Page 20 of Infinite

I glance away. It hurts knowing they hurt for me. “Where’re we headed?” I ask.

“A hotel on the upper west side. Your PA is waiting for us and is in the process of securing a private plane to take us to Kiawah by the end of the week.”

“Us?” I ask.

“We need a better plan than we have,” Mason says. “That will take some time and I may need to file a few petitions while we’re still here. We’ll get you settled in Kiawah and then fly back here.” Mason swipes at his short, buzzed hair, sweat glistening along the crown of his dark skin. “If you’re hellbent on me representing you, I have a lot of research to do and attorneys to consult with. I’ll need to get a team together, other counsel, private investigators, whatever it takes.”

“Thank you. Get who you need,” I say.

“I will,” Mason promises. “I’ll take care of it.”

I believe him. Not that the hole burning its way through my gut lessens in severity. I’m innocent. I am. We’ll find a way out of this mess. Someone was smart enough to frame me. With any luck, he or she will be stupid enough to get caught.

My issue is, people don’t soon forget scandal. I learned a long time ago how much people value money and how they’ll cut you to pieces if they learn that you messed with theirs.

Shit. Wasn’t it just the other day I was in my office taking millions and making them billions? Wasn’t I telling the finance world to bite me and enjoy the slow chew? Now, every client I have thinks I screwed them, even sweet Mrs. Valez, who went from cleaning houses to cleaning up at the bank.

The tension, the hate I’m feeling, it becomes too much, especially for Sean.

He holds out his arms. “Let’s hug it out, bitches.”

Two more hugs and more than his share of much needed back pats later, we reach the hotel. I haven’t seen Sean this upset since his parents split up and we spent an hour washing his puke out of Trin’s hair. We were in high school and half running, half-staggering from a busted keg party. We can laugh about it now. But that’s about all we can laugh about.

Just like back at the courthouse, the reporters are right there. Oh, and look, so is what has to be a throng of paparazzi. Pris is New York’s celebrity socialite. As much as we’re no good for each other, it pissed me off that one of those leeches snapped a picture of her sobbing as she left her apartment and smacked it on the front cover beside an old picture of us.

I called her and told her I was sorry about putting her through this. She told me, “Fuck off. I hope you rot in prison.”

Good to know she’s taking our breakup well.

Neesa sprints across the lobby as we shove our way through the press. “Hale. Jiminy Cricket, I don’t know how they found out you’re here—”

Neesa grinds to an awkward stumble, her hip and knee twisting in a way that seems unnatural. I snag her arm, steadying her.

Her eyes are wild, her eyelids peeling back behind her head. I turn around, expecting more FBI and another set of cuffs. I do a double-take when I realize Neesa, my go-to, my consummate professional, my never sweat in the face of danger, my super assistant minus the cape, is gaping at Mason and tripping over a word that sounds like erpaw. That’s right.Erpaw.

I cock a brow. “Mason, this is Neesa. Neesa, this is Mason. I thought y’all had met.”

Mason’s nod is barely perceptible, unlike Neesa’s stammer. “He-lo-lo. No, we’ve only spoken on the phone.”

Mason gives my sweet little princess the once-over. Great. He likes what he sees, too. Mason steps forward, lifting Neesa’s hand and kissing it gently. I’m still holding her. In case you’re wondering, it feels as awkward as it sounds.

“Why haven’t we met?” Mason asks, his deep voice as solid as the marble tile at my feet. “After all these years of talking, how is it possible?”

Women love Mason. They always have. This here display is a good example of why.

Neesa giggles.Giggleslike a little girl, then nods like she’s having a seizure. I’ll give her this, it’s a better response than the “erpaw”, or whatever the hell first came out of her mouth.

Sean clears his throat. I don’t think he so much cares about what’s happening between Mason and Neesa. Sean is like a Hobbit and he’s probably starving, having missed his third lunch to stand by me in court.

“Oh,” Neesa says, suddenly remembering that she’s not alone and that yes, I’m still holding her.

“Yup, I’m still here,” I remind her. She shoots me a dirty look and addresses Sean. “Nice to see you, again, Sean.”

“Hey, Neesa,” Sean says. “While we’re on the subject, do you have an opinion on strippers and safety gear?”

Neesa doesn’t know Sean well. But she’s interacted enough with him to not be too surprised by his comments. She smiles politely. “I haven’t given it much thought,” she says, looking back at Mason and blushing.

Christ, help me. I love Mason. I do. Most likely he and Sean will be Godparents to my kids if I ever accidently knock someone up. Except, the last thing I need right now is my attorney making babies with my PA. That shit don’t mix in a time of crisis.

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