makes it worse. He’s in control of himself, and I’m not. I believe, with all my heart, that the world is a good place, but Mason Hill is not a good man. “Tell me precisely what it is you won’t do to save your parents.”
“I won’t come to your apartment.”
“You’re afraid of seeing a real luxury apartment, then.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Are you sure? Your face is red and your pupils are all blown out.” Mason’s eyes drop to the front of my throat. Damn it. Now that I’m aware of my breath, I can feel how shallow it is. “You’re either terrified or extremely aroused.”
“I’m neither of those things.” He’s definitely going to believe me now that my voice shakes and I said it too loud.
“Is it the fantasy of saving your family that turns you on so much, or imagining all the filthy things I could do to you?”
“I came here to make a deal with you, not to be—not to be played with like this.” I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. Not when we had to start selling our furniture. Not when I had to make excuses at the office to cover for my father’s absences. Not when I had to make hours of phone calls to debt collectors. This is the worst. This is rock bottom.
“We’ve had a misunderstanding if you think I’m joking, or playing.” Mason’s voice fills the room. He owns every square inch of this place, and probably every inch of the building we’re standing in. “Go out into my offices and ask anyone. See if I’m in the habit of fucking around.”
Even his cursing is precise. Like he’s taken the words and made them into his own sharp arrows. Which means that when he made me this deal, he did it with precision. Not fucking around. To hurt me. I force myself to be sharp, too. “I’m not fucking around, either.”
“No?” His eyes rake over my body, head to toe, and I regret stepping back so far into his office. It means he can see all of me. I don’t have the protection of his desk. “Then it’s interesting to me that you’re pretending to be above this. You’re most certainly not, Ms. Van Kempt. You have a gorgeous body and you’ve managed to dig up some last-season couture, but no one could miss the cheap cardboard shoes you’re wearing.”
Oh. Oh. Pride hits first, just before new embarrassment. He thought my clothes were couture. I made these. I made these, and nobody else. But he’s right about the shoes. I bought them on clearance at Target with a coupon, and they’re too cheap for this office. For this kind of deal. Shame flutters down over all my other feelings like a blanket thrown over a piece of furniture. Cover it up and move it out. Sell it for money.
That’s what he’s asking me to do. What he’s demanding that I do, actually. There’s nothing about Mason Hill that makes me think he’d ask.
He’s telling me to trade my body for the money we need.
I wish I could hide, somewhere here in his shining, perfect office. The world outside is nothing but rain and slate-colored clouds, and I have the lurching sense that he could make the windows disappear and let in that rain. It wouldn’t touch him. All that water, all that wind. But it would destroy me. Rip my handmade clothes to shreds. Tear apart the cardboard shoes.
“Do you have a real offer or not?”
Mason narrows his eyes. “I’ve been clear about the terms.”
“Then you’re just an asshole who likes wasting people’s valuable time.” I’m glad we’re both standing now. It makes it easier to turn my back on him and leave. On the first step, the heel of my cheap shoe wobbles in the plush carpet. Fine. I accept it. I accept that I’m desperate, but I’m going to fix this. I don’t care what Mason Hill says. I wrench open the door with one hand. “I have a business to run. A development to build. If you don’t want to invest, someone else will. And you’re done wasting my time.”