Kirstin didn’t have to think—Lisa’s project. That’s where she’d begun to shed the blinders on her relationship with Mason. Excited about the opportunity to work together, she’d asked for his help. He’d given it willingly at first, but when Edge Skateboards became an ulcer, he flat-out abandoned her. That’s when she started to notice how he was more concerned with work than their relationship. When they stopped going to bed together. When she became aware of the way Mason didn’t incorporate her in the things that mattered to him—like hurrying off to meet his programming buddies and leaving her to entertain herself at launch parties.
Their walks around the lake lost their usual comfort as she realized she’d reached that point where she wanted children and Mason wouldn’t be able to carve out enough time in his schedule for fatherhood. When she’d realized their life was routine, and the schedule worked for him, not her, and he became more and more motivated by money and materialistic things.
Like the Jeep—she’d loved that Jeep. He’d spoiled the gift, though, with his, “Can’t have my girl driving that bucket of rust around town anymore.”
She could count on one hand the number of times she’d driven the Jeep since he’d pointed out that her Mazda embarrassed him. She’d begun to suspect then that she embarrassed him.
“Think on it, Kirstin.” Theresa squeezed her hand again. “You’re right, you two don’t need to work together tomorrow. Use that time to think. But go into tomorrow night with fresh eyes. Mason’s complicated. You’re the only person who can know what’s in his heart. Listen to what it might be trying to say.”
Kirstin sighed. She didn’t have much choice—she’d agreed to attend the launch party. But she already knew what would happen. Just like every other time, he’d become the center of attention and forget he left her standing in the corner.
Chapter Seven
Kirstin awakened to the bright tones of Hakuna Matata on her cell phone and groped across the card table that served as her nightstand. 8:15. Who in their right mind called her at 8:15 in the morning?
Squinting at the LCD, a number she didn’t recognize scrolled across the face. So that explained the early morning call. Still half asleep, she hit the connect key. “What?”
“Kirstin! Good morning!”
At Lisa’s bright peal of greeting, Kirstin held the phone away from her ear and choked down a groan. She’d forgotten how grating the woman’s voice could be. On realizing the call related to business, she bolted upright in bed, mortified by her rude salutation. “I’m sorry, Lisa. I didn’t realize you had my cell phone number. I wasn’t expecting you to call here.”
Lisa trilled a laugh. “You sent it to me, darling.”
“I did?” Kirstin blinked.
“Yes, when you confirmed you received the file I sent across.”
Oh. Mason. Yeah, he would route Lisa to the cell at his first opportunity. He wouldn’t want to deal with her. Kirstin forcibly chuckled. “Ah, that’s right. I’ve been busy with the project and forgot I replied.”
“So how is my project coming along? You didn’t sound so certain—you must have found a solution if you’ve been busy with it.”
As the fog of sleep fled her brain, Kirstin steered her concentration on business. “Well, actually, I need to speak to you about that.”
“Oh? Do you need something more from me? I thought the prototype would be enough, but if you need details—”
“No, it’s not that.” Kirstin scratched the top of her head and yawned. “I have to outsource the back end code. I’m not a developer. It will increase my cost, but as long as that’s not an issue, I think we are on track.”
Another laugh slid from Lisa’s throat. “Just send me the bill, darling. Who did you hire?”
Kirstin cringed, already knowing where this conversation would lead. “Mason, actually. You remember he worked on the spread briefly.”
“I remember the man didn’t have the good sense to appreciate the way you bent over backwards for him.” Lisa let out a derisive snort. “He charged you for work? When you’re practically married?”
The gut-deep instinct to defend Mason roared to life with such fury that Kirstin had to clamp her teeth together to stop from telling Lisa where to go and how to get there. Mason might be insensitive. His emotional communication skills might make him a relative to a rock. But he’d never, ever, taken advantage of Kirstin. Never failed to appreciate the things she did for him. She’d bent over backwards because she wanted to. Because that’s just what people who were in love did.
