She grunted. “We’ll see.”

  Sudden concern tightened the skin around her eyes. “I better call Jasmine to warn her of the incoming asshole—she moved in here after Laila moved out, but she stays with her boyfriend sometimes.”

  Rosamie stepped to the side and made a quick phone call, but her friend didn’t answer. Frowning, she left a detailed message. Then she made another call and then another. By the time she was done, half the women on campus knew that Joseph Dubey was persona non grata with the Night Witches as a whole and on Rosamie’s shit list in particular.

  Ransom made himself comfortable on the small couch crammed between the single beds. When Rosamie glanced up from her calls, she appeared surprised to find him still there.

  “Mason’s orders were to keep an eye on you,” Ransom informed her. “So that means I stay with you—at least until we’re sure he’s not coming back.”

  “And do you do everything Mason says?” she asked, hands on her hips.

  Appreciatively, he allowed his gaze to roam over her curves, lingering in an obvious way on his favorite spots. “Well, some orders are easier to follow than others.”

  He patted the couch next to him. “Want to watch some Netflix?”

  Don’t add chill. You want to keep your testicles, he thought, swallowing his chuckle.

  Rosamie studied him with narrowed eyes. Then her lip pulled up at the corner. She pivoted on her heel, stomping over to the dorm’s mini-fridge. Riffling through it, she pulled out two beers and handed one to him.

  “There’s not enough room on the couch. You’re too big,” she said, giving him the same intimate appraisal he’d given her.

  Damn, he was really starting to like this girl.

  “I guess I’ll just have to sit on your lap,” she added, cocking her head.

  Ransom whistled, fanning himself with one hand.

  Yup. He definitely liked this girl.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Laila’s eyes flew open. She stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, but she didn’t have the confused where-am-I feeling. She remembered exactly where she was.

  Mason. She was at his new house—with him.

  Her brain supplied a mental image of a two-story suburban home. I can’t believe he moved. Laila had assumed he didn’t have the means, but this place was rather large for L.A.

  It’s bigger than Joseph’s penthouse.

  Laila’s stomach twisted. She didn’t want to think about Joe right now—she had brought this on herself. Not the part where he’d hit her, of course. But the fact she’d been there for him to abuse at all.

  I should have left months ago. She had wanted to. Laila had known the minute she moved in with Joseph that it was a mistake. But she’d painted herself into a corner through her own sheer stubbornness and stupidity.

  Sitting up, she checked the time. Two AM. She was wide awake. I wonder if Mason has milk. Having a warm glass before bed was a childhood habit. The effect was almost certainly psychosomatic, but it did the trick more often than not.

  Tonight’s task was a lot to ask of milk. She doubted it would make a dent, not unless she laced it with a few shots of alcohol. Laila wasn’t even sure what would go with milk. Kahlua?

  What would Mason do if she woke him up to ask for Kahlua? Shaking her head, she smiled ruefully, knowing he wouldn’t have any. Mason probably drank manly booze like bourbon or rye whiskey. Not that she’d dare to wake him to ask for a glass of those either.

  As it turned out, she didn’t have to. She could hear Mason’s low rumble in the distance as she stepped into the hallway. He was in the living room, talking on his cell phone. After she inched around the corner, she froze.

  The man wasn’t wearing a shirt.

  Laila gaped at his perfect torso and the way his chest tapered into those loose flannel pajama pants. He was so sculpted that she was half-surprised he could move. Bodies like his belonged in museums, mixed with the classical Greek statuary. She was glad he hadn’t noticed her come into the room. It gave her a moment to wipe her idiotic expression of longing away.

  I can’t believe I’m feeling this after what happened. Guilt swamped her. The urge to walk over and touch him was so strong, but she didn’t have the right. Not to mention the fact that she wanted him at all meant there was something deeply wrong with her. Her only real relationship had ended today in a sudden burst of violence.

  Stomach dipping in what signaled the start of a full-fledge emotional tailspin, she started listening to what Mason was saying. It was enough to make her blink and step back, mouth quirking. Oh, Rosamie.

  “Again, I said for you to protect her. I didn’t say sleep with her,” her knight-in-shining-armor hissed, slashing the air with his hand. There was a pause. He shook his head, closing his eyes briefly.

  “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. That one’s a hellcat. No—not in a bad way.” He broke off. “I don’t know, man. For fuck’s sake, just be careful. No. I didn’t mean that. Of course I know you always use protection. Jeez, man.”

  He was scrubbing his hands over his face as he turned around. When he saw her, Mason hesitated before speaking into the phone. “I gotta go. I’d say ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ but it’s too late.”

  Mason hung up and smiled at her, but it had an edge. “I may have miscalculated when I asked Ransom to keep an eye on Rosamie.”

  “Ah,” Laila said, blushing. She remembered Ransom. A muscled brunet, handsome and flirty. If he was still with Rosamie at this hour…

  It’s fine, she told herself. Her friend knew a good thing when she saw it… Unlike Laila, Rosamie wouldn’t wait too long to make her move. ‘Seize life by the balls’ was Rosamie’s unspoken motto. Laila wished she were more like her friend. If she had seized Mason earlier, before the redhead and his ill-fated trip…

  “Well,” Laila said after a moment. “At least we know she’s safe. She will be, right?”

