Mr. Right Now Read Free

whenever he wanted, creating even more press for his career.
    No point wasting Jane’s money. Mason had the kind of face and body a woman wanted to keep around, but he probably broke women’s hearts. She would do all the other women on board a favor by keeping him occupied.
    “Ms. Cash?” The words came in a haze to Casey’s ears. A white plastic card with the ship’s emblem waved across her vision, pulling her back to the check-in counter. “Ms. Cash, your room is ready.”
    Mason’s butt worked its way into her mind again.
    “You’ll be in Penthouse Suite 1102. If you need anything else, please call the desk. We’re here to make this a dream vacation.” The concierge waggled his eyebrows, as if they shared a private joke. “Just take the elevators to the eleventh floor.”
    An image of Mason in board shorts, waiting in a cabana and with an umbrella drink in hand, distracted her again.
    “And the Serenity Deck is…”
    “Just one floor above your deck. If you’d like me to show you around…”
    Casey pocketed the key card. “No, thank you.” Mason Drury fit the mold of cruise ship tour guide. To a T . It was settled, then. Six o’clock was a long way away. Why waste the time?
    * * * *
    Mason slowed as he walked down the passageway. Pulling his BlackBerry from his bag, he texted his editor. This job was going to be quick and easy. He’d get the interview with Cassandra Cash tonight, and then enjoy the next week getting to know the real woman. A few seconds after he sent the message to Randall Haynes, the phone rang.
    “ News Daily ran a story that Cassandra Cash’s ex is gay.” Haynes’s voice boomed through the phone. “Forget the fluff-pitch for her new book deal. Get the dirt.”
    Mason stopped, leaned against the wall and squeezed the bridge of his nose. God, his career was going down the toilet fast. He’d gone from dirty politicians to a dirty Hollywood break-up in the space of a month.
    “Don’t softball this, Drury, you’re already on thin ice. Get it right.”
    Shit . He didn’t need that thrown in his face. His story on the mayor’s ties to mob money had been right on. But his source had flipped, and now Mason was on the outside of the tight circle he used to run. Sidelined to report gossip, not the news that really mattered.
    “You really think our readers care why Miss Romance and the actor-slash-radio guy broke up?” He wanted the paper to back the original story. At least it wasn’t hyped-up gossip. Sure it was boring, but he could recover from a fluff piece. Mason didn’t know if his tattered reputation could stand the tabloid-gossip-writer hit.
    “If they don’t, we’ll make them. Her readers deserve to know everything about her, not just the pretty stuff.”
    Right. Living in the public eye meant everyone needed to know what kind of toilet paper Cassandra Cash used—or why she broke things off with her latest boyfriend. He held in a sigh, knowing Haynes would read it the wrong way. He was willing to do the story; he just didn’t like it.
    “Your message says you’ve already met with her. I want to go to press with the real story yesterday. And don’t expect this to be easy. She was a pro at avoiding the press even before this broke. Now that it has, she’ll be even harder to nail down.” Haynes clicked off, leaving Mason staring at the BlackBerry.
    Great. He had the feeling the Cassandra Cash he’d met in line wouldn’t be thrilled to spend time with him after he asked about the break-up. This cruise sucked.
    It was his fault. He hadn’t officially met with her, had only flirted with her in line. Crap on a cracker. His life had turned to crap on a cracker.
    “Hey, stranger.” The words sent his body into alert mode.
    Casey stood in the middle of the hall, a bellboy close on her heels with several bags on a cart. She motioned the kid ahead of her and turned to Mason.
    “I thought we decided on six o’clock?”
    She smiled and trailed her hand down his arm.