Page 7 of Beautiful Disaster

I watch Mason drive off without so much as a glance at me. He was so confident that I’d call him. So fucking sure of himself. Prick. