Chapter 4

Three days passed.

Three days of avoiding Mason. Three days of hiding in the pool house like I was scared of something, him.

I tried not to think about the nights he came home late.

The job lead went nowhere. Mason made a call, like he'd promised, but the position had been filled by the time I reached out. I spent my days scrolling through listings on my new phone, sending applications into the void, watching my savings dwindle to almost nothing.

Forty dollars in my shoe. That was all I had left.

On the fourth morning, I woke up to the smell of coffee.

Not the faint, distant scent from the main house. This was close. Inside the pool house. I sat up, disoriented, and found Mason standing at my kitchenette with two mugs in his hands.

"What are you doing here?" I grabbed the sheet and pulled it to my chin. I was wearing an oversized t-shirt and nothing else.

Mason didn't even blink. "You've been hiding from me."

"I haven't been—"

"You have." He set one of the mugs on the nightstand. "Drink. You look like you haven't slept."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already turning away, surveying the pool house like he'd never seen it before. His eyes landed on my laptop which was open to a job listing I'd been staring at for an hour last night and then on the pile of rejection emails I hadn't bothered to close.

"Any luck?" he asked.

"No."

He nodded slowly, like he'd expected that answer. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed.

Mason Chen was sitting on my bed.

My heart stopped. Restarted. Tried to punch its way out of my chest.

"I have a proposal," he said.

"A proposal."

"There's a charity gala this weekend. My family's foundation hosts it every year. Sloane usually helps, but she's got a conflict." He looked at me. "I need someone to handle the guest list. Check people in. Make sure my mother doesn't kill anyone."

"You want me to work at a gala?"

"I want you to make two hundred dollars for one night of standing at a table and smiling." He pulled an envelope from his back pocket and tossed it onto the blanket. "That's the advance. The rest when you show up."

I stared at the envelope. Two hundred dollars. That was rent on a new place. Food for a month. A lifeline.

"Why?" I asked.

"Why what?"

"Why are you helping me? You don't even like me."

Mason's expression flickered. Something unreadable passed behind his eyes and gone before I could catch it. Then he stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I don't need to like you to not want you to be homeless," he said. "Gala's Saturday. Seven o'clock. Wear something that doesn't look like you sleep in it."

He walked out before I could respond.

I sat there for a long time after the door clicked shut, holding the envelope in my shaking hands. Two hundred dollars. It wasn't charity—it was work. Real work. I could do this.

I could do this without falling any more for a man who saw me as a project.

'""""""

Saturday arrived faster than I wanted.

Sloane showed up at four with a garment bag and a determined expression. "You are not wearing one of my old dresses," she said before I could even ask. "You are wearing something that belongs to you and makes you feel like a weapon."

"I don't need to feel like a weapon. I need to feel like someone who can operate a clipboard."

Sloane ignored me. She unzipped the garment bag and pulled out a dress that made my breath catch.

It was deep green. Velvet. Long-sleeved with a neckline that dipped just low enough to be interesting without being desperate. The kind of dress that cost more than my entire wardrobe combined.

"Sloane. I can't accept this."

"You can and you will." She hung it on the bathroom door. "Consider it an investment in my own entertainment. I'm tired of watching you dress like a librarian."

"I like librarians."

"So do I. But tonight, you're going to look like the girl that librarians secretly want to be." She grabbed my shoulders and turned me toward the mirror. "Now. Hair and makeup. We have three hours."

I let her work. What else could I do?

By seven o'clock, I didn't recognize myself. My hair fell in soft waves past my shoulders. My eyes were darker than usual, lined with something Sloane called smoky and I called terrifying. The dress fit like it had been made for me, hugging every curve I didn't know I had.

"Damn," Sloane said, stepping back to admire her work. "Mason's not going to know what hit him."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"Nothing." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Just saying. You look hot. Go make some money."

The gala was held at a hotel. People in gowns and tuxedos who looked at me like I was one of them.

I wasn't one of them. I was standing behind a table with a clipboard, checking names off a list, smiling until my face hurt.

But the money was good. And Mason had been true to his word. He'd paid me the rest of the two hundred upfront, pressed into my palm with a muttered don't spend it all on ramen.

I hadn't seen him since the night started. He was somewhere in the crowd, probably charming some blonde heiress, probably not thinking about me at all.

That was fine. That was what I wanted.

By ten o'clock, my feet were screaming. I'd been standing for three hours in heels that Sloane had assured me were perfectly comfortable. She was a liar. A beautiful, well-intentioned liar.

I slipped away from the table during a lull, ducking into a hallway behind the ballroom. Quiet. Empty. I leaned against the wall and kicked off my heels, sighing with relief.

That's when I heard it.

Mason's voice. Low and rough, coming from somewhere around the corner. He was on the phone or so I thought. Until I heard the second voice. A woman's. Familiar.

"I don't understand why you won't just tell her," the woman said.

"Because it's complicated." Mason sounded tired. Strained. Not the cocky, careless Mason I knew. "She doesn't see me that way. She never has."

"You don't know that."

"I know." A pause. "I've spent ten years watching her follow Sloane around like a lost puppy. She looks at me like I'm furniture. Like I'm Sloane's annoying brother who won't leave her alone."

My breath caught.

She. He was talking about a she.

"Then why keep her in the pool house?" the woman asked. "That's not what someone does when they don't care."

"Because I'm an idiot." Mason laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Because I thought if I got her close, I could get her out of my system. See her messy hair and her cheap coffee and realize she's just a person. Just some girl."

Just some girl.

My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

"And?" the woman prompted.

"And nothing." A beat of silence. Then Mason's voice dropped so low I almost missed it. "If I don't get away from her soon, I'm going to ruin everything."

I pressed my hand over my mouth.

The woman sighed. "Mason—"

"Drop it, Olivia. Just... drop it."

Footsteps. Heading toward me. I grabbed my heels and ran.