It made sense that Mason went to school at a place like that, but I still couldn’t imagine it. The boy in those photos differed greatly from the man I met, but did I truly know anything about him? I found it hard to believe I did, especially considering the lengths I’d gone to uncover his real name. I couldn’t deny that what we shared felt authentic. No one could fake chemistry like ours. I moved to their alumni page and easily spotted the class photo for the year she graduated. Sitting in a uniform, looking better than any eighteen-year-old had the right to look, was Mason—Mason Sharp.
Emma came up behind me again, “Boo,” but I didn’t jump this time.
“You’re funny.”
She shrugged at the dry tone in my voice, “I like to think so. Mm, I see, you got somewhere finally,” she leaned forward and gazed at the picture, “Mason Sharp—why does that name sound familiar?”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
“Mm,” she nodded, “I wish I could see his expression when he realizes you learned all his dirty secrets. You are seeing him again, aren’t you?”
Butterflies filled my stomach at the thought, “Yeah, I’m seeing him again,” she squealed as she walked away. I shut the computer down and went to do some actual library work. I was desperate to learn more about him, but I spent enough of the library’s time on this and if I didn’t get my ass into gear, I would need to stay late to make up for the time lost.
I recruited Emma to help me with a few more of my duties, and once the day ended, I only needed to put in an extra half hour. She stayed with me, chatting happily about the date she was going on that evening.
“Thanks for covering for me today,” I told her as we were locking up.
“Nothing like a mystery to keep you awake at night. I didn’t mind, but you owe me a favor.” She winked as she climbed into her little Honda and drove off. I walked home, turning the name over and over in my head, and still not coming up with anything. The answer floated right on the edge of my mind.
When I sat down at my computer and typed in Mason Sharp, I slapped my palm against my forehead. David Sharp,of course. He was a City Council member and investment banker who embezzled an incredible amount of money, most stolen from his clients though they never proved how much nor recovered it.
He was mega rich to start out with, so the theft made no sense, and the entire case was a media sensation. Someone being evil enough to steal millions when they were already incredibly wealthy offended even my mom, and she never cared about anything.
I opened an article titled “No One too Big or too Small to Lose it all.” They had a picture of Mason. He looked to be about twenty, standing outside of the courthouse. Controlled anger marred his expression. He cropped his hair short like the day I met him, and he wore an impeccably tailored suit. The hulking men flanking his sides emanated danger.
I flipped through a few more articles, reacquainting myself with the details. I was a teenager when his father went to jail, too distracted by my own problems to pay much attention. It struck me as supremely odd that there were no professional listings for Mason Sharp mixed in with the news stories.
There was another layer to this, and I didn’t think I would figure it out without his help. Anger at being lied to filled me, but also shame. I never asked the man’s name. Did I have any right to be angry at what I
overheard and assumed? Could I be mad about an arrangement I helped form?
I didn’t have an answer, and the potent combination of emotions left me aching and my insides clenching with need. Something was seriously wrong with me, but the uncertainty had me twisted up and breathless, desperate for him. I prayed he had no wife or girlfriend. Despite my moral objections screaming within me, I had no control when it concerned him. I pulled my hands through my hair, untangling the knots, considering the fact my heart wouldn’t let him go easily.
I opened my phone and typed out a message.
Claire: Hey, I need some legal advice. Where do you practice?
Mason: What legal advice do you need, Claire? Personal law isn’t my specialty, though I could refer you to a colleague. Only you could get into trouble at the library.
Claire: Whoever said I’m in trouble? There are plenty of reasons people need lawyers. What is your specialty?
Mason: I know that, but this is fairly out of the blue, and knowing your tendency to defend yourself ruthlessly, I assumed. Corporate law, but if you’re not in trouble, why do you ask?
Claire: I can’t find a professional listing for you online, and I wondered why that might be?
Mason: So, you don’t need legal advice... Can we talk about it tomorrow?
Claire: Okay...
Mason: I promise I’ll explain tomorrow, don’t be angry.
Claire: I’m not.
Mason: Oh, no?
Claire: Good night, Mason. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Mason: Sleep tight, beautiful girl.
I violently shoved the charger into my phone, wincing when I realized I probably broke another one. The lightning bolt over the battery made me breathe a sigh of relief but the gesture stopped short of easing the tension in my chest. As I closed my eyes, I tried to put myself in Mason’s shoes.
He couldn’t operate professionally with his father’s name after everything the man did. Changing it was sensible, but where did the name Harris come from?He should have told me.I insisted to myself, but this entire relationship so far was about mystery and lack of expectation. If he wasn’t willing to be honest with me about things, I couldn’t fault him.
I thought of the scars on his knuckles, and the one splitting his eyebrow, and I had to wonder, who was Mason really, and did I even care?