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My eyes widen. “TheWhite House?”

“Yes.”

“Permission to swear, please, sir?”

His eyes darken. “Just this once.”

“Holy Mother of Fucking Fucks!”

He grimaces, but his eyes twinkle. “Is that a yes?” I hear a touch of vulnerability in his voice, and I stop joking. The work Mason did for the government may have added to his billions and given him power and prestige. But it’d also taken his son. Whatever reason is summoning him to attend, it can’t be easy for him to face the head of the nation under those circumstances.

“I’m waiting for an answer, kitten.”

I shake my head, still in a daze. “I don’t know. Are you messing with me?”

“Why would I?”

“Because…hello? It’s theWhite House. Also, I’d think you’d say no, given the circumstances.”

His nostrils flare before he shrugs, but I know there’s nothing carefree about the gesture. “There are only so many times you can say no to the commander in chief before it becomes a problem.”

I chew on that for a minute. “And you want to go with me? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Let me buy you a dress, a few trinkets, a pair of fuck-me shoes, and use you shamelessly as the buffer between myself and every asshole government bureaucrat whose throat I want to rip out?” There’s a little light, and a lot of darkness, in that statement, and my heart bleeds for him.

“Well, when you put it like that…” I let my voice drift.

“No lies, Keely. You okay with that?” he asks.

I suck in a deep breath. And smile. “I’m okay with that.”

29

KEELY

The next four days race by.

Mason disappears into whatever area he’s commandeered in the bowels of the yacht to work when he has to. He never tells me what he’s working on, and I don’t ask.

He, on the other hand, questions me about that Friday night six years ago. Sometimes, he’s subtle. Other times he demands to know every single detail. I hate myself for withholding that final part of the jagged jigsaw, but I tell myself there’s no need for him to know. I also know he’s gathering the information I give him. Most likely to find who’s behind the emails. I let him. My past will inevitably rise up and slap me in the face. But for now, I’m living in the present.

I also don’t ask why he keeps ignoring Cassie’s phone calls. They’ve graduated from three or four a day to almost hourly now. He always checks to see whether she’s left a message. She never does.

The question of what the hell her deal is looms larger and larger in my mind, but I refuse to give it voice. I want nothing to take up extra room in theMason & Keely Temporary Bliss Shuttle.

Our routine is simple.Fuck. Eat. Fuck. Sleep. Fuck. Debate about the world and about nothing. Fuck.

A couple of times, he’s ventured out to meet me for dinner or drinks on the boat or at whatever venue I happen to be escorting my guests. After that time at the club in Mallorca, I’ve learned not to flirt when he’s around.

Titus-Asshole-Morton, however, hasn’t learned his lesson. His nose wasn’t broken after all—much to my regret—and his leers have taken a dirty angle, especially when Mason isn’t around.

I wondered what he meant when he referred to him and Mason as fishing from the same pool.

Well, I found my answer when I stepped into the elevator after a long afternoon of thermal baths and cocktails at Vulcano, Sicily.

The hostess I scheduled to take the guests came down with food poisoning, so I was left with no choice but to step in and head the trip. The healthy mud bath wasn’t too bad, but the constant bickering of Titus’ pets gave me a piercing headache.

Finding the man himself, lounging against the wall of the elevator, doesn’t improve my mood. I stab for the lower deck and do my best to ignore him.