Instead, she took a deep breath and counted to ten. When she felt like she’d chained the dragon inside her to a manageable level, she answered as coolly as she could, “Mason and I have a professional arrangement, and yes, I’m paying him his usual contract rate. If that’s a problem, Lisa—”
“It’s no problem.” Her voice shifted, exchanging her overtones of derision for smooth amicability. “I’m sorry. I realize you love him, but you deserve so much more. We’ve talked about this many times. My opinion hasn’t changed—I can’t stand the way he treats you, and I certainly would never allow Tom to charge me for anything. The man gets plenty as my husband—if you get my meaning.” A light laugh drifted through the receiver.
Soothed by Lisa’s friendly manner, Kirstin released the remnants of her annoyance and plucked at the quilt covering her lap. They had talked many times—more often than not Lisa did the talking. She didn’t really need to know anything more about Kirstin’s personal life, but if Kirstin remained silent, the next week would be filled with snide remarks. Things she really didn’t need to hear any more of. The first time around had been damaging enough, with Lisa’s observations making it impossible to ignore the reality of her involvement with Mason. Her status as a wallflower. Placeholder. Reliable source of comfort.
“I’ve moved out, Lisa. My relationship with Mason is strictly business.”
“Oh, darling.” Sympathy oozed through the line. “That must be terribly awkward.”
Kirstin shrugged. “I’m not a developer. Mason is, and I didn’t have other contacts.” Doing her best to steer the conversation back to the job at hand, Kirstin hurried to add, “His work is top of the line. I’m certain you’ll be pleased with the final product.”
“I have no concerns about the quality. I just feel terrible that my project has put you in an awkward position.” A shrill ring resounded over Lisa’s voice. “Oh, dang. My secretary’s out today—that’s the office line. I’ll call you back, darling.”
Before Kirstin could stutter a surprised goodbye, the line went dead. She dropped the phone in her lap, leaned back against the headboard, and let out a groan. The last thing she wanted was Lisa’s pity. Now, she’d be lucky not to face a personal inquisition every time Lisa phoned.
Worse, that busybody would probably try to set her up.
Sighing, Kirstin eased out of bed. She shouldn’t be so hard on Lisa. She meant well but lacked tact. In her zany, discombobulated way, she probably thought she was being helpful with her unsolicited observations. Problem being, after last night, Kirstin would have rather remained ignorant to Mason’s faults. Life had been a hell of a lot easier then.
****
I’m sorry, but I can’t be alone anymore.
Mason sat in the middle of Kirstin’s former office, her words echoing through his head as he stared at her belongings. She’d taken only her computer, printer, and the basic supplies to maintain her work. Everything else, every personal detail, remained on the floor-to-ceiling bookcases and her expansive desk.
He sipped coffee and squinted at a picture of the two of them her dad had taken the day they moved into their rundown apartment. Somewhere in here, he’d find a clue. An explanation that linked alone with expectations you can’t meet.
As far as the words themselves—Kirstin had changed the language he’d worked so hard to master.
In the picture, standing on the crumbling front steps with her arm looped around his waist, she
radiated happiness. He, on the other hand, looked a little harassed. In his defense, he’d just finished moving all the furniture inside and wanted nothing more than to test out their shower and relax. But she was genuinely beaming.
The next framed photograph captured her mother’s memory, a short month before Lucinda passed away. Perched on the arm of the electronic lift-chair, Kirstin sat beside her mother’s frail form. Her smile didn’t reach the corners of her eyes. They’d all known Lucinda was losing the battle, and Kirstin’s dull eyes conveyed her sorrow.
He took another sip and studied the next photograph—Kirstin riding a Merry-Go-Round giraffe at Disneyworld. With one arm looped around the brass pole, her head resting against the giraffe’s neck and a dreamy smile on her face, Kirstin fit every description of the angel Mason knew.
One by one, he examined the framed pictures, tracking her emotions through each pose, each unexpected timeless click. I’m sorry, but I can’t be alone anymore.
