Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
That made his head snap over in my direction, his eyes keen. For the first time, he really looked at me for the first time, not just as a dancer, but as someone who might listen.
“Shit,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head and turning back to the road. “This is so crazy.”
“Trust me, women in my line of work are known for being good listeners,” I added truthfully. “How do you think we make our money? It’s because we listen, and a lot of guys need someone to talk to. That’s why I get paid sometimes actually,” I added. “Occasionally, clients just want to chat, if you can believe it.”
That really got Mason’s attention. His head whipped around and the blue eyes were suddenly blazing.
“Well, Janie,” he said, that handsome face frozen. “What if I told you that I’m practically a robot because they have me locked up like an animal in a cage?” he ground out. “My endorsements hinge on projecting a certain image, and my handlers, so to say, are all about protecting the brand whether that suits me or not.”
Hmm, this was interesting. I guess there was Mason Phillips, the brand, and Mason Phillips, the man. They were two different things, that was clear.
“But so what?” I asked. “You play a part up until the Olympics and then after it’s done, just take your money and go back to being the real you. That doesn’t sound so terrible,” I said reasonably. “I’d do it for a million bucks.”
“It’s not that,” he growled, shaking his head in frustration. “It’s the level of control that’s strangling me. The brand controls everything. I eat, play, shit, and sleep whenever they tell me to. I’m a grown man,” he said disgustedly, “and yet I have no control over my own life.”
“But it’s just for a while,” I emphasized again. “After the games are over, then the control will end, right?”
“No,” Mason said frozenly, his eyes never leaving the road. “The brand keeps going. If I want to keep the endorsements rolling, I need to play by the rules and unfortunately, it’s their rulebook,” he spat as if the words were pure poison. “That means living up to the Mason Phillips image even it’s a lie.”
By now, my new stepbrother was practically frothing at the mouth, he was so angry. I felt for him, to be honest. Living life in a box, people telling him exactly what to do, when to do it, all the while giving fake interviews where he was fake happy? It sounded like hell.
“Listen, I get it,” I said softly. “That’s why you came to the Donkey last night, isn’t it?” I said, suddenly filled with empathy. “You snuck out to get away, didn’t you? You wanted to break out of the mold, relax a little, and let the real Mason out.”
My stepbrother turned to look at me, his blue eyes blazing.
“Yes, because you can’t imagine, Janie,” he growled. “I’m watched all the fucking time. I had to sneak out of my own apartment last night, can you believe it? I’m a grown man and yet I have a curfew because they want me in tip top shape. What a fucking travesty,” he snorted.
My heart flipped over with sympathy. It’s clear that the alpha male had been forced into a box against his instincts, and the money and medals were controlling his life at the moment. He needed an out and I knew just the answer, if only for a little while.
“Honey,” I said softly, “I understand. Let Star take care of you.”
Mason’s eyes swung to me.
“I don’t need your pity,” he ground out. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
I’d heard this before too. A commanding male doesn’t just drop his defenses at the turn of a dime. It takes time to relax, to let go, and to achieve the freedom that they crave. As a result, I took it slow.
“Listen,” I said, trying to sound reasonable. “Why don’t we try to figure out what would make it better?” I asked. “There’s got to be some compromise. There’s got to be something you could negotiate with your team so that you get some time away. I mean, everyone takes vacations, right?”
Mason just shook his head, his eyes still glued the road.
“Not so close to the Games. With only four months to go, it’s train, train, train, do a media appearance, and then swim some more. There’s no rest for the weary,” he said ruefully.
“But could you get a long weekend away?” I pressed. “Maybe a getaway to some place with a pool? You could promise them that you’ll keep swimming even while on vacation, so you won’t get out of shape?”
But Mason just shook his head.
“They’d insist on coming with me,” he said woodenly.
“Who?” I asked.
He sighed. “Everyone. Coach Hudson, my agent, probably the nutritionist and PT guy too. I’m under a microscope,” he said, his expression frozen. “I never have any time to myself and the time that I do have, they want to monitor to make sure nothing goes off course.”