His Pawn (The Manhattan Tales Book 1) (3 page)

Chapter 3.   Jilly Bean

As I exited the bathroom, I saw a sleek silver Mercedes Benz pull to the store front. 
This is it.  I’m going to see Mason soon.  After five whole years.
My heart was pumping with adrenaline because I wasn’t only excited, but I was also apprehensive.  My obnoxious pink duffel was already slung over my shoulder so I made a clean exit and made straight for the car.  I’d ridden in one of these a few times while having to attend events with the Sloanes.  The driver quickly exited the front and opened the door for me, and took my bag, which I was not expecting but it was very grand of him.

  “Thank you!”  I said to him with a big grin.  My nerves clearly showed because the ‘thank you’ came out a little too high-pitched.

“It is my pleasure, Miss Pryor,” he said with a small smile.

I gave another smile up at the driver as I ducked into the car.  I was thinking about what I would say to Mason when I saw him, and was not paying close enough attention to my proximity because I smacked the side of my head as I ducked into the car.  The move was anything but graceful and sophisticated. 

“Ow,” I rubbed the right side of my scalp and was grateful that the driver was busy placing my duffel in the trunk and had not seen my mishap.

“Are you alright?”  A low voice came from the seat just beside mine.  There was a trace of a British in that silky male voice.

Mason
.  How had I not seen him?  His dark Armani suit, black hair and olive skin helped him blend well with the shadows of the back seat.  I gasped, both surprised that he was in the car and horrified that he’d seen the display.  His driver opened the door and slipped into the front and as the interior lights came on, I saw the smirk on his face.  His legs were outstretched on the fine Italian leather and he looked quite amused staring at me.  It caused me to smile, just a bit.  There was just a hint of the Mason I used to know.

Quickly, I leaned over and wrapped my arms around him as I once did when I was just a kid in high school.  “Thank you.  It’s so good to see you again.”

For the first few seconds, I could feel him tense, frozen in place, in my embrace.  I suddenly felt very awkward, with my arms still around his neck.  My mom and I used to hug him all the time, without any thoughts about it… but times were different now.  Then, I felt him relax and he wrapped his arms around me, too.  It was a little stiffer than it could have been, but much less awkward.  He smelled delicious, like an expensive aftershave… and some women's perfume.  I knew I should pull away, but I was waiting for his signal. 

His nose was slightly in my hair and a warmth began to spread through my body, or perhaps that was the heat radiating from
his
massive body.  Still, I felt confused by what I was experiencing.  It felt like a strong magnetic pull, and it was completely foreign to me. I’d had a crush on him when I was eighteen, but I never felt anything like
this
back then. His arms relaxed more around me, lessening the stiffness even more and making the hug feel more genuine. Every nerve ending in my body buzzed with feelings I’d forgotten I had for him. The scent of him was intoxicating, but in a very good way.  Then I caught the random whiff of the woman’s perfume again and it helped me build the will to pull away.

“It’s good to see you too,” he said as I sat upright and fastened my seat belt.  As I secured the buckle, I felt his eyes on me, assessing me.  I looked up to see his intent, yet appraising gaze on me. 

“You’re different,” he commented simply as the car pulled away from the curb.

I laughed lightly.  “It would be very sad if, after five years, I remained the same dorky teenager.  But look, I still have the same glasses.”  I pointed at the Chanel frames and flashed him a huge grin.

  He chuckled, and this time it was not condescending.  He leaned back against the leather.  “I’m glad you liked them as much.”

  “Well, I’m not blindly walking into walls anymore, so that’s a huge plus.”

“Indeed, it is.” he grinned, and I enjoyed the ring of his British accent in how he said that simple comment.

It reminded me of better times. I was quickly feeling much better about staying at his place until I could figure out what the hell I was going to do.

  I smiled up at him as I straightened my glasses on my face, and I felt myself relax beside him.  We sat in silence for several minutes, which was fine by me.  I never felt the need to fill silence with needless jabber.

  “You’ll have to forgive me.  I’ve had two glasses of
Bollinger Blanc De Noirs and not much to eat this evening,” He interrupted the silence.

“Oh it’s alright,” I replied.  “I love wine, too, but why would you drink without eating?”

  Mason laughed.  This wasn’t a chuckle.  It was a laugh.  “Bollinger Blanc De Noirs Vieilles Vignes Francaises is a very expensive champagne.  I had to take some Japanese clients to dinner this evening and my father insisted on sushi.”

  I scrunched my face, remembering how much he loathed sushi.  “You’ll have to forgive me, too.  I’m not classy and sophisticated like the women you’re used to. I thought you were talking about wine.  I’ve never had champagne-”

“I know exactly who you are, Jillian Pryor,” Mason interjected.

“Oh… okay,” I responded. I wasn’t sure how I should interpret that random comment. Was it a cold reminder that I was the sister of his ex-best friend?  Was it supposed to be a compliment?  Who knows. The comment could have been a result from the two glasses of champagne he’d had on an empty stomach.

“You must be really hungry, then,” I added.

“Yes,
starving
.  Are you hungry?” He asked, his gaze on me was intense.  What the hell.  Two seconds ago, he was laughing and reminiscing.  If I hadn’t spent many teenage years in his presence, I would have been freaked out.  He definitely needed some food in him.

“Rick, stop and pick us up some chicken shawarma wraps.  You know where to go,” Mason leaned over and spoke to the driver.

Then, he leaned back against the leather looking very relaxed and content. I suddenly realized how hungry I still was, the sandwich earlier had really only dulled the hunger pangs.  I turned to him and smiled.  It was so good to have him back in my life again, and I hoped it wasn’t temporary.

