This building is so not up to the caliber of the Mastersons’ taste. Why would he ever start up his campaign here?
I dig out my phone to reread his text. He said to meet him in suite 302. I opt to use the stairs over the elevator because I’ve been slack on my workouts. The stress and tension winds its way through my muscles, leaving me hunkered down in a dark room with a migraine when I don’t find a way to release it.
By the time I reach the third floor, I’m a little winded, which means I need to fit in time for my workouts. I follow the signs to the left until I reach the door marked 302.
With a deep breath, I turn the handle and step inside. It’s a large space with three doors at the far side facing the street. Completely empty, not one table or chair to be found. My adrenaline kicks in, and I’m ready to run back down the stairs and out to my SUV to reach safety.
I suddenly wish Gretchen and I had attended those self-defense classes last year rather than ditching them for tapas and sangria.
“Hello?” I call out, my shaking voice echoing through the large and vacant space.
“Isla?” Ford pops out of the furthest office. “I was just mentally planning out my office space.”
One look at Ford Masterson’s aqua eyes and charming smile and it’s like a fresh wound opening up all over again. High school. His friends. The enigma that a perfect life does exist for a select few.
There were six Classholes altogether. They all came from wealthy and powerful families who allowed them to do whatever the hell they wanted without repercussions or concern for who got hurt in the process. Me included when I stupidly played into their hands senior year.
“It’s good to see you.” I step forward as he draws nearer, lifting a hesitant hand out between us.
He glances down and a crease forms between his eyebrows. “We’re past that, don’t you think?” His arms wrap around me, pulling me into him.
My arms stay on my sides until he doesn’t release me. Raising them up, I pat him on the back a few times to increase the odds of his affection ending. It’s funny how you forget certain things about people when you’ve been away. With Ford, he’s a politician’s son turned politician himself. He was trained to make people, in and out of his social circle, believe he’s their best friend.
“You look amazing.” He holds me at arm’s length as his eyes sweep up and down my body. Not a slow and easy sexual perusal, but like he’s cataloging all the changes since the last time we saw one another.
“Thank you, you as well.”
And he does. His straight nose and dusting of facial hair mixed with his blue eyes and brown hair give the appearance of royalty. It’s easy to see why he’s referred to as a political prince by the press.
“I’d offer you a place to sit, but as you can see, I haven’t furnished the place yet.” He gestures to the stark space around us.
“From what you said on the phone, you don’t have much time.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got people on it.” He smiles in that way only the uber-rich do, knowing that they have the means to make anything happen.
“I’m sure they are.”
It’s not like my family doesn’t have money. Ford and I weren’t neighbors because my family was gifted a mansion in Cherry Creek by Habitat for Humanity. But I didn’t grow up under the same pressures that Ford and his friends did. I wasn’t next in line to rule the throne of an awaiting dynasty. My father got lucky by investing in the right companies early in the 1970s and continued to use his profits to make more money.
“Do you want to hang up your coat?” He gestures behind me to a series of iron hooks anchored to the wall, one of which holds his jacket.
“Sure.” It might lack furniture, but the heat sure works because it’s hot in here.
I hang up my coat and bag, quickly running my fingers through my wavy brown hair, hoping the wind didn’t turn it into a bird’s nest.
“I have to admit, I was surprised to get your phone call,” I say.
“My mother ran into yours at a meeting for the hospital fundraiser and mentioned that you’re back in town.” He waves me into the office he came out of.