Page 54 of Sin

We’re seated in a booth near the back. Tate slides in first, leaving me with the outside seat. Right across from Mason. Because apparently the theme of my life is direct eye contact with this man.

A waitress brings water, bread, and a bottle of wine without asking. Then Foster’s grandfather appears beside the table and kisses Tate on both cheeks before clapping Mason hard on the shoulder. He looks at me next. Then smiles.

“Oh,” he says, pointing between me and Mason. “Who is this?”

“No,” I say immediately.

Tate chokes on his water while Mason’s brows lift. The old man blinks.

I force a smile. “Sorry. Reflex. I’m Laurel Cross. I work with them.”

“Ah.” His smile widens. “The pretty one who makes the dirty toys. I was hoping you were dating Tate.”

I stare at him. Tate loses the fight and starts laughing. Mason says something in Italian that sounds like a warning.

The old man waves him off and takes my hand between both of his. “Welcome, Laurel Cross.”

He says something else to Mason before leaving. I reach for bread because carbs are safer than eye contact.

Tate leans back in the booth. “So. Amsterdam.”

My hand freezes halfway to the butter.

I glance at him. “What about Amsterdam?”

Tate looks from me to Mason, then back to me.

“Oh,” he says slowly. “You don’t know.”

My stomach sinks and I put the bread down.

“I don’t like when sentences start that way.”

Mason’s expression goes carefully blank. Which means I’m definitely not going to like whatever comes next.

“Tate,” Mason says.

“What?” Tate asks. “She needs to know.”

I sit up straighter. “Know what?”

Tate takes a drink of wine like a coward preparing for impact. “The European product show is in Amsterdam this year.”

I wait. Because surely that’s not the bad part.

“That sounds nice,” I say carefully.

“It’s a major industry show,” Tate continues. “Retailers, distributors, press, private demos. The Sins line is going to be one of our featured launches.”

“Okay.”

“And since Lust is yours, and Envy is in development, you need to be there.”

My pulse kicks once. Hard. Then I look at Mason. He’s watching me. Not apologetically. More like he knows I’m about to throw the breadbasket at him and is deciding whether to let me.

“Amsterdam,” I repeat.

“Yes,” Tate says.