Page 39 of Meet Mason, the Billionaire

“Oh, the old ‘do you know who I am?’ routine.” The cop rolled his eyes. “I’ve never heard that one before. Take a chill pill, buddy. I’m sure your rich mommy and daddy will have you sprung soon enough.”

“My mother died, and my father—”

“What, did your daddy fuck her to death?” The cop quipped.

I felt like I’d been slapped. I couldn’t believe he would mock anyone’s grief and pain like that, and in such a disgustingly vulgar way. I was about to ask for his badge number when a hand thrust into my field of vision. A hand holding a can of spray paint.

A very, very pissed-off-looking Megan was wielding the can. The cop screamed, arms pinwheeling as he fell back onto the polished floor tiles.

Megan threw the can at him and was about to pounce when I grabbed her around the waist and restrained her.

“Cheese it!” Golga shouted, which seemed to be the signal for all of us to run. I dragged Megan away from the temporarily blinded cop and pulled her down the maintenance hallway.

The others were long gone, running like hell out the side door. It was too late to follow them, because the cop’s partner had returned.

“Come on,” I said, pulling her into a concrete stairwell. It was the valet entrance to the below-ground parking garage. I knew the building layout since I’d been there when the blueprints were drawn up.

“Did you hear what that piece of shit said to you?”

“Yes, I did, but now you’ve just assaulted an officer and we need to leave.”

“He’s lucky I left him breathing.”

We stormed down the steps, the sound echoing off the walls.

“I do believe you’re more upset than I am.”

“You’re so nice, Mason. So good. Nobody should talk to you like that, ever. You don’t deserve it.”

“Nice?” I laughed. “I’m the guy who tied you up and had his way with you the other night.”

“And I enjoyed every minute of it, didn’t I? Did I ever ask you to stop?”

“No.”

“Then don’t feel bad.”

We reached the bottom of the stairs and nearly trampled a valet who was on his way up.

“Hey, Mr. Wilder,” he said, young face scrunched up in a frown. “Are you getting the Jag yourself?”

“Oh so THIS is where I left the Jaguar,” I said.

It sounded like a good idea. We could just drive away—or we could, if the cops weren’t at the parking garage’s exit.

“Not today, Jimmy.” I patted him on the shoulder. “Hey, which way was the smoker’s lounge?”

“That way.” He pointed down a short hallway terminating in a set of metal double doors.

“Thanks Jimmy.”

“Smoker’s lounge?” Megan asked as I led her down the hallway.

“You’ll see. It’s an affectionate nickname.”

I pushed the door open, and we stood on the precipice of a steep concrete slope ten feet tall.

“This is a maintenance area that the crew comes to if they happen to smoke.”

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