Page 80 of Writing Mr. Wrong

Oh, fuck, it was sexy, wasn’t it?

Sure, Gemma felt a little sorry for whoever was on the other end of that line, but Mason’s anger wasn’t an out-of-control fire. It was a surgical laser, cold and precise. The firm really had screwed up, and he was only making that clear.

Also, it was a relief to know Mason hadn’t run roughshod over his promise to her. He might make mistakes—she was trying hard not to think about her lack of luggage—but the location issue was also her own fault for not checking in.

Clearing up the choice of locale might not be as easy.

Gemma looked around the resort and tried to focus on the sunshine, so bright she’d fished long-abandoned sunglasses from the bottom of her laptop bag. She’d enjoy three days of that, right?

“Gemma!” Mason bellowed.

She looked over to see him holding out the phone. A woman walking past shot her a sympathetic look that might hold a touch of Cal’s “blink twice if you need help.” That confused Gemma for a moment. Then she remembered that Mason wasn’t a hometown hero here. He was just a big angry guy seeming to yell a summons to his poor little wife.

If Gemma had been with Alan, she’d have cringed under that woman’s look and felt obligated to smile back aneverything’s fine. But with Mason, she didn’t need to defend either of them. Everythingwasfine.

“You’re on speaker,” he said as she walked over. “Tell Gemma how you guys screwed up.”

Gemma murmured that wasn’t necessary, but Mason shook his head. It was necessary to him.

The woman on the other end said something about miscommunication, not her assignment, didn’t know how it happened, could only presume the subcontractor looked at Mason’s file and thought they knew what he wanted, based on his past trips.

“Trips withfriends,” he said, as if this was also important. “But we don’t go to places like this.”

“Yes,” the woman said, “but this is a top-tier couples resort, known for—”

“Not the point,” Mason said. “You’ve confirmed that this was entirely your firm’s oversight.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, Gemma, where would you like to go? Name the spot. Anywhere in the world.”

The woman tentatively cleared her throat. “That is, of course, your choice, sir, but your luggage has been tailored to this climate, and you do only have three days.”

“Don’t care. Gemma gets what she wants. That was the deal.”

“I’m fine with a beach vacation,” she said. “I would like to maximize our time.”

Mason gave a low growl, as if she were settling, which she was, but that was also her choice, and at a hard look from her, he went quiet and nodded.

“Not here, though,” she said. “If at all possible.”

“Definitely possible,” Mason said, in a tone that defied the planner to disagree. “Tell her what you want, and you’ll have it, because I’m an important client who not only gives them lots of business but sends lots of business their way.”

“Y-yes,” the woman said. “We want to make this right, Ms. Stanton, and if you’re fine with staying in the general area, we will accommodate any other needs. Itisthe off-season, which helps.”

“What do you want?” Mason asked, his voice low, intended just for Gemma. “Name it.”

She thought of her ski-vacation idea and amended the basics to match. “A private villa, if at all possible. Two bedrooms. A living space. A kitchen.”

“Full kitchen,” Mason said. “Not a microwave and bar fridge.”

“We can certainly get you that,” the woman said. “What else?”

“The living room needs a recliner or sofa so I can write. A desk is helpful, but not essential.” She looked around. “Outdoor seating would be a huge plus. Patio, balcony, anyplace where we can sit and enjoy the weather.”

“And a beach, I presume?”

“I don’t need beachfront. But a nearby waterfront would be great. Someplace to swim.”

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