He took out his phone and hit a button. A moment later, hers vibrated on the hall table. When she glared at him, he only pointed toward her phone. She picked it up and pressed Decline.
“Fine,” she said. “Spit it out.”
He leaned against the doorway again, making his muscles flex. That was no accident. He knew exactly what he was doing. Damn him. And damn her, because it worked, her gaze following that flex before she remembered to look away.
“I feel bad about Ashley’s stunt this morning,” he said. “It was shitty, and I wanted to set things straight. I didn’t know it was supposed to be a secret, that I was the model for your hero.”
Gemma sighed. “About that… Just to be clear, I didn’t purposely base the guy on you. Writers have lots of sources of inspiration, and you must have been one. Unintentionally.”
He grinned. “It wouldn’t be the first time I was the basis for a”—he winked—“bit of fantasy sports casting.”
“No.” Were her cheeks heating? Shit. “That’s not—”
“I’m teasing. I know that’s not you, Gem.” He leaned forward, going serious. “But I am flattered, and I want to help.”
“Help…?”
“Sell your book. Like I said, I feel bad for letting Ashley pull me into that bullshit, and I am going to make it up to you. By promoting your book.”
“Nope.” She stepped back, hand gripping the door. “Nope, nope, nope—”
He waggled his phone. “We’re already trending on social media.”
Gemma froze. “What?”
“We’re trending. You and me. People loved our interview.”
She stiffened. “You mean they thought it was hilarious. The romance author who based her character on an actual sports star.”
“What? No. They like it. They think it’s cute.”
Huh. Well, thatwouldexplain the other calls she’d been dodging—the ones from her publicist. She’d been terrified to answer, certain it was some release-day disaster, likeyour entire first printing was destroyed in a warehouse fire and we aren’t going to run off any more.
Mason continued, “They want it to be real.”
“Wantwhatto be real?”
“Us. Like how cool it’d be if we really did start dating.” His eyes glittered, as if she’d called his bluff and he’d slapped down a royal flush. “So how about dinner?”
“Dinner?”
“You and me. A nice restaurant. A tip-off to the media…”
“You want us to… fake date?”
“I don’t expect you to lie or anything. We’d just be seen together. Let people draw their own conclusions.”
For three endless seconds, Gemma felt the pull of that possibility, like a tide slipping around her ankles.
The water’s fine. Come on in.
Except it wasn’t fine. She’d learned her lesson there. Mason’s gentle persuasion and sweet smiles masked a riptide that would drag her under and leave her sputtering and gasping… and not in a good way.
“What’s in it for you?” she asked.
His eyes widened, and maybe he was trying for innocence, but he looked like a five-year-old gulping down pilfered cookies.
“Me?” he said. “Nothing. What happened to you today was shitty, and I just want to help.”
