Bang (Blast Brothers #2) - Sabrina Stark Page 0,38

continued. "So that's the 'coffee' with your brother. And in case it wasn't clear, there was no 'banging' involved." Under her breath, she added, "Well, not with me, anyway. Who knows what he and the blonde did afterwards." She hesitated. "Or before."

With a final sigh, she asked, "And why am I even thinking about this?"

As I gazed down at her, it slowly dawned on me that my anger had morphed into something else, something a lot more dangerous – and not only to me personally.

Cami was a nice person. She deserved a nice guy. But me – I wasn't nice. Hell, I didn't even want to be nice.

Nice guys finished last – and wasted too much time doing it. That wasn't me. And it never would be, not if I could help it.

It was time to get back to business. "About Veronica," I said, "I'll need a written report."

Cami shook her head. "What?"

"Keep it under five pages. Typed. And don't omit anything." I gave her a hard look. "Because trust me, I have ways of finding out."

Chapter 23

Cami

I looked to Arden. "And then he tells me…" I did my best Mason impression. "I have ways of finding out."

Arden and I were sitting in the living room of the beach house that she and Brody had renovated earlier this year as part of the Blast reality show. The house had been in Arden's family for generations, but it wasn't until Brody had invested some serious time and money into its restoration that the house had morphed into something truly spectacular.

Today, the home looked brand new, but with all its original charm. Best of all, Arden and Brody were now living in the house together while they made plans for their upcoming wedding.

From the nearby sofa, Arden said, "You know what's funny? I bet he really does have ways of finding out."

"Oh, I'm sure he does," I said, recalling the background check that Mason had run on me, back in the beginning. "But if that's the case, why doesn't he get a report from them instead?"

"Maybe it's a test," she said. "You know, to see if you'll fib."

Knowing Mason, I could almost see it. "Or maybe he's just spreading the misery."

Arden gave a solemn nod. "Well, that's Mason for ya."

It was just past noon, and Arden had invited me over for lunch and coffee while Brody went into the office. Through the windows of the living room, I could see the endless waters of the Saginaw Bay shimmering in the afternoon sun.

The view of the water made me think of Mason's back patio, where we'd gotten into that heated discussion. I still wasn't quite sure how our conversation had gone so far off-track, but the whole thing had left me feeling confused and unsettled.

But hey, what else was new?

The truth was, I'd been feeling unsettled ever since Mason had walked into that club in Petoskey and turned my life upside-down.

"So," Arden said, "did you write it?"

"The report?" I rolled my eyes. "Yes. But only because I didn't have a choice. I mean, it's not like it was optional or anything."

"Are you sure?" she said. "Let's say you didn't do it. Do you think he'd fire you?"

I gave it some thought. "I don't know, but I do think he'd make me miserable."

"So are you?" she said. "Miserable, I mean?"

I sighed. "Well he's making me crazy. Does that count?"

It had been less than a day since Mason had demanded the report. And although he hadn't given me an official deadline, I'd gotten the distinct impression that if I didn't have it done by the time he got home tonight, he wouldn't be pleased.

Then again, it's not like he'd be pleased anyway. Now that I thought about it, he was looking less pleased with every passing day.

Last night, after our tense conversation on the patio, all three of us – meaning me and Willow, plus Mason – had eaten dinner together like we usually did whenever Mason was home.

In spite of the lingering tension, dinner had been surprisingly uneventful, with Willow doing most of the talking.

It was a good thing, too, because I'd been far too distracted to say anything intelligent. And forget making a decent dinner.

But at least that part was taken care of. All I'd had to do was pop the pre-made casserole into the oven and, after we'd finished eating, stack the dishes in the sink.

Sometime today – probably right now, in fact – Mason's daily housekeeper would do the rest of