The Price of Mason Page 3

  Fuck, I needed a miracle.

  Confession #2: I was by no means a psychologist.

  Mom came through and made it back three hours after she’d left the house, hauling a single sack of groceries inside with her.

  Yeah, one fucking bag of groceries after a three-hour shopping trip with the store six blocks away. You do the math.

  I had to be at work in five minutes, so I met her at the door and jogged to my Jeep in order to arrive at my valet station in the nick of time. Breathing hard, I smoothed my hands over the front of my light blue polo shirt to hand-iron any wrinkles and checked the schedule for any special events. Nothing for this evening, thank goodness. The place shouldn’t be a madhouse with activity, then.

  A low whistle came from my right, interrupting my scan. “Today’s woman must’ve had some real stamina, huh, Lowe? You’re cutting it close again.”

  Landon. He was technically my coworker, but he liked to think he was my supervisor because he’d worked here four months longer than I had. It would’ve made his entire day if I showed up even thirty seconds late. Just once.

  I cast him a dry glance. “I’m still on time.”

  “And yet I once again made it to work before you did.” He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “So, who was she today? Doctor? Lawyer? Congressman’s wife?”

  Everyone knew what I was, even though they didn’t technically know. So far, it was only an unproven rumor that I was a male prostitute, and I’d yet to confirm it with anyone, especially Landon, who hounded me for details every time we worked together. He was one of those idiots who seemed to think such a profession was badass.

  If only he knew the truth.

  Actually, maybe it would’ve been cool if I had gotten into the business because this was my dream job. And while there'd been a short stint in there where it had been okay, that time hadn't lasted long, so these days, it just plain sucked.

  Shaking my head, I said, “Man, you never give up, do you?”

  “When it’s about sex? Never.” He sidled up beside me before adding, “So when are you going to make me your partner? Or hell, I’ll even settle for understudy. Surely there’s enough business to bring me on board. I mean, seriously, man, be a pal; throw a couple of those horny pussies my way every once in a while.”

  Sending him a dry side-glance, I murmured, “I’m still not convinced you know how to properly work one.”

  “Oh, snap,” he cried on a surprised laugh as he clutched his chest. “That hurts, man. That really hurts. I promise I can slaughter a pussy in five seconds flat.”

  My lips quirked into a grimace. “See. That right there is why you can’t land a girl and have become a born-again virgin, bud. Finishing in five seconds is not something to brag about.”

  “Wait! That’s not what I meant. I can last longer than that. I swear. I was just saying… I mean…”

  I began to roll my eyes just as a silver four-door Bentley pulled into the valet station.

  Smacking Landon in the stomach with the back of my hand to shut him up, I straightened from the podium I’d been leaning against and stepped toward the driver’s side door, only for Landon—the bastard—to flash in front of me. I scowled at his back for stealing what should’ve been my tip and probably would’ve kicked him in the back of the knee if no one had been watching. But seeing that there were multiple people in the car, I booked it around to the other side and opened the front passenger door.

  Blue high heels and then tanned, toned legs exited first. Her skirt was knee length and black. I didn’t get much more than an eyeful of that before she stood and took her first step, only for the heel of her pump to get caught in the crack of cobblestone. A gasp escaped as she tripped and tumbled face forward.

  “Whoa, there.” I reached out to catch her, and she smacked into my chest, hard. Blonde hair tickled my chin as her purse fell from her shoulder and all the contents spilled around our feet.

  “Oh, no,” she groaned. “I’m sorry. I’m so clums—” She looked up, her face full of apology until her gaze met mine. Then she gasped. “Mason!”

  Shit.

  The most emotionally unstable client I had, she made me call her Amanda when we were alone. I hated it when she employed my services. The woman needed a psychiatrist or possibly a divorce lawyer, not a prostitute. And besides, she reminded me too much of my own mother: a little lost, a little sad, a lot broken. I could never stay completely disconnected and immune whenever she contacted me. I wanted to help her as much as I never wanted to see her again.

