Page 29 of Dirty Ink

“Fine, what?”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “You’re charming.”

“And funny.”

“And funny.”

“And hot.”

“Goddammit, Mason—”

“And because I am so charming and so funny and so hot, I attract more than my fair share of the lovelier sex.”

Rachel scowled. “I’m well aware from this morning.”

I lifted a finger.

“Ah! And as evidenced this morning, you might also be aware that I sometimes have a difficult time saying, how shall we say, ‘Adios’ to these fine beauties come morning time.”

Rachel glanced over at me. Suspicion all over her face.

“I don’t see how I’m going to help you be a more efficient playboy, Mason,” she said.

I clicked my tongue. “I am not a playboy.”

This time Rachel did spit out her beer.

I continued, unperturbed, to say, “I am not a playboy, because I do not play. There are no games involved whatsoever. If anything I’m a businessman. A deal is settled upon. Terms clearly laid out. And I only proceed when both parties—well, let’s just say all parties since sometimes it’s more than just the two of us—have given verbal agreement.”

“You’re right,” Rachel said, patting at the beer on her knee. At the beer on my hand on her knee. “You’re not a playboy.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

I chuckled. “However, after the fun is had, the good times rolled, the party finished, occasionally I get a business partner or two that…let’s see…that hopes to ‘renegotiate’.”

“I still don’t see how any of that has to do with me.”

I smiled my most winningest smile and nestled in closer to her. “What would you do, babe, if you awoke one morning in a funny, charming and handsome man’s bed and the moment you go to ask about perhaps brunch in the park, an angry, infuriated, scorned and wronged wife comes barrelling through the bedroom door?”

Rachel leapt up out of my arms, away from the heat of my body, and off of the couch, and threw the rest of her beer in my face.

“Now, now, wifey!” I stood, towering over her, and grabbed her around the waist before she could leave.

Rachel jammed her fingers against my chest. “You must be out of your goddamn mind if you think that I am going to play pretend as some angry, wronged wife of yours.”

“You’re doing a pretty bang-on job of it right now.”

Rachel’s eyes burned as she looked up at me. We were so close that I could feel her heart pounding against mine.

“Sixty days,” I said. “Sixty days and no one needs to know about your past…indiscretions.”

“Past mistakes,” Rachel said through gritted teeth. “You get one week.”

“I’m looking to establish a reputation here,” I replied before countering, “Six weeks.”

“Two. But only because I care about my reputation.”

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