Page 10 of With This Mask
"Nice place," I say aloud, though it sounds more like an accusation than a compliment.
"It's alright." Alec reemerges from his office, his hands sliding into his pockets as he observes me in his space. Damn. Why does he looks so fucking hot leaning in the doorway? And why does he talk like he's discussing the weather, not the kind of luxury most people can only dream of?
"Alright for a king, maybe." My words are barbs, but they don't seem to pierce anything. "It’s so… cozy," I add, sarcasm lacing my tone as I scan the minimalist decor—nothing cozy about it. This place screams Alec Vanderholt, from the expensive tech adorning the entertainment unit to the abstract art that looks like someone's expensive tantrum on canvas.
"Make yourself at home," he says, but it's a taunt, not an invitation.
"Sure, I'll just kick off my shoes and curl up on your... What is that? A couch or a piece of modern art?" I quip, hands on my hips, taking in the monstrosity of black leather and chrome.
"Touché, Winters." He chuckles dryly, before nodding his head for me to come back to his office.
"I added a few things to the presentation,” I say as I step inside and let my bag slip to the floor. And I realize this might be a problem as I take in a breath, and I’m completely enveloped by the warm, crisp iconic scent of Alec. My eyes slide closed for a moment as the thought of running the tip of my nose up the length of his neck takes my brain hostage.
What. The. Fuck?
Where the hell did that thought come from, Salem?
“I emailed it to you,” I catch myself before my pause can get awkward and noticeable in length.
“Let’s see the damage,” he says flatly as he settles back in at his desk and opens up his email. I sit in the other chair in the corner, a modern thing that doesn’t look like it should be comfortable, but annoyingly is.
“I like what you did on slide three,” Alec notes as he scans everything. “What if we went deeper into the cost structure and added another slide?”
Back and forth. The tension crackles between us like static electricity as he pushes and I pull, he questions, and I ask even more. We dive in, each focused and determined in our own ways. Alec's ever surprising creativity complements my methodical nature, blending together seamlessly despite our clashing personalities.
As Alec busies himself at the computer, engrossed in wrapping up a segment of our work, I seize the opportunity to study his office. My eyes roam over the sleek furniture, the expensive gadgets adorning his desk, the stark artwork on the walls. It all fits him quite well. My eyes scan his bookshelf, hoping to glean anything interesting about Alec Vanderholt. The vast majority of it all is school books. There are a few knickknacks. There’s an entire set of Frank Herbert books, but none of them look like they’ve actually been read. A globe sits on a shelf, shiny and gold.
Something perched high catches my eye. I can only see the edge of it, as if it was placed there to be out of view. It’s white, that’s all I can gleam from it.
“I’ll be right back,” Alec says as he stands. “I’ve got to use the bathroom.”
“‘K,” I mutter, turning my attention back to my notes.
He slips out of the office and I listen to his footsteps as they retreat down the hall.
Who could resist? An opportunity to snoop around Alec Vanderholt’s space unmonitored?
I stand and reach for that top shelf, my fingers gripping what he’s tried to hide.
My blood goes cold for two seconds before ripping molten hot. My jaw drops and my fingers tighten around the object in my hand.
It’s a mask. A distinctive skull mask. It’s of ridiculous high quality. It’s done in the painted skull mask type, so seamless I’d almost think I was holding a face painting in 3D form.
As I turn it over, I find smears of black paint on the inside of it, the side that would be pressed up against a face.
A shiver runs down my spine as my fingers tighten around it. Recognition sparks in my brain with the force of an Independence Day show.
Looking toward the door for any signs of Alec’s return, I quickly put the mask back on the top shelf, careful to place it exactly as it was before. Poking my head out the door and finding the coast still clear, I sink into my seat and pull out my phone. Navigating with a few quick taps, my eyes go wide as I pull up the latest video.
There, on the screen is the drop-dead gorgeous body owned by a man in a skull mask.
The exact mask sitting on Alec Vanderholt’s top shelf.
And I see it now. His hair in the videos is wild in the sexiest way. It falls over the edges of his mask, it sticks in every direction. But it’s that same blond shade. It just looks different from the old money way he styles it in real life. And I’ve never seen Alec Vanderholt shirtless IRL, but the shape fits. Alec is fit. Built. I can see it in the way he wears all of his perfectly fitted clothes.
Is Alec?—
“What are you watching?”