  See what I mean about the irony and always feeling pulled in two directions? The woman scared me shitless and broke my heart all in the same breath.

  I cleared my throat, instantly tense. “Mrs. Riker,” I greeted, setting her away from me, while on the other side of the Bentley, her husband handed his car keys and what looked like a freaking fifty-dollar bill to Landon.

  Amanda’s gaze swerved toward him and then back to me. Pain and loneliness contorted her features, and her big brown eyes blinked, filling with moisture as she stared up at me as if she needed me to save her.

  So, Landon got a fifty; I got a guilty reminder of why I hated what I did.

  “You okay?” I asked, my voice hushed.

  She nodded, her lashes still rapidly fluttering. “I… Yes. Yes, I’m…” Shifting her gaze away, her attention fell to her purse on the ground, and her shoulders slumped. “God, I’m such a mess.”

  “No, you’re okay. Stupid cobblestone trips up everyone. Here.” I hurried into action, kneeling in front of her. “I’ve got this.”

  After using my palm to scoop most of the contents back into the depths of her bag, I reached for a pill bottle that had rolled the farthest away. Surprised by how light it was when I picked it up, I realized it was empty. And I didn’t mean to but I checked the name of the contents plus the expiration date as I returned it to her.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled gratefully, gathering her things back to her chest in an embarrassed rush. “I can’t believe I’m such a klutz.”

  My gaze rose to her face, worry lining my gut. She should’ve refilled that bottle a month ago. And if the strain creasing those lines around her eyes was any indication, she really needed her anxiety medicine.

  I touched her elbow and opened my mouth to say, hell, I don’t know. This woman wasn’t my problem, her issues should mean nothing to me, but she was sweet and timid, and vulnerable, and I hated seeing her miserable.

  “Jesus, Mom,” a voice to my left broke in. “What’d you trip over this time? Thin air?”

  Not having realized the backseat rider of the Bentley had gotten out on the passenger side, I swerved my attention toward the voice just as its owner shut the back door and scowled at me.

  Amanda’s son, Ethan, had been a year behind me in school. With light, shaggy hair and thick black-rimmed glasses, he looked like one of those new-age, cool nerds that spent all day figuring out what to wear so it would look as if he didn’t care how he looked. And he hated me, probably because he suspected his mother was a client of mine and he’d heard the rumors about what I was.

  When his gaze narrowed on my hand at her elbow, I reluctantly let go, scowling right back. I wanted to tell him so bad that if he’d just pay her a little bit of attention or even tossed her a kind word every once in a while, she’d probably never come near me again.

  Ungrateful-ass son.

  Another reason why I tried to talk to my own mom more.

  “What’s the holdup over there?” Mr. Riker called from the other side of the car, making Mrs. Riker startle as if she’d been slapped. “Our reservation’s for five. We’re going to be late.”

  Pasting a smile onto her face, she called, “Nothing, dear. Sorry! We’re coming.” As she swept past me, I gazed after her, wondering about the facade she put on for her family. It was completely different from the face she used with me. It made me worry I might be the only person who truly knew how unhappy she was or how much help she ne
eded. If she were suicidal and actually hurt herself, it’d be on my shoulders.

  When I realized Ethan had remained next to me, I glanced over to find him, yep, still glaring. Sighing, I took a step back and swept out a hand to let him pass. The distaste in his features heightened before he strolled after his parents.

  Landon climbed into their car and pulled it toward the parking garage, and I stood there watching the back of the Riker family as they entered the Country Club. They looked like the model image of the perfect American family.

  But then Mrs. Riker glanced back, her gaze full of agony and longing, and I knew how fake the whole scene was.

  I turned away, clenching my teeth. I didn’t like the guilt she stirred in me, making me feel as if I should do something for her. I didn’t like this responsibility she heaved on me with every pain-filled glance she sent my way. I couldn’t deal with her problems too.