  “Yeah.” Mason nodded. “Although, I should warn you… I’m not sure if Ransom is boyfriend material. You know, if Rosamie cares about that sort of thing.”

  Laila cocked her head, wondering where Mason was going with this. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Ransom’s a bit of a player. Plus, he’s a merc.”

  Like me. He didn’t say the words, but she heard them anyway as if he were trying to warn her off. Her heart sank a little. “I see…”

  Mason held up his hands. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know,” she cut him off. Clenching her jaw, she schooled her features—a skill she’d honed over the last few months at those nerve-racking, yet incredibly dull, events Joseph had dragged her to.

  Laila had convinced herself that she was over Mason. She believed the lie enough to move in with Joseph, but seeing Mason again in the flesh, being in his house, riddled her determined self-delusion with holes.

  But that was hardly her biggest problem. Laila was broke, bruised, and, as of today, homeless.

  “Laila, I—”

  She put her hands up. “I don’t want to talk about us and what almost was,” she said honestly. Her brain buzzed, too full to process anything—especially Mason without a shirt. “I have a lot of other things I need to be thinking about. Like where I’m going to go tomorrow. I can’t move back in with Rosamie.”

  Laila had given up her space in the graduate student dormitory to her and Rosamie’s mutual friend. She couldn’t reclaim it without putting her friend into the position she was in now. And Laila didn’t have enough saved for a deposit on a new neighborhood. A room in someone else’s place was her only option. Unless one of the Night Witches knew of something, Laila was going to have to spend the next week scouring Craigslist.

  I bet these bruises on my face will go over great.

  Mason scowled. “You can stay here as long as you need.”

  Laila hoped it was too dark to see the surge of moisture welling in her eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Mason frowned. “This is the safest place for you.”

  “And maybe I’ll stay for a few days, but it can’t be any longer than that.”

  She glanced up to find him studying her face.

  What was his expression conveying—regret?

  “Laila, I apologize in advance because this is going to make me sound like an asshole—but I am not going to let you leave.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mason suppressed a wince as Laila took a step back. His senses were screaming at him that he’d made a huge mistake.

  Look at her face, idiot. She just escaped an abusive ex-boyfriend. Her trust in men had to be in shreds. Acting like a macho gorilla was hardly the way to win her confidence. But he also couldn’t stand by and let her walk away. Not again—especially not when she might be in danger.

  “I mean, I can’t let you go with this situation with your ex unresolved,” he said, softening his tone. “I can help.”

  “I’m not sure anyone can—I don’t even know what’s going on.” She shrugged helplessly, putting her hand on her forehead. “I shouldn’t have ever moved in with him.

  Mason reached out and touched her, guiding her to the living room sofa. “Because he was abusive?”

  “No.” Laila put her hands down as she left herself fall back on the couch. She immediately curled up in the opposite corner, hugging a pillow to her chest. “Because he was absent.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She was quiet for a minute before asking. “Do you know about him? About his family?”

  “He comes from money. His family is politically connected.”

  “Yeah,” she confirmed. “And one of the things they have a tradition of is being part of the Alpha Omega fraternity. Joseph is the president of the local chapter. When he asked me to move in with him, it was with the understanding he would be staying over at the fraternity house on Fridays and Saturdays. He promised he’d be at the apartment with me the rest of the time.”

  Laila hesitated, but he just waited, schooling his face into impassivity, silently encouraging her to continue.

  “I still wasn’t going to move in with him. But then he promised me something that convinced me that he was the most genuine and thoughtful person on earth. So I agreed.”

  “What was it?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Laila shook her head. “The promise evaporated as soon as I moved in. He got…too busy.”

  “It wasn’t an object—a gift.” If it had been a thing he could simply buy, Dubey would have done it.

  “No, it was something else,” she said. “Something personal.”

  Laila curled in on herself a little tighter. She didn’t want to tell him what it was.

  Mason felt a little surge as something clicked into place. Whatever it is, I’m going to find it, and I’m going to give it to her.

  Laila deserved the world.

  “So, he started spending more time at the frat, even during the week when he was supposed to come home to you?”

  “Not at first, but soon enough. But he did other things to make it up to me—took me places. Showed me off at his family’s functions…political events, fundraisers.”

  “Showing you off?” he echoed.

  “It might have been his way of showing pride in me. He certainly acted like that was it, but I can’t help thinking of what Rosamie said about Joe—that he had political aspirations and a woman of color would go over well with his future constituents. It kind of felt like that. Not like he was showing me off as a girlfriend, but like he was…displaying me. Does that make sense?” She slumped against the cushions.

  Mason couldn’t trust himself to sound reasonable, so he just nodded.

  “It wasn’t just around his family,” Laila continued. “He did it at the fraternity, at least in the beginning when he could convince me to. But I hated the parties, so I told him it was a conflict of interest with the Night Witches and stayed home.”

  “But even after you stopped going to these frat parties, you still got the sense he was trying to get credit for you?”

