Page 25 of Sin

The office is buzzing when I step off the elevator. Not the normal Monday morning kind of buzzing either. This is sharper. Quieter. The kind of energy people pretend they aren’t feeding on while absolutely feeding on it.

Everyone knows Mason is back.

I barely make it Opal’s desk before she stops me.

“Mr. Sinclair is looking for you,” she says, then lowers her voice. “Jack is, too.”

There’s a question in her eyes. Several, actually.

I ignore every single one of them and nod. “Thanks.”

By the time I reach my office, my stomach has already started doing something dramatic and unnecessary. I step inside, close the door, and lock it for good measure. Not that a lock has ever stopped a man like Mason Sinclair. Still. It makes me feel better.

There’s an email from Jack waiting in my inbox. The subject line is simple.

You alive?

I smile. His message asks if I got in trouble for Friday night. He also tells me Mason has pulled him from Lust and will be taking over prototype design himself.

I stare at that part for a long second.

Of course he is.

The crazy thing is, Mason may be one of the few people here who actually knows how to design a working prototype. He didn’t build this company by sitting behind a desk and looking pretty in expensive suits. He built it because, at some point, he knew the products inside and out. Which makes it even more irritating that I’m almost looking forward to seeing what he can do.

I type back a quick reply letting Jack know that I understand and that I didn’t get in trouble. That’s not entirely true. I didn’t get formally reprimanded. Emotionally, I’m still deciding.

After that, I get to work, answering email after email and pretending my pulse doesn’t jump every time footsteps pass outside my door. We’re heading into the fourth quarter, which means the entire company is shifting into holiday mode. Right now, our goal is promoting all the ridiculous seasonal products that somehow keep making us an obscene amount of money. The tinsel nipple clamps are projected to be a bestseller for the fourth year in a row.

I’m just finishing up a response about candy cane-colored vibrating cock rings when there’s a knock on my door.

Groaning, I push back from my desk and get to my feet. Opal knows better than to let anyone interrupt me when my door is closed, which means she either failed to stop the person or, more likely, didn’t bother trying. Which means I know exactly who I’m going to find when I open the door. I take my time crossing the office.

Is it petty? Yes.

Is it worth it? Also yes.

By the time I reach the door, he knocks a second time.

I unlock it and open it just enough to look at him. “Yes?”

Mason stands there in a dark suit, his expression unreadable. His gaze dances over my face, then past me, scanning the room like he expects to find someone hiding under my desk.

“Are you looking for someone, Mr. Sinclair?”

His eyes return to mine. “Just trying to figure out what took you so long to open the door.”

Behind him, Opal snickers from her desk.

I step aside and let him enter, but I keep the door cracked. I round my desk and sit because standing in front of him feels too much like waiting for instructions.

“Yes?” I ask again.

He doesn’t sit. He just stands on the other side of my desk.

“I asked you to come to my office first thing this morning.”

“I know.”