Mason laughed, deep and throaty. “Soon, Gem. Be patient.” His patronizing tone was going to see me in a prison cell before him.
“Just stay out my life,” I warned, one last time. “And I’ll make sure everything, including you, stays in the past.” His large frame blocked the door preventing an easy escape. That didn’t stop me. Knocking his shoulder on the way through, I grabbed my handbag from the couch and made my exit, worried I’d vomit on the way out.
I didn’t know what happened to Christina, but I couldn’t stay in her house a second longer with him. He wasn’t going to hurt her or Evie. This was just a game to him. A twisted game of cat and mouse which had served his purpose.
Opening the car door, I threw my bag on the passenger seat with enough force it fell off and landed upturned on the car floor.
Inhaling deeply to calm my rage, I was about to climb in when his voice stopped me.
“And Gem?”
Tapping the door in frustration, I turned reluctantly and met his gaze. He leaned against the front door, jeans hung low on his naked torso. “The past can easily become your future. And I’ll personally make sure it does.”
I swallowed hard, his warning hitting home.
This was never going to end.
Chapter 22
NOW
“Sweet Jesus!” Charlie gasped from his desk, his fingers paused over the keyboard.
“What?” I asked, stopping in my tracks and staring at his frown.
“You look like shit,” he blurted. “I thought your little getaway was meant for relaxation? It looks like a freight train hit you… and then reversed.”
“Thanks,” I replied sarcastically. “Every girl loves to hear that first thing in the morning.”
“Well, I could lie—”
“No,” I interrupted, defeated. “Don’t do that.” I dumped my handbag on one chair and sat on the other. “Talk to me. How did the installation go? Any drama?”
He shook his head. “No drama to speak of. Other than Bernice Thornton scares the living shit out of me. That’s one chica you don’t want to be on the wrong side of.”
“Sounds like I didn’t miss much.”
“Not particularly.” Charlie leaned forward interlacing his fingers, one eyebrow cocked. “But I will let you know that David is on the warpath.”
I dropped my head back and groaned. “Why? What now?”
“Take it as a compliment. He obviously can’t live without you.”
“The feeling is not mutual,” I muttered, annoyed.
Charlie’s eyes glistened with a naughty playfulness. “Pity he’s not gay. Anyway, I’m gladly handing the reins back over to you, because you have way more patience dealing with the nagging human species than what I do.”
“I highly doubt it.” Hooking my handbag, I rose to my feet and headed into my own office, ready to tackle the mounting paperwork.
“Right,” Charlie sounded behind me, a clipboard in hand. “We have a new client who wants on our books.”
“Name?”
“Rufus Harding, with his Reminiscent series.”
“Hmm… get him to send through his portfolio.” I fell into my chair and waited for more.
“The insurance company has called regarding Maximus Kline. They want a written statement from you since you’re the curator. I have all the photos of the damage.”
“Have we heard from Maximus?”
“No, he took what was left that wasn’t damaged and is waiting for his paycheck. Oh!” Charlie squealed causing me to jump. “Your gift.” Dropping the clipboard on the desk with a clatter, he pushed forward a silver wrapped box the size of a Tiffany’s necklace gift.
“You didn’t tear at the corner to get a sneak peek, did you?” It was a light-hearted comment, yet my stomach rolled with anxiety.
“I didn’t, and you’ll never understand the strength it took to not.”
Outside on Charlie’s desk, the phone rang, but he didn’t move.
“You going to get that?” I asked, amused.
“Are you going to see what’s inside?”
“Is the suspense killing you, Charlie?” I smiled playfully.
“Biatch you know it is.”
“Okay then, I’ll see to it soon.”
Charlie inhaled sharply, torn between answering the phone and dealing with me. “You’re a cow!” he scoffed, making a hasty exit before he missed the call. I watched through the glass as Charlie sat at his desk, headset on, flicking through files on his computer while he conversed with the caller. Reluctantly my eyes gravitated to the gift, its obnoxious purple bow making my fingers tap nervously on the table. Its mere presence was offensive, and I had no idea why.
Inhaling sharply, I sat forward.
Exhaling heavily, I stood and rounded the desk, my eyes trained on the gift.
I caressed the soft silkiness of the bow before giving it a gentle pull and unraveling it. Removing the lid, a layer of purple tissue paper covered the contents. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until my head grew faint. There’s something to say about gut instinct, and everything about this ‘gift’ was off.
Carefully moving the paper on either side, I frowned at what I finally saw.
Photos.
“What the hell?” I mouthed, studying those who had been captured without knowledge.
Numb, I flicked through the images of Peter.
Peter kissing a blonde woman on the neck while walking down a street.
Peter feeding the same woman a forkful of dessert in a candlelit restaurant.
Peter kissing the woman in the park, crushing his mouth to hers.
Peter with the mystery blonde naked in a bedroom, straddling his lap, long legs wrapped around his waist, head thrown back in ecstasy.
We need to talk, had been his message.
I could now see why.
After the last photo was a note. Swallowing the bile, I opened it.
You always miss what’s right in front of you.
It wasn’t signed, but I knew who it was from.
Tears of anger more than hurt ran down my cheeks taking turns to drip on the paper. The drops exploded on impact and spread into moisture circles.
Mason’s fascination with my life knew no bounds. He was an unstoppable force.
A voice outside my office stirred me into action. David’s relieved voice edged closer as I hurriedly returned the photos to the box and replaced the lid, my hands trembling and clumsy.
“Gemma,” he called. “You have no idea how much this place has missed you.”
Before I turned, I swiped at my wet cheeks and mustered a smile.
“Thanks for being so understanding,” I said meeting his expectant gaze.
His own smile faded, a frown forming. “Are you crying? You’ve only been back for ten minutes.”
“I’m sorry,” I dismissed. “It’s been a long week.”
“It’s Monday!”
I couldn’t muster the energy to respond, my mind drifting to my current predicament and how I was going to deal with Mason.
His volatile and unpredictable nature.
His insertion back into my life.
His stalking and cruel intentions would only fester if I let it.
And then there was the case of Peter. The trust I had placed in him. The bond we had been forming, or at least I thought we had been forming. All those extended times away were spent with someone else, and most likely were all for pleasure and not the slightest bit for business.
“What’s that?” David gestured to the gift behind me.
“It’s nothing,” I said, moving an inch to the right to block his view.
David stilled, the vein in his neck pulsing. He didn’t take well to being dismissed, and my coldness grated him. My gaze darted around the room, keen to avoid his stare.
“How’s Peter?” he finally asked, and I knew he was taking a stab in the dark. That stab just happened to be on point, puncturing right through the heart.
I swallowed hard and prepared my answer. “Peter is great. Busy with…” fucking his Chicago blonde, “… work. Always busy with work.”
It wasn’t convincing, and I saw an unwanted light of curiosity in his eyes.