Page 9 of Sapphire Spring

She was all business now. “Eleven p.m. on weeknights, onea.m. on the weekends. Anything later than that, I’m going to the homeowners’board.”

Mason rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

She tapped the roof of his car before she stepped back. “Don’tmake me pull mybitchroutine on you, MasonWorther. I lasted in soaps for thirty years, and the oneproducer who tried to put his hands on me ended up with broken fingers.”

As he watched her walk off, he felt a guilt so powerful itedged on shame.

In the beginning, she’d been nothing but nice to him. On theday he’d moved in, she’d knocked on his back door with a gift basket and an offerof coffee on her patio, and his first thought had been,What’s the catch,lady? Maybe because he’d never really had a mom, and his dad was a crossbetween John Wayne and a king cobra.

And now, even though it felt childish and stupid and beneathhim, he was revving the engine as loud as he could before he backed out of hisdriveway.

If there was one area of his life whereMason currently excelled, it was hiding hangovers at the office.

He arrived at the Irvine headquarters ofWortherProperties with barely five minutes to spare before the design meeting forVistana’s spec house. The morning staff meeting he’d missed altogether. Thefirm had two major developments on deck—one a stone’s throw from their office,the other farther south in North San Diego County. Vistana andEscansedowere both McMansion-filled, gatedsubdivisions-to-be, with Spanglish-sounding names meant to evoke that specialmagic of people wealthy enough to build a multimillion-dollar house inside awildfire zone. But Vistana was much closer to building out its first homesites,so their model homes were up for design review first.

By the time he was headed back to his office, there wasstill no sign of his father.

With a nod, he told his new assistant—the one his father hadtransferred to Mason’s desk after she’d asked his dad not to curse at her—shewas free to grab a long lunch out of the office.

Once his door was shut again, he managed his first deepbreath since that morning.

His office had a nice western view over the 405 Freeway tothe first scrub-dappled mounds of the coastal hills. There wasn’t room for asofa or love seat, so he pushed his desk chair against the wall and curled upinto the fetal position on the carpet behind his desk, tucking his chair’slumbar pillow under his head. He’d nodded off a few seconds earlier when he wasroused by the sound of his door opening. Figuring it was just a coworker whowouldn’t see him behind his desk, he held his breath and stayed statue still.

A second later, high-heeled footsteps punched the carpettoward him.

“Seriously?”

The only voice he would’ve wanted to hear less was hisfather’s.

“Why are you here, Fareena?” Mason asked.

“We need to talk.”

“Aren’t you the one who said we’re not dating?”

“Correct. Weweresleeping together, but we’re notdoing that anymore either. Oh my God. Get up, Mason. This is ridiculous. It’sthe middle of the day.”

Mason pulled himself to his feet with one hand on the edgeof his desk. “I had a party last night.”

“You have a party every night.” Fareena rolled her eyes andsettled confidently into the chair across from his desk as if they were aboutto talk business.

Her ink black shoulder-length hair looked freshly flatironed. When she crossed her shapely legs, Mason was pleasantly reminded of allthe time he’d spent between them. She always dressed like she was about toboard a private jet for Paris and was one of the few women he knew who found away to work faux fur intoall ofher warm-weatheroutfits. Some women had shoe collections; Fareena had a knee-high bootcollection consisting of some of the finest imported leathers one could buy.Her parents had thwarted her plans to become a fashion model right out of highschool by forcing her to take a job at the family’s real estate agency. She’dgotten back at them by becoming the top earner and outperforming all three ofher older brothers four years running.

“You know, I talk to my therapist about you,” she said.

“I’m that good, huh?”

“It’s not a compliment.”

“I guess you don’t want to grab lunch then.”

“We need to talk about the incident.” Fareena cleared herthroat and placed her hands over her top knee.

“I said I’d pay for it. What’s the problem?”

“Do you even remember what you broke?” she asked.

“Just that you said it was really expensive.”

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