Page 19 of Writing Mr. Wrong

GEMMA

G emma had written two thousand words in two hours.

Was that a record? These days, she was lucky to get a quarter of that.

The words were singing tonight, and she could blame a hearty dinner of rib eye steak and loaded baked potato, with crème br?lée for dessert, but she knew it wasn’t about the food.

It was about how the food arrived on her doorstep.

About the guy who’d sent it there. The guy who’d given her such an amazing day that she wasn’t even cringing remembering how she’d broken down and sobbed on his shoulder.

She’d had fun. It was such a small thing.

A thing she used to have all the time. She’d grown up in a family that was always doing something, often on the spur of the moment, heading into the world in pursuit of whatever seemed new and exciting.

Climb a mountain. Ride a horse. Rent a Sea-Doo.

Chris had been the quiet one, happily participating, but sometimes bringing a stack of comic books. It was Gemma who’d led the charge.

In university, she’d done the same, organizing “adventure days” with friends. She remembered coming back to her dorm, sweaty and dirt-streaked, no makeup, whooping with her roommate as they stumbled up the stairs. Alan had been standing outside her door. He’d gaped and then steered her off.

“Are you drunk?” he’d hissed. “It’s not even five.”

She’d rolled her eyes. “The girls wanted to go horseback riding.”

“Riding? You’re not twelve anymore, Gemma. Did you forget we have dinner with my parents?”

“Sure, at seven. I have plenty of time—”

“And plenty of work to do.” He’d shaken his head. “Horseback riding.”

She told Mason that the change had been gradual, but that was a lie.

She’d always seen that side of Alan. The side that wanted someone sweeter, softer, quieter.

The side that made her feel immature for having fun.

And she’d fallen for him anyway because part of her wanted to be that woman.

To shed the loud and boisterous Gemma. To be the kind of girl a guy like Alan would want.

A guy like Alan. Refined, sophisticated, handsome, and charming.

Not rough-and-tumble Mason. Not swaggering Mason. Not the other Mason either, though. Not the sweet one, the thoughtful one, the vulnerable one.

Alan had been the anti-Mason in every way. And that’s what she’d wanted.

Now, after a day with Mason, she could not imagine how she’d ever settled for Alan.

How good it felt to rediscover that old part of herself—fun, spontaneous and, yes, vulnerable.

What was even better? Sharing it with someone who didn’t see a damn thing wrong with any of it.

A guy who said he wanted her to have fun but had also pulled her onto his lap for a good cry.

Now she was writing like the wind, with fresh character nuances popping up like spring daffodils, hidden bright spots that felt as if they’d been lurking right there waiting to be uncovered.

When the phone rang, it was Mom, who answered with “I see you had a fancy date last night.”

Gemma squeezed her eyes shut. She should have told her mother, who’d been patiently awaiting her daughter’s return to the land of the living… and the land of the dating.

“It wasn’t a date,” she said.

“Looked like one to me.”

Gemma tried to gauge her mother’s tone. Teasing would mean Mom approved. Yet, considering who she’d been out with, she knew Mom would not approve. The fact her tone was light, if guarded, was the best Gemma could hope for.

“It was a photo op,” Gemma said. “Mason felt bad about the morning-show interview, but it was getting positive social media coverage, so he suggested a celebratory dinner.”

“With cameras.”

Gemma sighed. “That was all preplanned, Mom. He thought it’d be good promo for my book.”

A long pause. “And for what he’s going through now? With his own PR problem?”

Gemma went still. Shit. Last night, Mason had confessed about Denny, and in all the tumult, she’d never stopped to consider the implications.

He’d said their fake date was all about her. She hadn’t realized what was happening to him, and how a little positive PR—showing him as a decent guy—would go a long way toward repairing his reputation.

“It was mutually beneficial,” Gemma said quickly. “Are the photos okay?”

“The ones before dinner are lovely. You look wonderful, dear. The one of him with wine on his shirt… perhaps a little less lovely, although at first I thought you’d thrown it at him, which would be understandable. Then I saw it came courtesy of a former lady friend.”

Gemma sighed. “Bad timing.”

“Something tells me when you’re with Mason Moretti, that happens more often than one might expect.”

“Oh, I suspect it does.” Gemma turned to her laptop and searched for photos online.

