lot. But I need to know who hired me. Was it her? Or you?"
"And here's my question," he said. "Who signs your check?"
My chin lifted. "No one. Your bookkeeper set up direct deposit." I tried for a smirk. "Remember?"
"And the bonus check?"
My smirk faded as I recalled the check he'd given me during the drive from Petoskey. "Well, yeah. I guess you signed that one."
"Right."
"Okay, fine," I sighed. "If you don't want to tell me, that's your decision, but I really do care about Willow. And I know you do, too, so I figured we could have a reasonable discussion about it. That's all."
He gave me a look. "Reasonable? Or intrusive?"
"Oh, please. What's so intrusive about it? Nothing. That's what."
"Not the way I see it." And with that, he turned away, heading out of the kitchen.
He'd barely reached the doorway when a horrible thought occurred to me. As the blood drained from my face, I called out, "Wait!"
Slowly, he turned back. With an obvious lack of enthusiasm, he said, "What now?"
"I need to know something."
"Again?"
I almost rolled my eyes. "Yes. Again. Even though you barely answered my first question." I strode forward until we were standing within arm's reach. "Is Willow in trouble?"
"What?" He stiffened. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened," I said. "I just want to make sure that I didn't get her in hot water by asking about the birthday thing." I winced. "I mean, you're not going to yell at her or anything, are you?"
He visibly relaxed. "I don't yell."
"Alright, fine," I said. "You're not gonna give her that look, are you?"
"What look?"
"The one you're giving me now." I crossed my arms. "Because I've got to tell you, it's a little scary."
He was silent for a long moment as our gazes locked and held. And even though I had to crane my neck to stare up at him, I refused to look away. Who knows? Maybe I didn't want to look away.
In the light of the kitchen, I could see the flecks of brown in his dark, compelling eyes. Oh yeah. A girl could definitely get lost in them.
And then, he did the strangest thing. He almost smiled. "You can't be too scared," he said. "You're still here."
I was so startled by the near-smile, I blinked in sudden confusion. "Well, yeah," I stammered, "because I'd rather have you glaring at me than at her."
Slowly, his gaze dipped to my lips, and I felt my knees go wobbly for reasons I couldn’t quite decipher.
In a quieter voice, he said, "I'm not glaring."
It was true. He wasn't. Not anymore. As far as my own face, I had no idea what it was doing, because my emotions were swinging so wildly from irritation to something I didn't dare consider.
How could one guy make me feel so many conflicting emotions?
And now, I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing as my pulse quickened and my skin grew warm.
In the end, it was Mason who broke the silence. "Don't worry," he said. "She's not the one in trouble."
Somehow, I managed to ask, "Then who is?"
With a low scoff, he replied, "Me." And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving me staring after him, wondering what on Earth had just happened – and whether it would happen again.
Chapter 19
Mason
I walked into my office to find my brother Chase sitting behind my desk. He was leaning back in my chair, with his hands clasped behind his head and his heels resting on the mahogany desktop.
I stopped just inside the open doorway and gave him a look. "What?"
He didn't move an inch. "What do you mean, what?"
"What are you doing here?"
He grinned. "I work here."
Yes. He did. Chase was the company's driving force when it came to marketing and publicity. If I were in the mood to give him credit – which I wasn't – I might've acknowledged the fact that he was the reason our sales had exploded during the last few years.
Among other stunts, he was the one who'd come up with the idea for Blast, the surprisingly popular reality show that aired weekly on the Home Network. The show starred my youngest brother, Brody, along with me and Chase, as we used our own brand of tools to restore old houses or sometimes build new ones.
I fucking hated it.
It's not that I minded getting dirty or working with my hands. That part, I liked. But the personal publicity? It wasn't my thing.
Fame was a pain in the ass – one I didn't