Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Yet I wasn’t willing to take a chance on Mason. I wasn’t willing to take him at face value, to believe him when he flirted, choosing instead to believe it was all a game to him. Which, yeah, maybe we did meet because I was hired to nanny his nonexistent child. But everything after that was real, even if the entire thing is too crazy to be true.
I fell for Mason Cooper and I was too scared to admit it.
That ends today.
I have to fix this. I don’t know how I’ll do that exactly, but I have a rough idea. And that’s okay, because the thing about life is we’re all just making it up as we go along. Doing our best, taking chances, making mistakes. Hopefully learning along the way.
A few hours when I finally get to Mason’s office, the same receptionist from my first day is there. She smiles and waves me through to the elevators. I give her a small nod in return, anxiety bubbling in my stomach.
Then I’m in the elevator, swooshing up to Mason’s floor. I’m trying to get the butterflies in my stomach to settle. I’ll just tell him the truth. That I feel lucky that I met him and his nonexistent baby. That I think I might have fallen for him. That I’ve been too scared to admit it, to see it through.
Easy.
Not easy.
Spilling my heart out to him sounds easy in my head. I can visualize the conversation, but actually getting the words out of my mouth when he’s standing in front of me is so much harder.
Not so much.
The elevator doors open and there’s a group waiting to take the elevator I’m exciting. I duck my head and slide past them—and slam right into Mason.
“Liberty.” He grips me by the upper arms, to stop my momentum and keep us both from toppling over, the book I’m holding tumbling to the floor. He looks surprised to see me, but also… relieved? “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you all day.”
He has? Hope soars in my chest. “You have?”
“Of course.” His eyes search my face, and my heart rate accelerates. “You never showed up for work,” he finally says.
Oh, right. That. My job.
“I… I’m here to resign,” I finally sputter. “It’s clear that I can’t work for you.”
His eyes widen and he releases my forearms and takes a step back, his gaze dropping to the floor as he bends to pick up the book I dropped. I remember how hurt he was the other night when I left and at the accusations I threw at him. No, I can’t just resign. I have to make this right first. I have to explain.
“And I need to apologize,” I rush to add, “for how I acted the other night.” I gesture towards the book he’s still holding. “I brought a peace offering, I—”
“Let’s take this to my office,” Mason says, interrupting me mid-apology. I blink, realizing we’re still standing outside the elevator. The group getting on is long gone, but my eyes dart around, a blush covering my cheeks at the idea of anyone listening. But then I realize I don’t care. I have to tell him everything before I chicken out.
“I just… I thought we could maintain a professional relationship,” I babble as he waves me in the direction of his office, his hand on my back ushering me forward, “and then when that didn’t work, I thought we could just do that and then be done with each other. But now I know that’s just impossible.”
“What’s impossible?” Mason asks, clearing his throat as he shuts his office door behind us.
Fuck. He’s going to make me say it.
“Having sex with you,” I say. He raises a brow at that but I press on. “I mean, working for you and having sex with you. I can’t do both. So I quit. Because I want to keep having sex with you.” I suck in a breath and exhale an “Oh, fuck,” because none of this is coming out right. Mason’s lip twitches. “I meant I’d rather have sex with you than work for you. I mean—” I pause again. This entire speech sounded so much better in my head. “I like you. I want to hang out with you all the time. I miss you when you’re not sending me ridiculous texts about a nonexistent baby. And I know I messed things up, royally, but—”
“Liberty.” He clears his throat. “Please stop apologizing.”
Okay. I’ve really fucked this up. He doesn’t feel the same way. But it’s fine. Humiliating but fine.
He glances at the book in his hand, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“You brought me a copy of the Velveteen Rabbit,” he states, glancing at the book in his hand.
“It reminded me of Velvet,” I explain, hoping this isn’t the stupidest romantic gesture in the history of sappy romantic gestures. “I thought perhaps that’s where she got her name from? When I was snooping around your apartment I noticed you were holding a stuffed bunny in a few photos from your childhood and I thought—”