When Mason explains, I think poor Dick might faint.
“I’ve got strict morals clauses in my contract with the Pioneers, and also in all my endorsement deals. I’m on notice that any more…” Agitated, he drags a hand through his thatch of dark hair. “Incidents, and I’ll get cut from the team. I could lose everything. So I need to settle down.” He smirks at me. “Or at least look like I am.”
I pick up the desk lamp and bludgeon him with it. Except only in my head. “I’m not in the business of fake relationships, Mr. Spark—”
“It’s Mr. Spark now? Ten seconds ago we were on a first name basis.”
“Ten seconds ago, I didn’t know you were lying to me.”
“What difference does my reason for wanting to get married make?”
“It makes every difference.”
“The end result is the same.”
“Not at all.”
“How so?”
“Oh, just this little ol’ thing called love. You know. The reason people usually get married?”
His gray eyes skewer me. “Half of all marriages end in divorce. Basing a relationship on love is about as solid as building castles in the sand.”
Oh dear. Someone needs an enema.
Though I do agree that there are other important factors that make a successful match, a couple can’t go the distance without the glue of love. It’s what holds everything together when things get messy. But I decide the point is moot.
Smiling my best bless your heart smile, I say, “And what do you propose marriage be based on? Breast size?”
He deadpans, “The odds of it lasting are just as good.”
I take a moment to marvel at that statement. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a person more cynical than this pretty football star staring at me like he’d like to pop my eyeballs out with his thumbs.
Whatever made him so anti-love, it must’ve been a doozy.
“I’m sure there are plenty of large breasted women out there who’d be happy to accommodate your enchanting views on marriage, Mr. Spark, but you won’t find one of them through me. Unfortunately, I believe in love.”
He snorts. “You believed in Santa Claus and the tooth fairy once, too. Grow up.”
I stare at him, my smile fading. For the first time since he walked into the room, I feel something other than aggravation for him: I feel pity.
If this is truly how he feels…well, that’s just an awful way to go through life.
Holding his gaze, I say, “I’m a simple girl, and I certainly don’t claim to have any special insight on life. But there’s one thing I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, and that is that love is the only thing you gain more of by giving it. Until you learn to open your heart, you’ll always be as lonely as you are now.”
Mason blinks, as if startled. He says too loudly, “I’m not lonely.”
Okie dokie, then. So much for the inspirational speeches. I stifle a sigh and glance meaningfully toward the door, hoping he’ll take the hint. “I see. My mistake. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting—”
Mason says suddenly, “I’ll double your fee.”
I’m not the only one that statement gives whiplash to. Dick nearly falls out of his chair.
He sputters, “Now, now, wait just a minute. We can try another company, Mace! Don’t go wastin’ your money on one that can’t deliver the goods!”
The goods. As if women are sports equipment. Just so many footballs, indistinguishable from one another, useful only as a tool to score. Things.
Life would be so much easier if murder were legal.
To Dick, I say, “Don’t worry about the money. Every penny will be refunded by the end of the day tom—”
“I’ll triple it,” Mason breaks in.
When I stay silent, biting my tongue because arrogance and ignorance are two of my least favorite things, Mason takes it as a negotiation ploy.
“Fine,” he says gruffly, sitting forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He pins me in that weirdly intense gray gaze of his again. “Name your price.”
“I don’t want your money, Mr. Spark.” I enunciate every word, because I’m starting to think he might be a little thick in the head. Maybe one too many concussions.
The laugh he produces in response lacks any human warmth whatsoever. “That’s a first.”
By now, any shred of pity I might have felt for him has shriveled up and died.
Whoever this man’s mama is, she did not teach him manners.
I say politely but firmly, “Perhaps I’m not making myself clear. I’m a businesswoman. Not a mercenary. And I’m certainly not running an escort service. Dick told me you were interested in finding a partner, someone to share your life with, who has compatible values and goals. I was led to believe your travel and game schedule interfered with meeting suitable women, and you hoped my service would assist you with that. That’s what I signed on for, because that’s what I do.
“What I do not do is knowingly mislead my clients. The ladies who come to me looking for healthy relationships are good people. Each of them deserves a good man.”
I leave the obvious unsaid: I doubt he’s one of them.
But Prince Charmless isn’t done with me yet. His tone challenging, he says, “Is that what you have? A good man?” He glances at my bare ring finger.
There’s another finger I’d like to show him, but I refuse to let him rattle me. I say coolly, “My private life is just that, Mr. Spark—private.”
“So you’re single.”
He says it like an accusation. Like I’ve failed some sort of test.
Holy cheese and rice, I’d like to smack that smirk right off his face.
Instead, I rise and gesture toward the door. “Thank you for your time. I’m truly sorry I wasn’t able to be of service. As I said, the money will be refunded—”
“Give us a minute.”
Rising to his full, intimidating height, Mason speaks to Dick, but stares straight at me.
It could be my imagination, but I could swear I see a strange look cross Dick’s face. A sly look, like a lightbulb has blinked on over his head as he glances between me and Mason.
But then he stands and heads toward the door and I forget about all that, because Mason Spark is about to reach across the desk and strangle me.
3
Maddie
When we’re alone, Mason and I engage in a long stare-off where the only sound is the clock ticking on the wall and the air conditioning whispering through the vents.
I hold his gaze, waiting for him to speak first. If he thinks I’ll be intimidated by him, he’ll be disappointed. I’ve got four older brothers. I can play the staring game for days.
A muscle in Mason’s jaw starts to flex. A while after that, he says, “You’re not blinking.”
“Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.”
“Really? I could’ve sworn you were thinking about stabbing me in the neck with that letter opener on your desk.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I pause for a beat. “I just had the carpet cleaned.”