“I do read. Just audiobooks. Which don’t really count.”
“They definitely count.” She was about to ask what he was reading now, but just because he said he read didn’t mean he always had a book on the go. She wouldn’t put him on the spot like that. “What do you read?”
“Mostly fiction. Guys on the team are more into self-help books, especially those ones about getting better at what you do.”
“Which you don’t need.”
A surprisingly soft laugh. “It just isn’t my thing. I like novels.” He grinned over at her. “I preordered yours.”
Her heart stopped. “What?”
The grin grew. “Just waiting for it to drop. There was some delay, but it’s supposed to come any moment now.”
“Don’t read it, Mason.” She looked him in the eye. “Really.”
When he only gave a half shrug, her stomach knotted. If she’d known he’d bought it, she might have used his face to unlock his phone last night and delete the order, hope he’d just keep thinking it was delayed.
She did not want Mason readingA Highland Fling. Maybe, in her most malicious moments, she’d fantasized about Mason Moretti finding her book and recognizing himself as her asshole male lead. But he didn’t deserve that. What she’d poured into that portrayal was twenty years of hurt… and none of the decent parts she’d viciously edited out.
At least the audio was late. By the time it released, she’d have found a way to gently tell Mason that his portrayal was… less than flattering.
Or maybe she was worrying too much. Early reviewers had loved Laird Tavish Argyle. He was a buff Scot in a kilt, swinging a swordand defending his land against all comers. That was hot, right? And if he was also a narcissist who trampled everyone who got in his way? A cad who treated women like a buffet? Well, that didn’t matter because he was different with Edin, the heroine. Once he got to know her, he treated her as a person.
God, Gemma hated that narrative. A guy could be an asshole to every other woman, but once he realized the heroine was special, she became the exception. Theonlyexception.
The trope made her grind her teeth… and she’d perpetuated it in her own book.
“Gem?”
She looked over to see Mason frowning at her change of mood.
Laird Argyle wouldn’t even notice a change of mood, not even with his darling Edin.
Gemma balled up her wrapper and lobbed it at Mason. “Back to your condo, I’ve decided I hate you. You have a bathroom nearly as big as my bedroom. You have a massive shower and a massive tub. Who needs both?”
“Mason Moretti?”
“Hate. You.”
“The word is ‘envy,’ Gem. You’re a writer. Words are important.”
She flashed him the finger, making him grin.
“Also,” she said, “you have a bedroom for a motorcycle. A freaking Ducati, Mace.”
“It gets cold at night. I hope you tucked it in.”
She threw the napkin at him next. “Hate yousomuch.”
“You know motorcycles?”
She sipped her latte. “I had one in uni. Just a little Honda.”
“Do you miss it?” he asked.
She considered the question. She’d given up the motorcycle because Alan said it was too dangerous, and she’d thought it was sweet that he cared about her safety, but really he’d only cared that a motorcycle-riding girlfriend didn’t fit his budding corporate image.
So did she miss it now? That was one of the things about life postdivorce. It hadn’t been like living in a cage, and the door opens and you fly out, shrieking,I’m free!She didn’t think of all the things she’d given up, because for her, captivity had been such a slow process that to call it captivity seemed dramatic.