“Then there’s the one where you leapt in to his defense against some drunken college boy.”

Gemma winced. “How bad did that one look?”

“Not bad at all, Gem. All the photos reflect very well on you or I would be far more concerned about what, yes, I did suspect was more PR stunt than date. I don’t begrudge you that, though I may have had to stop your father from emailing the photos to Alan.”

Gemma winced harder.

Mom continued, “What I’m more concerned about are the ones from today, which look… less like a PR stunt.”

“Ah, you mean the ones of me getting a motorcycle lesson.”

“No, those were very cute. I mean the ones taken up the coast.”

“At the coffee shop?”

“No, I saw those, too, and they were lovely if obviously posed. I mean the others.”

“Others?”

She barely got the word out before she saw the results of her search. The first photo filled the screen. It was her with the wind whipping her hair around, her eyes glowing, Mason pulling her close as he grinned for the selfie.

Oh.

“Was that meant to be a PR shot, Gemma?” Her mother’s voice was soft.

“I…” Something suspiciously like tears prickled, but she wiped them away fast. “I didn’t know that’s why he was taking it, but since we wanted publicity…”

She trailed off. She wanted to say it was fine. To say she’d known the whole day had been leading up to those photos. But the only thing that came were those damn tears.

“Be careful, baby,” her mom said, her voice soft.

Gemma breathed. It was all she could do. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Those shots before dinner last night were obviously PR,” Mom said. “That was a very pretty, very confident woman who looks like my Gemma but isn’t quite her. The ones with the motorcycle and at the coffee shop were more you, but still posed. The ones at the beach? Those are all you.”

Real Gemma. Unguarded Gemma.

“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” Gemma said, her voice so quiet she wasn’t sure her mom would hear it. “After Alan, you think I’d learned my lesson.”

“Mason Moretti isn’t Alan,” her mom said firmly.

“I can see what Mason is. No one saw the real Alan, not even me. He was cruel and controlling. Mason is just…” Her mother inhaled.

“Careless. He’s careless with you and your feelings, and he always has been, and that might not seem as bad, but in some ways, baby, it scares me even more. ”

“Because he’s the kind of guy I could fall for, seeing all the rough edges and telling myself they don’t matter.”

“Rough edges don’t matter. We all have them. It’s the ones that can cut that count.”

Gemma’s eyes prickled. “I need to stop making the same mistake. I finally got away from one guy who hurt me, and what do I do? Bounce back to the first guy who hurt me.”

A moment of silence. Then: “Has he said why he did that in high school?”

“No.”

“What has he said?”

Gemma sighed and switched the phone to her other ear. “He takes the blame and acknowledges I was hurt. But he hasn’t apologized. He’s never apologized, and that should be my signal to get out now.”

Her mother exhaled. “I’m not sure it’s that simple, baby. I get the feeling Mason is a lot more complicated than he seems. If he’s acknowledged the harm, then that’s an apology in his way. But you deserve an explanation, and I think you need to ask him for one.”

“Or just never see him again. That seems like a fine option right now.”

Silence.

“Mom? It’s okay to agree with me. To tell me that I should walk away.”

“I’m… not sure that’s the answer, Gem. You might need to work through this.

Get answers about Mason and how you feel about him, either way.

” A deep inhale. “But I’m not going to interfere any more than I already have.

Just know that if you want to talk, I’m here.

Whatever you decide, we’ll support you, unless we see you getting hurt.

” Mom’s voice cracked. “We already did that once. We saw you changing, slowly, and we worried, but…”

“I put up a good front, and I wasn’t letting anyone past it. Even you.”

“Which is no excuse. We should have pushed. That’s fair warning, though, that if we see something, we will say something.”

“Thank you, Mom. I appreciate that.”

MASON

Mason was sitting on his sofa, staring into nothing as he listened to the audiobook. His motorcycle helmet lay beside him, but he hadn’t taken out the earbuds since first putting them in. And he hadn’t stopped the audiobook.

He didn’t understand what he was listening to. Was calling it a romance one of those marketing things? Like those ads calling Mason “the player of his generation”? Hyperbole, that was the word for it.

Was that it? The publisher wanted to call it romance, so Gemma had to pretend it was?

