My Best Friend's Brother(9)

By: Amy Brent




“Mr. Baker. What in the world are you doing here?”


“Mason, please,” I said, grinning. “And I was stopping by to see if you’d received the information I’d left behind for you.”


“You mean, the note with your number on it,” she said.


“Yes. Did you receive it?” I asked.


“I did.”


“Oh. Well. I was simply wanting to ask you a question, and it just couldn’t wait much longer.”


“Is everything all right?” she asked.


“Oh, yes. Tell me, Sarah. Do you have a boyfriend or something?”


“Worse. I’ve got two terrible exes.”


She walked away from me in her heels and got into the car parked behind mine. It was a glistening SUV, no doubt making room for that beautiful body of hers to spread out any way she wanted.


I started wondering if her seats folded down in the back.


By the time I came to my senses, she was already driving off. I was absolutely beside myself. She blew me off. No woman ever blew me off. I’d chased after her and had tracked her down. She obviously wasn’t seeing anyone, and she was too bitter to get into another relationship. She was perfect for me.


Why couldn't she see that?


I heard a door behind me open and watched as people piled out of it. They looked over at me and stopped, the door being propped open with one of their hands as I buttoned my coat. I put on my best schmoozing smile and walked toward them and took a few pictures before I simply slipped into the building.


If I was going to seduce Sarah Williams, I was going to need a bit more information in order to do it.


I walked around for a while, simply looking like I knew what I was doing. There was a great deal you could get away with simply by looking and sounding confident, and that’s how I navigated the hallways of the studio. People who spotted me automatically assumed I was here on business and moved out of my way, but the moment I saw Sarah’s assistant, I darted my hand out to stop her.


“Hello there,” I said, smiling.


“Mr. Baker! Oh my gosh. Hi. Did Miss Williams ever call you?” she asked.


“No, she didn’t,” I said.


“Well, I gave her the note. I mean, I didn’t get it to her until Tuesday. She scurried out pretty quickly on Monday, but I gave it to her right after the show on Tuesday. Well, I slid it under her door, but I heard her get up and—”


“Slow down. Take a deep breath. No one’s angry with you,” I said, grinning. “Did I overstep by doing that? By offering her my number that way?”


“Not at all. People leave their contact information all the time in case she wants to call them back for another interview or something. I figured it was one of those types of things.”


“I looked into some of those statistics she mentioned on the show, and they’re absolutely outstanding in all the worst ways possible,” I said.


“Aren’t they though? Miss Williams has always had a heart for helping children who can’t help themselves.”


“Any idea why?” I asked.


“You didn’t hear it from me, but she spent her teenage years in the Texas foster care system.”


For a split second, my heart plummeted. I couldn’t imagine what she had gone through. Something had ripped her from her family and placed her in a system that was notorious for child trafficking in this area.


At least that’s what I saw from the little bit I’d read on the topic.


“Is there any way I could get her number from you? I’ve got some ideas rolling in my head on how we can bring awareness to this,” I said.


“I’m not sure if I should be giving out her personal information.”


“I promise you, it’s just business. I can’t wait too long because I’m not in Dallas much longer, and I want to sit down with her face-to-face and discuss things before I leave.”


“All right,” she said. “Since it’s for such a good cause.”


I got her personal cell number and strolled back to my car. I sat in the seat and put up the hood, rolling up the tinted windows before anyone saw me. The last thing I needed was more paparazzi raining down on me while I was trying to get Sarah on the phone.


“Hello?” she asked.


“Sarah Williams, hello,” I said, smiling.


“Who is this?” she asked.


“Oh, I’m hurt. It’s Mason Baker. Don’t you recognize my voice?”


“How the hell do you have my number?” she asked.


I heard a door slam in front of me before it ricocheted over the telephone. I watched her storm into the building, her face flushed with anger.

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