Page 1 of Hidden Resolution
1
Mason Sharp slung his carry-on into the overhead bin and collapsed into his first-class seat with a contented sigh. In a few hours, he’d be soaking up the sun and diving into the Caribbean’s crystal-clear waters.
Christ, he needed it.
Ten glorious days. Zero responsibilities. No work, no drama, no bullshit.
All he required was a peaceful flight without Chatty Kathy next to him. A scotch and a long nap would work nicely, helping the resort-level relaxation kick in.
His phone buzzed, and he debated whether to ignore it. After a glance at the screen, he grinned and changed his mind. Seemed his brother Zack, who was also his business partner and best friend, was excited about their newest client.
You wouldn’t believe who signed up for a membership today! ERICA SUTTON! Remember her from high school?
Mason stared at the name, gears turning. Erica Sutton didn’t ring any be—ah! He vaguely remembered a shy, soft-spoken girlwho’d spent more time staring at her shoes than making eye contact.
The mousy chick with the glasses who tutored you?
Yep. Not mousy anymore.
Mason smirked.
See? Told you New Year’s Day was prime for sign-ups.
Seriously? I drop a nostalgia bomb, and you go full business mode? I thought you were on vacation.
Exactly. Turning off my phone now. Buy her a smoothie and stop bothering me.
Whatever. Enjoy your overpriced drinks, asshat.
Yeah, up yours, dickhead. And thanks, I will.
Mason was powering down his phone when a sultry voice interrupted him. “Excuse me. I think that’s my seat.”
Honest to God, he tried to look up, but his gaze stalled, captivated by a pair of high-octane, centerfold-worthy breasts that were one sneeze away from liberating themselves from her deep V-neck. Full, round, and absolutely mesmerizing.
“Up here, buddy,” the woman said, her sultry voice dry with humor.
Mason tore his gaze away and swept over her face. Sweet hell, her visage was just as breathtaking. Moss-green eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes, twinkled with amusement. The kind that suggested she was used to turning heads.
“Pardon?” he asked, more rattled than he’d ever admit. He met beautiful women all the time. Hell, he co-owned three gyms, for crying out loud. So why was this one throwing him off his game?
“Lady, you’re holding up the line,” groused an impatient jackass behind her.
She half turned, fixing him with a glare so lethal it should’ve come with a warning label. Mason grinned, delighted, as the dickhead blanched, muttered an apology, and scrambled to lift her carry-on into the overhead like an obedient schoolboy.
Dismissing him, she returned her attention to Mason. “Do you mind letting me by? I’m in 3D. Says so right here,” she said, flashing her boarding pass.
Feeling like a dumbass, he stood and promptly smacked his head on the overhead bin.
“Goddammit!”
Seriously, could manufacturers make airplanes any less friendly to the vertically gifted? At six-four, even first class was a cramped shoebox. He rubbed his head, then cut her a sharp glance when she tsked.
“Sorry.”
She didn’t look the least bit sorry. In fact, she appeared downright gleeful and on the verge of laughter. If he hadn’t been the one suffering, he’d have thought her reaction almost cute.
Shifting into the aisle, Mason had little choice but to brush against her as he maneuvered out of their row.
