by Leah Wilde
Jesus, I need to get laid if I think Mason Marsh is sexy.
Not that he wasn’t, but when you add in the kind of baggage that he was rumored to carry with him, the attractiveness went down a few notches. Or at least it should have.
“I don’t know about any models, but I can confirm I’m Sasha. Do you have an appointment?” I asked only because I knew he didn’t and I needed something professional to say. Business was a good cover when I’m nervous and I was most definitely that. Or maybe scared as hell was a better term for it.
Mason Marsh had a reputation for scaring the crap out of people.
“I don’t, but I’m not really here for a haircut anyway.” His dark eyes dipped lower than my face, dragging over my body which was half covered by an apron and a pair of what might constitute mom jeans beneath that, so what was he even looking at? But knowing how I was dressed didn’t do anything to stop my body from ramping up in response to his gaze.
Shivers, good and bad, ran through me. “Then what would a man of your…reputation be doing here?”
His eyebrows rose, but his smile didn’t drop, which was good. It occurred to me after I spoke that I was implying he had a bad rep. And he did, but I doubted he liked hearing about it. “My reputation?” he repeated. “What have you heard?” He set his elbows on the back of one of the stylist chairs, leaning towards me slightly. He looked amused by the conversation.
I swallowed. “You own half the commercial property in town. You’ve made a name for yourself. Not exactly the sort of high profile clientele The Beehive usually gets,” I answered as smoothly as I could. I didn’t mention the rumors of him bribing the police or blackmailing the politicians. Nor did I mention the rumors of cruelty, violence, and worse.
He laughed a little. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got a lovely little place here.” He winked at me. “And the view’s great.”
I pursed my lips together. The view was an abandoned building across the street and a brick wall on the side. Not exactly prime real estate. I crossed my arms over my chest and forcing a fake smile, I asked, “What do you want?”
There was that long moment and that grin on his lips that suggested he would make some other comment about wanting me or at least wanting my body. But I was surprised when he straightened up, suddenly turning into a shark of a businessman. “I just wanted to ask about your business. Have you been doing well?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Well enough,” I answered tersely.
“Plenty of business?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He smiled. Not a smile like he wanted to devour me, but a smile like he had a secret. Like he was in control. Like he knew something I didn’t and he was more than happy to use that to his advantage. “You’ve really got a great location here.”
I thought again of the abandoned building across the street and the brick wall. “Yeah, it’s good.”
“I was thinking you might be kind enough to give me a quick tour of the place?”
I raised an eyebrow at him. When it was clear he wasn’t kidding, I lifted an arm and waved it in the air above my head to indicate the room. “This is the shop. What you see is what you get,” I told him drily.
He laughed, low and deep. One of those rumbling laughs that settles somewhere in your chest, behind your ribs, and sends those good ripples through your body. Like he was at some comedy club and I was the best damn comedian he’d seen in ages.
Which was highly doubtful. I wasn’t exactly known for my comedic genius.
“What’s so funny?” I couldn’t help but ask, though I was sure he was just laughing to get on my nerves. Everything about this man got on my nerves. All I wanted was for him to get the hell out of my shop and never come back.
But I knew better than to tell him that. It was one thing to be cold towards him. But downright rude? Disrespectful? That was like asking for trouble and with my head just barely above water, I couldn’t afford that kind of trouble.
When he got himself under control again, even wiping at his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, he smiled broadly at me. “I like you. You’re a funny one.”
I didn’t say anything in response to that, just waited for him to give me an answer.
After a moment, the businessman returned and he said to me, “I was actually hoping to see if you had some extra space in the back. Maybe a storage room? You must have some for the shop of course, but maybe some food storage for the store?”
I frowned a little, trying to figure out his angle. Of course I had storage. The Beehive needed chemicals, hair products, and some miscellaneous items like clips, combs, gloves, and aprons. Dry goods, so to speak. But the convenience store had space for some of the food stuffs we sold. There was even a decent-sized cooler in the back behind the alcohol section, though it wouldn’t compete with any major chain.
What I couldn’t figure out is why Mason Marsh would care.
“I have storage,” I answered stiffly. “It’s nominal, but it works for my purposes.”
He nodded once, his expression considering. “Do you use all of it?”
“Not usually, no.”
His smile was sly as he moved from the chair where he’d been lingering to come and stand closer to me. My first instinct was to step back and put some distance between us, but I forced myself to remain still. I’d hold my ground if only because I wouldn’t let him intimidate me like this.
“I have a little proposition for you then,” he said. “Businessman to businesswoman. I’d like to rent your extra storage space which would in no way interfere with your business here.” He waved a large hand around to indicate my shop, not unlike I’d mockingly done earlier. “I’ll store some extra stock here—from the diner—until I need it. At which point I’ll stop by and pick it up. You won’t even know it’s there.”