  And yet I continued to feel shitty, helping her in the only way I knew how whenever she called me.

  It was a good thing the dinner rush started and distracted my attention with a steady, monotonous stream of cars because worrying about Amanda Riker never solved anything. She had a perfectly capable son and husband who could and should be helping her through whatever depressed, anxious, or bipolar shit she was experiencing. It wasn’t like I was the best son anyway. My mom typically wanted to escape whenever I was in the room. I couldn’t be the fill-in child Amanda sought for comfort.

  Someone forgot to tell her that, though.

  A little after nine thirty, traffic slowed enough for me to take a break. I was heading down a back employees-only hall toward the staff lounge when I heard, “Psst. Mason.”

  I glanced back to find Amanda poking her head from a door that led into someone’s office, and dread coiled in my stomach.

  She waved me to her, so I ground my teeth hard and backtracked, hissing, “Do you know whose office this is?”

  Because I had no clue, and yet I was still certain that whoever it belonged to did not want her trespassing, especially after hours on a Sunday night.

  “I don’t care.” She rushed the words as she reached for me, her grip on my wrist tight and frantic. “I need you.”

  Dammit.

  I let her yank me into the office because that had to be better than remaining out here with her where just anyone could walk by and catch us together. But if we were caught in here, that’d be my job for sure.

  And while yes, I could afford to lose the cash that valet parking brought in, I still needed this job. It was my only source of normal. Like air for my soul, working here fed me a security that had kept my sanity in place for this long. I could not lose my job at the Country Club.

  “Amanda,” I started, only to close my eyes and throw my head back, torn and not sure what to do when she immediately wound her arms around my waist, clasping her fingers together at the base of my spine and burrowed her cheek against my chest.

  I swear, no one hugged this woman, like ever. And that’s all she ever fucking wanted because she’d never come to me for sex. Just a little human contact.

  My heart went out to her. Unable to ignore such a simple request, I hugged her back. She sighed, content, and the tension immediately drained from her muscles. So I cupped the back of her head, keeping her cheek pressed to my chest. If only it were this easy to satisfy every client who sought me. Hell, if only it were this easy to connect with my own mother.

  “Oh, Mason,” she sighed. “No one gets me like you do.”

  Don’t ask how she came to the conclusion that I actually got anything about her, because I couldn’t tell you. All I ever did was let her hug me. And if she wanted to talk, I stayed quiet while she drained everything off her chest. To me, it seemed that if someone actually got her, that person would say shit in return to help her through whatever she was experiencing. Because the woman had some dark, lonely, depressed thoughts sometimes, let me tell you. She was drowning in her own melancholy.

  “When Mitchell said he wanted to eat here tonight for dinner, I was so happy. I prayed you would be working. And here you are. You’re my little angel, I swear.”

  My gut tensed, wishing she’d transfer her obsession to someone else, wishing she’d get help so I could stop worrying about her, wishing I’d never gotten sucked into her issues in the first place.

  She slowly stroked her hand up my back and down again. I’m not sure she even knew she was doing it, but it felt more like a child stroking their favorite blanket for comfort than anything in any way sexual.

  “I wanted to call for you yesterday, but Mitchell invited his boss over for dinner, so I had to spend most of the day cleaning house and cooking lamb chops. I guess his boss is a fan of lamb. Sounds disgusting, doesn’t it? Like a meal for Hannibal Lecter.”

  She shuddered in disgust.

  “But I must’ve done a decent job. Everyone complimented the food. Not that I tasted any of it. And do you know who noticed I didn’t eat a single bite? No one. And do you know who helped me clean the dishes after everyone had left? No one. Though Ethan did pop into the kitchen once to ask me to wash his favorite pair of jeans before his first day of school. Except instead of helping out, he chastised me for having an after-dinner glass of wine. I guess he can’t have everyone thinking his mother is an alcoholic, even though I’m not.”

