Page 26 of All Your Reasons Why

Amanda rakes me with a look of contempt and makes a delicate snorting noise. “It already does look that way, because he doesn’t have any specific ties to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.”

Mason clears his throat and speaks up. “I actually do have a link to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, which Rowan knows about. I lost a friend to leukemia when I was in grade school. The kids that we are visiting are the same age as my friend was.”

There is a moment of silence in the room as Amanda swallows hard, blinks rapidly, and tries to regroup.

“I have an idea, which I would like to incorporate going forward,” I say quickly. “It will branch out from the children’s hospitals but stay true to LLS.”

“To what?” Amanda interrupts sharply.

“The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.”

She rolls her eyes heavenward. “We already know he’s currently working with them. My plan has the benefit of—”

“I’m not done outlining my plan, but I do appreciate your enthusiasm.” I smile brightly and keep talking. “In the coming months, I would like the Rovers to host several charity events, which will fundraise for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. We’ll make it clear that Mason is organizing the event, but we’ll also make sure to feature every member of the team as well. I want to do a charity photo shoot with the whole team, make a calendar, and sell it in shops and on the team’s website, with all of the proceeds going to LLS. And finally, I’d like Mason to be directly involved in working with Habitat for Humanity, helping to build a house for a family that the New Jersey hospital told me about. The mother is undergoing chemotherapy.”

“I like it,” Mr. Talman says decisively, nodding to himself. “We need to give this some thought and decide if we’re going to go forward with Amanda or with Rowan helping to coordinate.”

My heart stutters in my chest. I’ve put in all the work, but it’s so obvious who Mason is going to go with. The easy one, the flirty one, the one who won’t shove him into a costume ...

“Rowan,” Mason announces. He shoves his chair back, grabs his magazine, and stands up, stretching.

“Excuse me? What did you just say?” Amanda’s eyes widen in dismay. She was so sure that she’d be able to shove me aside and snatch the campaign away.

Mason ignores her. He looks at Mr. Talman. “I’m only working with Rowan. You’ve forced this campaign on me. I didn’t want to do it, but I agreed and I’ve made nice with everyone and I will finish out the campaign this season and do what I’m told, but only if I am working with Rowan. Otherwise, I’m sorry, but it’s not happening.”

Amanda plops back into her seat, her eyes blazing with anger and her mouth puckered up in a furious pout.

“Well, that seems pretty definitive,” Cecelia says to Mr. Talman. “While Amanda’s ideas were very good, Rowan has done an excellent job so far and it really wouldn’t make sense to bring someone else to work on a campaign that Rowan designed.”

Mason turns and walks out of the room, leaving us all staring at his retreating back.

9

ROWAN

Life has many mysteries.

One of them that I find myself contemplating frequently these days is how Mason always manages to show up looking amazing.

He’s due to walk into the hospital’s meeting room at any moment, and I bet myself a week’s salary that he will look the way he always does.

His wavy brown hair is always just the right amount of rumpled, giving off sexy bedhead vibes when anybody else would look bedraggled. His T-shirt molds to his biceps like it’s spray-painted on, his slightly faded jeans flatter his thighs, and his unfairly thick fringe of eyelashes frames sea-glass-green eyes.

The door flies open, and Mason strides through with his long-legged, confident stride, and of course I was right.

“I win my bet,” I murmur to myself.

“What’s that?” He arches an eyebrow at me.

“Nothing. How long do you spend on your morning routine? Never mind, don’t tell me; I’ll hate you.”

He gives me a quizzical smile. “Well, I shower, shave, and brush my teeth. If I’m in a good mood and don’t want to offend people, I put on deodorant.”

I stifle a groan. Of course that’s his morning routine. Of course he doesn’t use various creams, oils, lotions and potions, pluck his eyebrows, shave his underarms and legs smooth, shape and trim his pubic region, flat-iron his hair, and spend half an hour with cosmetics to achieve a no-makeup look, and then tear apart his closet figuring out what to wear.

He sits on the conference table, casting a glance at the costume bag at my feet. “Well, good morning to you too, Nanny McPhee.” He’s still annoyed that I’m his official babysitter.

“That is a compliment.” I smirk at him. “I loved that movie. Thank you.”

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