Which is fine. I've had to in the past.
There's just one person who might be upset beyond all measure with me.
I'll leave you to figure it out.
"What would you propose our next steps would?" I ask.
Roy takes out his phone and dials it.
"Hi, Lorna," he says into the device. "I have Mason here. He wants to talk to you."
He hands me the phone.
On the other line is the salvation for my company.
The chance to live another day.
All for the small price of my soul.
185
Becca
It drives me crazy when I send a text message, and I don't get a response for days. Especially when that someone is Mason Kane. It's been several days and I haven't seen, or heard from, Mason. He hasn't shown up at my apartment, he won't answer my texts, and he won't answer my calls.
At work, he seems to be in meetings all day or offsite.
It's like I'm in the Twilight Zone or something without seeing him.
Can you blame me though, huh?
I love him.
I'm carrying his child.
Oh, God. I need to tell him.
It's like fate is making this even harder for me to tell him than normal.
I try to send him another text:
"R U Alive?!"
Nothing.
I send another one: "This isn't funny. Can U at least let me know U R breathing?"
He still doesn't respond, and from what I can tell, the messages are delivered, but not read.
It's uncharacteristic of him. What did I do to deserve this?
One minute, things are going great, and the next … they aren't going at all.
I decide to call.
I find him in my contacts and press the call button.
It rings, and rings, and rings some more before finally going to voice mail. But there's still no Mason.
It's what I expected.
Fuck. I really need to speak to him, but given that he won't text or call me, and I can't find him at work, or even at his apartment, it's proving difficult to do.
I've spent the last 48 hours researching Red Lion Aviation, and I'm finding more holes in the company than I've found in the slice of Swiss cheese on my sandwich today. I need to run a few things by Mason. I honestly have so many questions, and he's the only person who can help me answer them.
I decide to call his secretary.
"You've reached the desk of Mason Kane, how can I help you?"
"Hi, it's Becca."
"Oh Becca! Hi! It's been a while," she says. "It's always good to hear from you. Where have you been? I've haven't seen you on our floor."
"I've been around," I say. "Just busy. Listen, I've been looking for Mason. Is he in the office today?"
She thinks for a moment and then responds. "He isn't taking calls. Can I take a message?"
"No, that's okay," I say, slightly pissed off that he's not taking calls from me. Whatever list he made of people he'd take calls from I guess I didn't make it. "Do you expect him back in the office today?"
"He asked me to re-schedule all of his meetings today, so I figure he isn't planning on returning today," she says.
"I see, do you have any idea where he might be right now then?"
She contemplates for a moment whether or not she should give me this information and then relents. "Between you and I, he's at the Four Seasons."
"The Four Seasons on 57th?" I ask.
"Yes, that's the one."
Thank you!" I shout. I hang up the phone and can barely contain myself. I need to catch Mason before he leaves. I need to leave now myself. I grab my purse and keys and throw on my coat. I run outside and hail a cab. I can feel the minutes ticking away. If I don't catch Mason at the Four Seasons, I may not have the opportunity again for a while. Especially with the way he's been playing hard to get.
A cab pulls up in front of me and I hop in, directing the driver to the hotel.
"As fast as you can, please," I tell the driver, and he listens because I hear the squeal of our tires against the asphalt.
Within minutes I'm at the Four Seasons. I pay the fare and run toward the hotel, which is situated in an ideal spot in the city-minutes from Central Park and the Museum of Modern Art. But I don't have any time to gawk and take in my surroundings. Instead, I run into the lobby.
I realize I didn't think to ask his secretary what he was doing here. Is he renting a room? Is he in the middle of a conference? Or?
I decide to walk up to the front desk.
There's a middle-aged woman in dark-rimmed glasses staring at me.
"Can I help you?" she asks.
"Yes, I'm looking for a Mr. Mason Kane. I think he may be renting a room here for the night."
The woman types the name into her computer and my heart is racing with each click of her keyboard.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. We don't have a Mason Kane booked for the evening."
