Page 8 of Sin

“Mr. Sinclair.” The words land with deliberate weight. “Like you call me.”

I stare at him for a second, trying to determine if he’s serious.

“You cannot honestly expect me to call all seven of you Mr. Sinclair.”

“Yes.”

“That’s insane.” I lean back in my chair. “Half the time there are at least three of you in the same room.”

His mouth twitches faintly. “You seem to manage.”

“I manage because Tate acts like a human being.”

Mason’s gaze sharpens slightly. “And I don’t?”

The smart answer would be immediate denial. Unfortunately, my mouth has never once cared about my survival instincts.

“I think ‘human being’ might still be under review. Besides, Tate told me to call him by his first name.”

Silence stretches between us for one dangerous second. Then—to my absolute horror—a low laugh rumbles out of him. Deep. Rough. Brief enough that I almost think I imagined it. It changes his entire face, which feels deeply unfair.

“I can assure you,” he says, “I’m very human, Ms. Cross. And I believe I’ve told you numerous times to call me Sin.”

Something about the way he says it sends heat skittering down my spine.

I clear my throat quickly and drag the conversation back to safer territory. “Regardless, I still think your involvement on this project is unnecessary.”

Mason studies me for a long moment, fingers resting loosely against the arm of the chair. “You think I’m here because I don’t trust your abilities.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No.” He leans forward then, forearms braced against his thighs, and suddenly the office feels much smaller than it did thirty seconds ago. “I’m involved because your idea has potential. More than potential, actually. But you’re holding back.”

My brows pull together. “Holding back how?”

“You keep trying to make the brand palatable.” His eyes stay locked on mine. “Safe. Luxury matters, yes. But desire isn’t clean, Laurel.”

The sound of my first name in his voice does unfortunate things to my nervous system.

“It’s messy,” he continues. “Emotional. Vulnerable. You can’t market fantasy if you’re afraid of it yourself.”

I stiffen immediately. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

“No?”

“No.”

His gaze drops briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes. The movement is quick, but I catch it anyway. And suddenly I’m painfully aware that we’re alone in my office with the door closed.

Mason leans back again slowly. “Good. Then Napa shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You really intend to micromanage this project personally?” I ask.

“I intend to make it successful.”

“It was already going to be successful.”

A slow smirk touches his mouth this time. “Confident.”