Mason’s focus locked on the photograph taken at last year’s SIGGRAPH awards banquet. He’d been honored for excellence in computer animation for his work on a multi-million dollar, fantasy RPG game that had been adapted from film. As he awkwardly displayed his brass plaque, Kirstin stood at his side, her elbow tucked into his, her smile intact, but her eyes unexpressive and far away.
Lisa and her husband, Tom, had been amongst the attendees, and roughly an hour earlier, Lisa had propositioned him.
Mason skipped back to the picture immediately before the SIGGRAPH banquet, confirming the shot of Kirstin on their back patio portrayed contentment. As anger sparked, he snatched the SIGGRAPH photo off the shelf. Damn it. He’d known Lisa’s project took a toll on Kirstin, but had Kirstin overheard Lisa’s suggestion that they slip away to her room for a few minutes?
Had Kirstin misheard something? Something that had been festering for the last year?
Photograph in his lap, he dragged his chair forward to examine the sparse ones that followed, the ones that captured the last several months of their life together. Out of the five, only Christmas brought true joy to Kirstin’s eyes. The rest increasingly portrayed her as pulling further and further inside herself.
Hell, in the last one, she wasn’t even smiling, and that had been when he’d photographed her in front of her new Jeep.
Fucking Lisa.
She’d done something more than overtax Kirstin with constantly changing designs—he’d stake every cent he had in the bank on that suspicion.
“Son of a bitch.” He tossed the SIGGRAPH photo atop Kirstin’s desk.
Surely, Kirstin couldn’t believe he’d cheated. In the first place, he would have had to be a magician to pull off a stunt like that—he worked from home ninety-five percent of the time. When he wasn’t working, he was home. With Kirstin.
In the second place, Kirstin knew how much he despised Lisa, and he’d never been any good at acting. He couldn’t just fabricate the level of hate he felt for that meddling bitch. That sort of repulsion came from the gut.
Mason raked a hand through his hair and let out a sigh. He thought he’d done the right thing by keeping the indecent proposal secret. The job had been nearly complete; Lisa wouldn’t be around much longer. Above all, he didn’t want to hurt Kirstin and saw no reason to mention what amounted to an insignificant offer. In hindsight, maybe he should have told her. Maybe he could have stopped this runaway train from rushing headlong into disaster.
It’s not fair for me to have expectations you can’t meet.
Standing, Mason ground his teeth together to temper the overwhelming urge to drive his fist into something. Whether or not he should have mentioned the proposition was irrelevant. He needed to tell her now and find out just what expectations Lisa had convinced Kirstin he couldn’t meet.
Because, by God, he’d meet and exceed them all, somehow.
He stalked from the room, on a determined path to the phone. No time like the present. She might not want to see him before the launch party, but he’d be damned if he’d let an immoral Jezebel kill the fragile love that remained between him and Kirstin.
****
As Kirstin stepped out of the shower, her cell phone sang from the sink countertop. She tucked the terry around her breasts, squinted at the number, and recognized Mason. Probably trying to convince her into coming back over and working on Lisa’s project today. Not happening—she’d been trying to sift through her mixed emotions about Mason since she’d rolled out of bed two hours after Lisa’s annoying wake up call.
She pushed the Ignore option and toweled out her hair. Yesterday had proven two things. One, Mason knew more about her than she’d given him credit for. Maybe she always suspected that, but she’d never stopped to pay attention. Whether she should have could be arguable—sometimes going through the motions of life masked the little things—like how he knew exactly how many cups of coffee she needed to overcome the torture of getting up in the mornings.
Bottom line was, she’d been oblivious to the fact Mason gave attention to detail, specifically in relation to her. And Mason’s seemingly inherent understanding of her didn’t reconcile with his absolute cluelessness on the other things she needed.
The second thing she couldn’t run from was that he still possessed the ability to render her senseless with just a simple touch of his hand. Let alone a kiss. It had taken every bit of common sense she possessed to break the intoxicating touch of his lips. But getting physically tangled up in Mason again would be like trying to navigate a field of land mines while wearing a blindfold and leg shackles.