Fuck.
"Thanks," I say, walking away from the desk and wondering what my next move will be. I start walking and then, by chance, notice a restaurant off of the main lobby. It's called The Garden and it's decorated with faux trees and plush, neutral colored chairs. It looks like an inviting enough place.
When my eyes scan the patrons, I can't believe my luck. I spot Mason … and he's dining with Lorna. They seem to be smiling, eating, and drinking cocktails.
What's he doing here, with her? I thought he wasn't even taking any of her calls?
None of it makes sense.
I debate whether or not I should approach them. On the one hand, if I walk up, I look like a desperate, lost puppy who can't keep her hands off of Mason. It feels like a blow to my ego. But on the other hand, if I don't talk to Mason now, there's no telling when I'll have the opportunity to again.
I take a deep breath.
I have to walk up to them. It's now or never.
I have to somehow let Mason know that I need to talk to him. It's important. I swallow my nerves and approach them.
Lorna is the first one to notice me.
"Becca, what a pleasant surprise," she says, flashing me a smile that is anything but friendly. It's like a viper ready to strike.
Mason looks up, and gives me a casual wave. There's nothing in his eyes or body language that suggests he's excited to see me, and it leaves me confused. Did he not receive the dozen or so text messages from me? Or has he somehow decided that he wants nothing to do with me?
My stomach sinks.
Maybe Lorna has finally succeeded in getting inside of his head?
It's hard to tell. And it's driving me crazy. I have so much I need to ask him, but I can't ask him with Lorna around.
"Would you like to join us?" she asks, motioning toward the empty seat at the table. As she says this, she slides her hand affectionately on top of Mason's and he doesn't pull away.
Perhaps I'm right.
Maybe she has finally gotten to him.
186
Mason
Great. Just fucking great.
The one person-the one woman-who I really didn't want to see here at this moment is now sitting in front of me.
She's been texting and calling me relentlessly, and I can't fucking face her. As of right now, I don't know what to say. I've been avoiding her for a reason.
Lorna points to the empty seat at our table and then slides her cold, thin hand on top of mine. It's supposed to be an act of affection to get under Becca's skin, but instead it gets under mine. I want to recoil, but I can't. Her touch repulses me. You have no idea to what end.
"Would you like to join us?" Lorna asks Becca.
Please say no, please say no, please say no, I beg to myself. It's a mantra I somehow hope she can subliminally pick up, but of course I know that's wishful thinking.
I look at Becca's face and I can see a range of emotions flash through her eyes. She's fighting the urge to leave, but she ultimately decides to stay.
"I think I have an extra few minutes to spare," she says.
Fuck. Of course she's deciding to stick around.
She looks at me, trying to decipher what's going on, but I refuse to hold her gaze. I can't stomach looking at her right now. I've ignored her for this long, what's another day, right? Except that every minute at this table seems to stretch out for a fucking eternity.
I bring my glass to my lips and take a drink of my tea. Before you shake your head, I'm not going soft. I'll be hitting the scotch soon enough, don't you worry, but for now, I'm taking it easy.
"So, what brings you two here?" Becca asks us, her brows knitted. She's trying to act casual.
Lorna turns to me and smiles. She brings her hand to my neck and gives it a gentle, affectionate squeeze. I can't help but picture her hand as a baby anaconda slithering around my shoulders and threatening to squeeze the life out of me at any moment.
"We're having a romantic night out," Lorna replies.
I nearly choke on my tea. Romantic? Is that what she calls this? That's a laugh. But of course Becca doesn't know any better. She's having a hard time wrapping her head around all of this, and honestly, I don't blame her.
It's 360 degree change from the last time we spoke.
It's true that I've been playing along, but this meal, together with Lorna, is far from romantic.
Becca eyes me suspiciously, but again, I look away. I still can't stand to look her in the eyes.
Just then, a waiter approaches us, bringing our food.