  I had no idea if she was an alcoholic. She never drank around me but she did smell like wine now. Not that it mattered. I was beginning to dislike her dear ol’ son more and more every time she talked about him. How blind did some people have to be to not realize the people closest to them were slipping further and further away?

  Which made me antsier for my own mother’s sake. Was she okay? Was she slipping into drugs again? Did I need to help her out of anything? Did I need to pay more attention to her?

  Amanda kept talking and rubbing my back, while I kept listening and worrying about my own mom, until a muffled male voice in the hallway, called, “Mother?”

  The woman in my arms went stiff, her head jerking up so she could gape at me from wide, frightened eyes. “It’s Ethan,” she hissed.

  I nodded and pressed a finger to my lips. I didn’t want to be caught alone with her while working any more than she wanted her son to find us together. She nodded, trusting me to take care of it, and I reached out, carefully locking the door to the office so no one could hear a click.

  Barely a second later, the handle jiggled.

  Amanda jumped and leaped against me. I hugged her, trying to calm her until footsteps faded down the hall. Another minute later, she lifted her face. Her eyes still reflected fear. “I better get back to our table.”

  I nodded, agreeing completely. When she slipped something into my pocket, I clenched my teeth. I hated it when she paid me. It felt all kinds of wrong to take money from anyone for merely hugging them and listening to them talk, but I never refused her cash either because I wanted it to be a constant reminder for her that this was just business. I knew damn well she still thought it was more, but I could only imagine what thoughts would spin through her head if I ever refused her payment.

  Smiling up at me with affection, she cupped my cheek for a moment, then disappeared from the office. Amanda had never kissed me, never asked to be kissed, or fucked, or touched in any way that was even remotely sexual. All her needs seemed to be emotional. I wasn’t sure if I actually met those needs or not, though, so I always shipped the money back to her, anonymously, once a month. She thought it came from her estranged mother who hadn’t talked to her in twenty years, and that offered her a measure of comfort, so I kept returning her cash that way.

  After waiting until I was sure she was gone, I finally left the office as well, turning the light out as I went. I only had two minutes left on my break, not enough time to eat anything as I’d planned to, so I turned in the direction of the valet station to get back to work, only to slow to a stop when I came face-to-face with Ethan Riker, standing there, barring my path, his expression hard a
nd savage, hands on his hips.

  “Lowe,” he growled. “What are you doing back here?”

  I glanced around with raised eyebrows, shocked by the question. “This is an employees-only area. I think the better question would be, what’re you doing back here?”

  “Have you seen my mother?” he demanded.

  I laughed, surprised—and a little impressed—that he was so upfront with the question. “Your mother? Now, why would she be back here? You do understand what the phrase employees only means, right?”

  He scowled harder and eyed the door I had just closed behind me. “I just tried that door. It was locked. Why were you in a locked room?”

  Oh, Jesus. He was such a douche. But he was a dangerous douche. If he opened the door and looked inside, seeing nothing but an office, he could report it to my supervisor—and I’m not talking about the moron Landon, but Tyler, my real supervisor. That would not go over well.

  Thinking quick, I bit out, “It’s a bathroom. Is it okay with you if I lock the door while I take a piss?”

  He didn’t look inside for himself to check and see if it was really a bathroom, thank God. Instead, he stepped toward me as if he were going to shove me against the wall.

  “Listen, asshole.”

  I lifted my hands and backed away, refusing to let him make contact and not about to get into it with him, either. If anyone caught me having words with a guest of the Country Club, I’d be fired so fast my ass would smoke.

  Riker pointed a threatening index finger at my nose. “Don’t fuck with my mother. I know what kind of women you associate with. And she’s not one of them.”

  Well, that was for damn sure. Amanda could never reach the evil depravity of, say, someone like Patricia Garrison. Not in a million years.

  I nodded respectfully because, honestly, I couldn’t blame him for his anger and suspicion. If I were Riker and had heard the rumors about me, as he’d no doubt heard, I’d worry my mom was fucking me for money too.