She couldn’t think, couldn’t begin to do as Theresa suggested and see things with fresh eyes, while her body was screaming at her to peel off Mason’s clothes and drag him to bed. Against the wall. On the carpet. Where didn’t really make a difference so long as Mason’s hands and mouth were meticulously working her over.
Kirstin mumbled as the all too familiar tightness settled into her womb. She scowled at her reflection in the condensation-covered mirror. Last night had also proved Mason was just as capable with his mouth in her dreams, as he was in person. The things he’d done to her in her sleep made her want to blush now, even after five years of thorough explorations.
Her phone bleated out another shrill tune, and she automatically hit the ignore button before pulling on a pair of comfortable workout shorts and a tank top. A run around the lake was just the thing she needed to clear her head. Then, she’d hit the shower again and get ready for a too-intense night with Mason.
Grabbing her dirty clothes, she left the bathroom. With Sam and Theresa at work, the house was quiet. Too quiet to keep her gaze from straying out the kitchen window to the house she’d left behind. What was he doing? Working on Lisa’s project? Hashing out something new for Gamesquare?
Missing her as much as she missed him?
For the third time in less than an hour, her phone sang. Annoyed he couldn’t take the hint, Kirstin glared at the LCD, only to find a number she didn’t recognize staring back. Crap! She hadn’t even considered her clients.
Hurrying to answer before voicemail could, she jabbed her thumb on the connect key. “Hello?”
“May I speak with Kirstin Jones?” a smooth as silk masculine baritone rumbled in her ear.
Kirstin took a startled step away from the kitchen window. Wow. “Speaking.”
“This is Steve Whitmore. I don’t know if you remember me, but we’ve met a few times at Gamesquare launches.”
A vivid image of a muscular blond with a Hollywood-white smile and dark copper skin leapt into her head. Oh yeah. She remembered Steve—along with the way he stood just a little too close when Mason accepted his award at the SIGGRAPH convention last fall. The too-intimate, too-uncomfortable, way he set his hand in the small of her back to escort her to the table when the General Manager of Pixar cornered Mason afterward. How in the world had Steve found her number?
“Hi, Steve. What can I do for you?”
“It seems we have a mutu
al acquaintance—other than Mason.”
“Oh?” Kirstin meandered to the washing machine and dumped her clothes inside.
“Lisa Bennet. I just got off the phone with her.”
The heavy metal washing machine lid thumped closed. Kirstin lingered at the dials, curiosity piqued.
“She mentioned the project you’re doing for her, and that you’d had to outsource some development needs.” Leather squeaked on the other end of the line. “I’ve known Lisa a long time—I’d be happy to save you the trouble.” He paused, then added with emphasis, “And Lisa the cost.”
Kirstin frowned at the cycle selector. That didn’t make sense. If Lisa knew Steve, why didn’t she just hire him? At this point, Kirstin would be happy to let the project go, money or not. Working with Mason was just too difficult. And if Lisa had phoned to hire her, someone else would eventually too.
“I’m sorry, I’m not following.” She flipped the dial and turned the machine on. “Are you saying you’d like to take the project off my hands?”
“No, no.” His husky chuckle sent an unpleasant ripple down her spine.
“Then why are you calling? Mason is doing my development. We’ll be finished with the project in a week or so.” Pushing the laundry room door open, she stepped back into the kitchen and went to the fridge for an orange.
“I, ah…” Leather squeaked again. “I don’t mean to pry, but Lisa mentioned you and Mason split. I thought, maybe, you’d like to get away from that awkward situation.”
Bent over at the crisper drawer, Kirstin shot upright, smacking her head on the butter tray in the door. She pressed a hand to the back of her head and winced. Oh, holy hell. Mason was going to kill her. This was exactly what he didn’t want to confront tonight—word spreading through Gamesquare that their relationship had come to an end. Goddamn her.
Misunderstanding Mason Page 6