Already, I knew I didn’t like this. I opened my mouth to tell him that I wasn’t interested when he added quickly, “I’ll pay you a good price. Better than anyone else would.”
That made me pause.
Extra money? How could a single mother with a barely-above-water business ignore an outright promise of more income?
I couldn’t. But still I hesitated. It wasn’t that it sounded wrong necessarily. Based on what he’d just suggested, I was only providing extra space for his overflow stock. He’d pay me, like any renter might, and I wouldn’t have to have anything to do with it. No worries about moving shipments, checking in freight, or otherwise dealing with expiration dates, food quality, or transportation.
And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was wrong. There was something that just didn’t sit right with me. Maybe it was the fact that I knew Marsh wasn’t the easy-going, friendly businessman he sold himself as.
Or maybe it was just that I wasn’t an idiot. Who would come to me to store extra food from his diner? After all, he owned half the businesses in town. There were plenty of other places he could store his stuff. For free.
That was what made me nervous.
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I thought it over. Marsh had the money to make good on his promise of a decent price for the space.
I could really use the money.
To Marsh, I said, “And what exactly would you be storing here?”
He shrugged casually. “Oh, just some extra stock that I don’t have room for at the diner.”
Frowning, I clarified, “Food?”
He nodded. “Consumables, yes.”
I went over it in my head once more. It was just food. Extra food from the diner. I would just be storing it until he needed it so that he could run a more successful business. Which meant that he’d make good on his promise to pay me. Which would mean I could make some extra money.
I tried to talk myself into it, but I wasn’t having an easy time of it. Finally, I just told him simply, “I want to think it over before I commit to anything.”
Marsh smiled widely at me, though I thought there was something hard in the line of his mouth
. “Sure. Just don’t think too long, honey,” he told me with a wink. “The first shipment is due in just a few days.”
His gaze had turned predatory and there was the promise of something dark lingering in his eyes. But he didn’t do anything or say anything more. He just gave me a brief nod, then turned for the door. He left, the little bell ringing after him, and I stood there staring at where he’d been.
I couldn’t shake that I’d just met with the devil and, whether I had asked for it or not, my soul was on the line.
Chapter Two
I’d had Mason Marsh on my mind all day long, and it wasn’t in the sexy, doing unspeakably dirty things to me as I moaned in pleasure kind of way either. No, it was in the making a deal with Marsh was like making a deal with the devil kind of way.
When twelve rolled around, I closed up shop for an hour. It was lunchtime and while I hated losing an hour in the afternoon, I also knew how important it was to take a break. I’d send Steph out again to pick up Nick from school, then we’d all three spend the rest of the afternoon here at work until closing. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked for now.
Steph made sure that things were in order, then brought over two chicken salad sandwiches for us. We sat in two of the big chairs that were usually reserved for customers. For a minute, it was in silence. We just ate and appreciated the fact that we were off our aching feet.
But when my sandwich was half-finished, I put it down momentarily, took a drink of water, and blurted out, “Mason Marsh stopped by.”
Steph nearly chocked on her sandwich, patting at her chest in an effort to clear her airway. I winced, offering her a drink of water.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
She swallowed, then took another sip of water. Breathing properly again, she turned to me and demanded, “What? Mason Marsh? As in the Mason Marsh, Mr. Bad News himself?”
I nodded.
“What the hell? Did you cut his hair? What did it feel like?”
Steph was well aware of who Mason Marsh was. She knew his reputation just as well as I did, and she also knew that he was drop dead gorgeous. I wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen him in person—I hadn’t until that morning—but it didn’t matter. He’d been in the papers around here enough times that everyone knew his face even if they didn’t know him personally.
I rolled my eyes at Steph. “No, I didn’t cut his hair.”
She momentarily seemed put out, then grabbed her sandwich again. She took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed and asked, “Then what was he doing here?”
Leaning forward, putting my elbows on my knees, I told her, “He had a business arrangement to offer me.”
At that, she raised an eyebrow at me. “A business arrangement? Seriously? That sounds one hundred percent like bad news.”
I lifted one shoulder in a shrug, deflated. Yes, I’d thought the same thing, but I’d been hoping that I was overreacting. I really could use the money. “He asked to use my storage space for overflow from his diner. He said he’d pay well.”
Folding her arms across her chest, she gave me a look. One that said you’re nuts for even considering this. “Overflow.”
I nodded.
“From his diner.”
Again, I nodded.
“Right. Because he doesn’t have dozens of other places he could use to store food. His places. That would be totally rent free.”
I winced. That was exactly where I’d gone with that reasoning, too. Sighing, I said, “So it’s a bad idea, right?”
