Mason was silent, ignoring my question.
“Like I said, we’ve been watching,” he replied smoothly. “I understand you’re a student?”
I nodded.
“Yes, at the union Art League. But why does that make a difference?”
He grinned wolfishly.
“Who do you think owns the union Art League?”
I tilted my head, bewildered.
“Some company, I guess. I don’t know, never thought about it. Why, what does that have to do with me?”
Mr. Major grinned again.
“It’s owned by a corporation, Major Arts, which in turn is owned by Major Enterprises,” he said smoothly. “So in fact, we own the union Art League.”
That made me stop. Major Enterprises is known for being a cutthroat business, as scary as it gets. Even me, Katie Jones, knows about them because the company’s name was on dozens of buildings around the city, from museums to public spaces. But the union Art League was a school. What did the two have to do with one another? Why in the world would Major invest in an art school? And reading my mind, Mason shrugged.
“We have investments in a lot of things, but right now, all you have to know is that Major owns union .”
“So?” I asked slowly. “Why does that matter?”
His eyes gleamed again.
“It matters because we’ve been watching, like I said,” he replied simply. “We’ve been watching you from day one, and we like what we see.”
Again, that answered nothing and I was totally exasperated.
“But how? What do you mean by watching? And what exactly are you looking for?” For now, I ignored the alpha’s use of “we.” There were more pressing things at the moment, like my freedom.
Mason threw me another smile.
“Using cameras of course,” he said, like it was completely obvious. “See that over there?” he asked, pointing to a small gray hemisphere attached to the wall. “These are all over every public building, in every hallway, every conference room, every classroom. So we watch whenever we want, it’s no big deal.”
Okay, this was a little creepy. I knew on some subconscious level that cameras were everywhere, but it was different hearing it out loud. Besides, who looks at the tape? Mostly it was just bored security guards yawning and occasionally throwing a glance at a bank of TVs, right?
But evidently not. This was some special ops thing, where the CEO of a company was looking at the tape himself, watching a young female come and go.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “I’ll bite. Your company owns the union Art League, so you have videos of students. But why? Why me? What about me made you watch?”
Mason smiled again.
“Well for one, you are sexy,” he rumbled, blue eyes dark.
That one made me bite my tongue. I’ve never been pretty, much less sexy, in my life. It’s always been Katie, you need to lose weight, or Katie, you’d be so attractive if you just slimmed down a little. I hate how people always stick that “if” in. If I just lost ten pounds, if I just lost twenty pounds, if I became someone completely different and shot myself in the brain. So when Mason said I was pretty, I didn’t believe it for a moment.
“What else?” I asked, brushing off the compliment, handcuffed hands still in my lap. “You couldn’t have brought me here just to tell me that.”
The alpha shot me another knowing look.
“Well in fact, I did,” he said smoothly. “We like the way you look because your body indicates you’re fertile.”
At that, I had to gasp aloud. What the hell? This was the craziest conversation in the world, bar none. But I couldn’t resist.
“Why in the world do you think I’m fertile?” I asked slowly. “What do you know about female fertility? Why does it matter?”
Mason wasn’t perturbed at all.
“Well for one, our records indicate that you’re eighteen,” he said smoothly.
I nodded, confused.
“That’s true, but every other girl at the school is between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two,” I protested. “So I’m no different from any other female.”
Mason nodded, acknowledging my point.
“Yeah, but not every girl at union has your proportions,” he continued smoothly. “We like your curves honey, they’re ripe and full.”
I gasped again, stunned. Yes, I have a womanly body for sure, I’m like Jessica Rabbit on drugs. My boobs go out to here, and my ass goes out to there, but guys don’t talk about my body thinking about babies. The comments I got were more along the lines of hubba, hubba, yo yo yo, let’s get down, typical frat boy stuff.