****

Mason’s driver pulled smoothly to the front of the most beautiful stone building with ornate sculptures of lions carved into the sides of the structure.  It was a huge hotel in scale and I looked up to see a lit sign etched in gold: 
The Darling.
The driver had by now stepped out and opened the door first for me, then for Mason.  I took a step to retrieve my bag from the trunk, but Mason took my wrist and held me back.

“Rick will bring your bag up,” he said smoothly.  His grip lingered on my wrist.  It was very firm, but he didn’t hurt me.  Instead, I felt a delicious sensation from his touch, and I didn’t know how to describe it at the time.  My heart fluttered but he quickly retracted his hand and it left me feeling empty.

“You’re staying at a hotel?” I asked, trying to distract myself from these strange, new and confusing feelings.  His cologne must have drugged my brain.

“I own this building, but my penthouse is on the top floor,” Mason responded simply.

He owns this hotel?
I nearly squeaked, but kept quiet.  I’d overheard the Sloanes rave about this hotel to their dinner party guests a few times.

“Oh.” It was the most intelligent reply I could muster as he paused outside the thick glass doors and waited for me.  Once I’d caught up to him, he placed his hand on the small of my back and ushered me through the marble lobby.  I’d never been in anything so grand before, not even when I worked for the Sloanes.  It was all too rich for my blood. I looked around, and must have been walking at a snail’s pace, because I remembered Mason guiding me by the elbow towards the elevator. 

“Ah, good evening, Mr. Woodward.”  The bellboy chimed as he pushed the button for the top floor without Mason’s demand.

  “Good evening, Gus.  How is your sister doing?” Mason asked as the elevator smoothly ascended.

“She’s doing much better.  Thank you for the flowers. They cheered her up in the hospital,” Gus answered.

“Glad to hear it,” Mason answered as the doors closed.  Soon, the elevator’s ding signaled that we’d reached the top floor.  The doors opened into the most exquisite floor plan I’d ever witnessed.  I simply balked, standing inside the elevator.  Again, Mason had to lead me by the hand into his penthouse.

“This is… wow,” I commented stupidly, looking around.

This place made the Sloanes’ apartment look like a shed.  Mason must be doing much better than I had ever thought.

Mason’s hotel penthouse was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.  It was all masculine decor with rich leather furniture spread strategically. Smooth, dark wood greeted my feet, with expensive rugs neatly situated appropriately.

The walls were a perfect red brick and the design was deliberate, to add to the masculine quality that his interior designer obviously implemented. I removed my pink coat and left it on the arm of a leather chair as I  peeked into the entertainment room and sucked in a deep breath at the gorgeous views of Manhattan.

I felt as though I was hovering over the sparkling city lights.  It was purely magical.  Mason hardly seemed to pay attention to my deep breathing, or the spectacular view that waited for him every night.  The layout was open and spacious, and despite the homey feel of the entertainment room, the rest of the penthouse seemed sterile. There were paintings mounted on the walls, but absolutely no photographs to be seen anywhere. He kept my hand as he guided me toward the kitchen.  He didn’t seem to have any patience for my response to his posh lifestyle.

“Care for a drink?” He asked, not dwelling on my girlish comment earlier.

He walked across the beautifully polished dark wood floors and entered the kitchen, which was updated with all the newest features and appliances anybody could desire. The countertops were a polished black marble with all stainless steel appliances. My brain felt so overstimulated that I could not focus on any one thing, so instead I leaned against the brick of the kitchen wall, where he was already uncorking a bottle of some kind of wine. 

“You must be very impressive with the ladies,” I teased, although I had to admit to myself that I was digging for information.

I’d seen his picture a few times over the years plastered in the business and entertainment sections of the newspaper.  He seemed to always have a beautiful woman at his side during galas and benefits.

Mason cleared his throat lightly as he poured two glasses of white wine.

“I don’t bring women here.  I never have-”  His hazel eyes glanced up at me for a second.  “... until tonight.”

“Oh,” I breathed as my heart picked up speed.

I must have sounded like a silly girl because Mason chuckled as he handed me the wine glass.  I felt his eyes on my form, especially now that I was free of my coat.  Or, perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

I looked up at him as I took the wine glass.  He’d removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie.  He was just as tall as I’d remembered, at least a foot taller than my frame.

His olive skin and dark hair gave hint to his Indian heritage, though his features had a sharpness to them that came from his English father.  His smoldering, light brown eyes bore into me. Mason’s eyes have always struck me with admiration and awe. They are intense, and his gaze on me was both confident and domineering. My face flamed and I had to look away as I took the glass from him.

I took a long, healthy sip from my glass and swallowed.  I tried to process what he just said, and what it meant that he would bring
me
here. 
It means nothing.  You’re just Jilly Bean. You could never be his type
, the unwelcomed yet practical thought invaded my mind

“I have another apartment in the Upper West Side,” Mason answered, as though he could read my thoughts.  “It’s… better equipped. I don’t have to worry about disturbing my hotel guests over there.”  He smiled at me darkly. 

Better equipped?
  
How many women does he take over there?

A sudden pang of disappointment  and intrigue hit me.

“So you go there a lot?”  I asked, trying to sound casual, but I knew I failed miserably.

I took another deep gulp of wine as I looked up at him.

There was an energy radiating from this man that I’d never experienced before.  The way his mere presence commanded my attention was alarming. Perhaps I was just too young to have felt it before.  Perhaps I was just not open-minded enough back then, but everything about this man was just… too much.  His large body towered over my small frame.  It was overwhelming… especially when he took two long strides toward me.

“Why do you ask, Jilly Bean?  I think I heard a tinge of jealousy in that tone,” Mason smirked.

My heart jumped out of my chest when he called me by my old nickname, and then he stood directly in front of me.  His voice was smooth like silk as he whispered to me.