So far, he mostly just had this governess—Edin—and her boss, Laird Argyle. The guy was some kind of Highland knight, a really good fighter… who knew exactly how good he was.

That part wasn’t bad—nothing wrong with well-earned self-confidence.

The problem was how he bragged and acted like it made him better than everyone.

He was rude to his staff, including Edin.

And he seemed to be screwing everything in a skirt.

Edin had already stumbled on him with two women, one of whom she’d later found crying because Argyle had sent her on her way with a necklace, paying her off like a sex worker.

The guy was a self-absorbed braggart who went through women like tissues and…

No, this wasn’t the hero. It wasn’t the guy Gemma based on Mason. It couldn’t be.

Another character had just appeared. A baron’s daughter who tore Laird Argyle a new one when he flirted with her at a masquerade ball. Fuck. This was Gemma.

As Mason listened, he grinned, his discomfort falling away. Okay, this new woman wasn’t actually Gemma—they just shared a few traits. Still, Lilias was far more his kind of character, and far more what he expected Gemma to write.

Lilias must be the main character.

So who was her love interest?

Could it be Laird Argyle?

No, because if her love interest was Laird Argyle, then Laird Argyle was based on him, which he could not—

Wait. What was happening?

It was still the masquerade ball scene, and Edin and Lilias were comforting a woman Laird Argyle had “cut.” That meant he’d ignored her, refusing her invitation to dance, while others whispered that Laird Argyle had bedded and abandoned her.

Edin and Lilias were comforting this woman when Laird Argyle walked over, bold as brass, and asked Lilias for a dance.

Right in front of the poor woman he’d ignored.

Lilias ran him off with the sharp edge of her tongue, and all that wouldn’t be more than extra proof—if he needed it—that Argyle was a jerk, except…

Eighth grade. The Halloween dance. Mason came dressed as a zombie hockey player, because everyone expected him to dress as a hockey player and he hated to disappoint. Also, it was an easy costume.

He’d been circling the dance floor, working up the courage to ask Gemma.

She never came to dances, but her friends must have talked her into it, and he was going to take advantage.

It was just a dance. No big deal. Except it could be a big deal, having Mason Moretti take her onto the dance floor, and if she liked that, maybe…

Maybe what?

He wasn’t sure, only that he didn’t want to blow his chance. When he saw Jennifer Miller making a beeline for him, he’d tried to duck out of sight, but he was Mason Moretti—it was hard to hide.

He and Jennifer had a bit of a thing that summer, when she’d been happy to do things to him that other girls their age weren’t ready for yet, and hell yeah, he’d gone for it, but then school started and she seemed to expect to be his girlfriend. Mason didn’t have girlfriends.

Jennifer found him and asked him to dance. He said no. She left. Then a few minutes later, he spotted Gemma over at the side, sitting on a bench talking to a girl. Perfect.

He made his way over, determined to ask Gemma to dance. When he realized she was talking to Jennifer, that was a little awkward, but he just kept plowing forward, like skating through the defense, his eyes on the net.

“Stanton,” he said, casually leaning on his stick. “You wanna dance or something?”

Gemma stared at him like he’d asked if she wanted to light herself on fire. The music was really loud. She must have heard wrong.

“You’re asking me… to dance?” she said before he could repeat himself.

“Sure.”

She shot to her feet so fast he quick-stepped backward. Then her hands went to his chest, pushing him farther from the bench.

“You’re asking me… in front of Jennifer?” she hissed when they were away from the bench. “In front of the girl who’s crying because you turned her down for a dance?”

“Uh…”

“You are such a fucking asshole, Moretti.”

“What? No. I’m not dating Jennifer. I wouldn’t ask anyone else to dance if I were. I’m not like that.”

“No, you’re just the kind of guy who’ll mess around with a girl all summer and then refuse to be seen in public with her.”

“What, no. I—”

“The kind of guy who treats a girl like she’s only good for messing around with and then asks another girl to dance in front of her. While that girl is comforting her.”

“I didn’t know you were—”

She grabbed the front of his hockey jersey and shoved him toward the dance floor. “Go find yourself a girl who likes assholes, Mason. ’Cause that ain’t me.”

Mason surfaced from the memory and hit Stop on the audiobook.

Laird Argyle was him.

He was Laird Argyle.

He was the asshole.