  She laughed humorlessly. “Yeah. But from who—I don’t know. God knows, there are plenty more eligible women, girls with more connections and money. All I’ve ever done is help found the Night Witches.”

  “I like your group and what it does,” he said. “Good on you.”

  “Thanks, but it’s not like we’re big or well-known. But Joe still loved to tell everyone about it—particularly his parents’ friends.”

  Her expression of self-disgust made him want to break things. How dare that white-collar piece of shit make her feel like this.

  “Even though I didn’t like it, I still went to all the tea and cocktail parties his mother threw…and that’s one of the reasons I can’t afford an apartment right now.”

  “How is that?” he asked with a frown. “Was there a cover charge?”

  “No,” Laila laughed humorlessly.

  “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to tease. Please, tell me.”

  Laila sank further in the chair. “You’re going to think this is stupid, but I needed new clothes.”

  Mason must have betrayed his surprise, but she waved a languid—or exhausted—hand in front of her face.

  “I know how it sounds, but I didn’t want to look out of place in front of his rich parents and their friends. I didn’t buy much. Rosamie is better with clothes, so I shopped with her, buying some things I could mix and match. I needed to make the most of my money. We went to consignment and second-hand stores, but this is L.A. I think the wardrobe people in this town clean those places out. I spent more than I could afford under normal circumstances but told myself it was okay because I wasn’t paying rent anymore.”

  She shook her head, regret all over her face.

  “Laila, honey, that’s hardly something to be ashamed of.” He reached over to tweak her hand, which gripped the pillow. “Hey, sometimes I have to go to parties to protect a corporate bigwig, some CEOs or a politician. I’m lucky—my company picks up the tab for all my suit rentals. They even pay for the dry cleaning. Suffice to say, I know what it takes to run in those circles, even when you’re just visiting.”

  She gave him a languid smile. “I still feel stupid. My mother always said to keep something tucked away for emergencies. I did try, but I don’t think she ever factored in the cost of living in Los Angeles.”

  “Your stepmom, right? Your birth mother died when you were little.”

  Laila’s thick lashes fluttered. “How did you know that?”

  “I listened.”

  The little line between her brows deepened. “We never talked about her. About them.”

  Mason hesitated, wondering if he should explain…and eventually said ‘fuck it’. He wasn’t going to hide how he felt about her. Not anymore.

  “I meant I listened when you were on the phone. Sometimes it was in the hall, but, more often, it was in the laundry room. You talked there a lot—I’m assuming it had better reception than your shoebox of a studio.”

  “You’re right,” she said slowly. The confusion didn’t clear. “But why were you listening?”

  Mason took a deep breath. Stop. You’re pushing too hard… If he wasn’t careful, she was going to pack her bags in the morning and decide to crash at Rosamie’s. He knew her. She’d sleep on the floor if she had to.

  But this was Laila. She deserved the unvarnished truth.

  Mason took a deep breath, trying to dance on a fine line. “You think I didn’t see you when we lived in the same building. But I did. I saw you. I watched you all the time—I just waited for when you weren’t looking.”

  “Sure you did.” Laila wrapped her arms around her knees. It was obvious she didn’t believe a word he was saying.

  He decided to prove it. “Your mom has memory problems, right?” he supplied, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake.

  Laila stilled. Wordlessly, she nodded.

  “Is she in some kind of home?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Yes. In Chicago…she has early-onset Alzheimer’s.”

  Fuck. He hadn’t known the diagnosis was that bad.

  Mason inched closer. “That’s rough. It must be even worse having to work yourself through school because all your dad’s money goes to her care.”

  Laila gave herself a little shake. “All right, I know I didn’t talk about that in the laundry room.”

  “No, that time you were at work in the break room of Gardullo’s,” he said. “I used to swing by to check on you after you moved. I thought you weren’t there, so I decided to do some actual shopping. Turns out, you were in the break room. I was going to say hi, but I caught you in the middle of a phone call. You were upset, and I didn’t want to intrude. I think you were talking to your stepmom’s family. Someone was complaining about the amount they had to pay for the care facility because your dad’s insurance doesn’t pay for the whole thing.”

  The woman had been talking so loudly he could hear almost everything she had said on her end.

  “No, most of it, but not all,” Laila replied. “Paula, that’s my stepmom’s sister, contributes the rest…but at least she does it. I’m grateful for that, even if she does complain about it sometimes, especially when the insurance company payment is late.”

  “They don’t pay it directly?”

  “It is supposed to be an electronic transfer every month, but you’d be surprised how often it’s late. Paula makes me call them when it is. She has two kids, and she can’t spend hours on the phone haranguing them.”

  And you’re a student working your way through school on your own. But she expects you to do it?

  “I miss hearing you sing in the shower,” he told her.

  There was amusement in her eyes. “I don’t sing in the shower.”

  “You used to,” he said quietly. “I think the vent from your bathroom connects up to my bedroom. If I were quiet, I could hear you. I especially liked you doing En Vogue.”

  Laila’s lips twitched, but she caught herself, her hand fluttering up to her mouth. Smiling must hurt.

  Mason reached up to touch her chin, just under her split lip. He hated to change the tenor of the conversation, but there were things he needed to know.

 

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