Page 52 of Writing Mr. Wrong

Then it turned out that he was the guy whose children she was going to be governess-ing. Which meant she was stuck with this asshole.

Wait, this asshole’s name was Laird Argyle. Wasn’t that…?

Nah, couldn’t be.

Still, he was confused. This wasn’t the first romance he’d read, and he was pretty sure you usually met the main couple right up front. Gemma must be doing it differently.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

GEMMA

Gemma had written two thousand words in two hours. Was that a record? These days, she was lucky to get a quarter of that. The words were singing tonight, and she could blame a hearty dinner of rib eye steak and loaded baked potato, with crème brûlée for dessert, but she knew it wasn’t about the food. It was about how the food arrived on her doorstep. About the guy who’d sent it there. The guy who’d given her such an amazing day that she wasn’t even cringing remembering how she’d broken down and sobbed on his shoulder.

She’d had fun. It was such a small thing. A thing she used to have all the time. She’d grown up in a family that was always doing something, often on the spur of the moment, heading into the world in pursuit of whatever seemed new and exciting. Climb a mountain. Ride a horse. Rent a Sea-Doo. Chris had been the quiet one, happily participating, but sometimes bringing a stack of comic books. It was Gemma who’d led the charge.

In university, she’d done the same, organizing “adventure days” with friends. She remembered coming back to her dorm, sweaty and dirt-streaked, no makeup, whooping with her roommate asthey stumbled up the stairs. Alan had been standing outside her door. He’d gaped and then steered her off.

“Are you drunk?” he’d hissed. “It’s not even five.”

She’d rolled her eyes. “The girls wanted to go horseback riding.”

“Riding? You’re not twelve anymore, Gemma. Did you forget we have dinner with my parents?”

“Sure, at seven. I have plenty of time—”

“And plenty of work to do.” He’d shaken his head. “Horseback riding.”

She told Mason that the change had been gradual, but that was a lie. She’d always seen that side of Alan. The side that wanted someone sweeter, softer, quieter. The side that made her feel immature for having fun. And she’d fallen for him anyway because part of her wanted to be that woman. To shed the loud and boisterous Gemma. To be the kind of girl a guy like Alan would want.

A guy like Alan. Refined, sophisticated, handsome, and charming.

Not rough-and-tumble Mason. Not swaggering Mason. Not the other Mason either, though. Not the sweet one, the thoughtful one, the vulnerable one.

Alan had been the anti-Mason in every way. And that’s what she’d wanted.

Now, after a day with Mason, she could not imagine how she’d ever settled for Alan. How good it felt to rediscover that old part of herself—fun, spontaneous and, yes, vulnerable. What was even better? Sharing it with someone who didn’t see a damn thing wrong with any of it. A guy who said he wanted her to have fun but had also pulled her onto his lap for a good cry.

Now she was writing like the wind, with fresh character nuancespopping up like spring daffodils, hidden bright spots that felt as if they’d been lurking right there waiting to be uncovered.

When the phone rang, it was Mom, who answered with “I see you had a fancy date last night.”

Gemma squeezed her eyes shut. She should have told her mother, who’d been patiently awaiting her daughter’s return to the land of the living… and the land of the dating.

“It wasn’t a date,” she said.

“Looked like one to me.”

Gemma tried to gauge her mother’s tone. Teasing would mean Mom approved. Yet, considering who she’d been out with, she knew Mom would not approve. The fact her tone was light, if guarded, was the best Gemma could hope for.

“It was a photo op,” Gemma said. “Mason felt bad about the morning-show interview, but it was getting positive social media coverage, so he suggested a celebratory dinner.”

“With cameras.”

Gemma sighed. “That was all preplanned, Mom. He thought it’d be good promo for my book.”

A long pause. “And for what he’s going through now? With his own PR problem?”

Gemma went still. Shit. Last night, Mason had confessed about Denny, and in all the tumult, she’d never stopped to consider the implications.

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