Page 55 of Meet Mason, the Billionaire

“Yes, that’s why my grades are dropping.”

“Hmph. They’d better not drop for long. When you look at this girl, does your belly do flip flops?”

“Yes, yes it does,” I said eagerly.

“And do you feel like you’re going to throw up when she talks to you?”

“Yes, exactly! I knew it. I am in lo—”

“Then everything you have told me makes me dead certain—that you have a crush, and are not in love.”

“What?” I sputtered. “I thought, that is—”

“You assumed you knew where my questions were leading. You were wrong. With love, you’re a lot calmer. You can still feel all those other things, but there’s a sort of certainty that descends on your soul. And you just KNOW. You just know you’re in love.”

That hadn’t made any sense to me at the time. I thought the old man was just messing with me. But when I started examining my feelings for Megan, I realized that the symptoms weren’t a crush. That was for damn sure.

I sat in my office between meetings, watching the sun sketch shadows on the wall, when the door swung open.

“Excuse me, that’s Mr. Wilder’s private office,” my assistant snapped.

“It’s okay,” I called when I saw it was Jack. She sashayed into my office and plunked herself down in the seat opposite my desk.

“What's up, boss?” She freely dug candy out of the dish on my desk and popped it into her mouth.

“Hello, Jack. I assume that since you’re barging into my office to eat candy you have some news for me on that portrait?”

“You assume correctly.” She sat up and grinned. “I found out who painted that portrait of your gramps.”

I was rapt with attention. “Don’t keep me in suspense Jack. Tell me!”

She held up a finger and started coughing. “I’m not keeping you—ugh—in suspense, I’m trying not to choke on this Werther’s Original that tried to slip down my throat. Ahem. Ever heard of El Vampiro?”

“Yes, but I didn’t know they were an artist.”

“It’s a pseudonym, obviously. Anyway, this El Vampiro cat painted a lot of stuff back when your grandfather was your age. Like crazy stuff. Movie posters, family portraits, high-end art that would make Van Gogh weep with envy.”

“Okay, so we know the artist. Can we find him and ask to purchase the portrait?”

“That’s the problem. He’s dead.”

“Then does he have a next of kin?”

“Yes, and they are the ones who loaned the painting to the Galleria.”

“Great! What’s their name?”

“That I didn’t find out yet.”

I rubbed a hand down my face. “So, once again, you really don’t have anything to report.”

“Not so.” She got a hurt expression. “I’m wounded, Mason. Greatly. I just gave you a fantastic update on how the case is progressing.”

I sighed. “Fine. You’re a master of your craft. Do you know ANYTHING about the next of kin?”

“No, but I suspect it’s a woman.”

“What makes you say that?”

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