“No, it’s a horrible idea! It’s the worst thing you could do to yourself and this shop, Sasha, you know that. You know what I heard?”
“Do I want to?” I asked bleakly, no longer interested in my half-eaten sandwich. I drank a little water instead, because my mouth suddenly felt like a desert.
“He’s a drug dealer, Sasha,” she told me bluntly. I could always count on Steph for some up front honesty. “He uses his diner as a cover to store and deal his drugs. Think about it. It’s a prime location, with all those truckers stopping by on their way in and out of town. Tons of movement going on there and hard to trace, right? After all, it could be any of those guys hauling drugs and they make stops across the country.”
Sighing, I nodded. Nothing about this was surprising to me. I may not have had the specifics, but I knew that Marsh was bad news. And it settled things for me. If it really had been just about storing some frozen chicken until he needed it, that would be one thing, but drugs? I couldn’t let The Beehive be a cover for that kind of illicit operation.
I had a son to think of. If I got busted with those kinds of drugs…what would happen to Nick? Would his deadbeat dad magically appear out of nowhere, riding in on some white horse, to scoop Nick up and take him to a better life? Probably not. I’d long since stopped waiting around for Michael to show up again.
No, Nick would end up in foster care. The very best I could hope for is that Steph would be able to take him, but I knew what she made. It was barely enough for herself, and it was contingent on the success of The Beehive. And even if that all somehow worked out, I would never see him again.
Never.
The thought put my stomach in knots. I felt so awful that I almost felt sick.
No, I couldn’t let any of that happen. I would have to tell Marsh no. It didn’t matter how much money he paid me. It wouldn’t be worth my life and the life of my kid. Nick always had to come first.
We finished our lunches in silence, then I opened up the shop again. Steph went back to the register, taking calls, making appointments, and helping people on the convenience store side. She really was a life saver. Worth three employees for the price of one and if I could give the woman a raise, I would.
She went to pick up Nick a couple of hours later and brought him back to The Beehive. I spent some time with him, but I ended up being pretty busy. Steph entertained him though and let him draw all over the sticky notes she’d pasted across the register.
I watched them in a daze, telling myself that the money wasn’t worth the risk. But it’s hard sometimes to know that the honest money I’m making is only barely cutting it.
I had several more appointments and two walk-ins. Everyone was pretty talkative, but I wasn’t, so I mostly let my clients ramble away. I had other things on my mind. I’d have to call Marsh. Tell him my decision, which was a resolute no. But I’d have to have a reason and I had a feeling that it wouldn’t fly to tell him that I thought he was a drug dealer who wanted to use my drug free, completely by the books store as a cover for his operation.
Yeah, that would go over like a lead balloon.
When I was finally done with customers, we closed up shop. Steph cashed out the register while I cleaned up. Nick insisted on helping, so I let him sweep the floors. He made more of a mess than he cleaned up, but I appreciated his effort. He was a sweet kid and I was so proud of him.
He’ll be a good man, I thought to myself.
We were ready to head out in an hour. I dropped Steph off, then went home with Nick. I still had dishes from that morning to do, but the laundry could wait another day and I had leftovers to reheat for dinner, so I was in good shape. Which meant I had no excuse to not call Mason Marsh and tell him my decision.
“Are we going to have mac ‘n cheese every night, Mom?”
I glanced up from my plate of congealed cheese and elbow noodles. I looked at my son’s wide, round face. His hair was sticking up again, that little cowlick in the front just a single curl that came down farther and to the left while everything else went right. “No, honey. We’ll…we’ll do spaghetti tomorrow, okay?”
“That’s okay. I like mac ‘n cheese. I think everyone should have it like we do.” He dug into his noodles for emphasis, scooping a huge bite into his mouth.
The whole thing tugged at my heart a little, because I knew he was being honest. He loved the blue box special, as my mother used to call it. But we’d had mac ‘n cheese four out of five nights this week because I d
idn’t have the money for much else.
It was pancakes for breakfast, because I’d gotten a sale on the big box of mix last shopping trip. And it was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, because a little goes a long way and I could get both peanut butter and jelly for a good price thanks to the convenience store. But he deserved variety and god, I was tired of the damn orange cheese.
I could use that money, a traitorous little voice whispered in the back of my head. I shoved it aside, forcing myself to picture what would happen to the boy sitting in front of me if I got caught storing Marsh’s drugs.
Instead, I focused on my son. I watched him pile macaroni onto his spoon, using his fingers to keep it in place, and shoveling it into his mouth as only a little boy can do. My heart clenched at his innocence, his sweetness, and I felt tears prick at my eyes. I told myself that everything was going to be okay. All I had to do was keep being a good mom to him and that meant keeping my nose out of the business of people like Mason Marsh.
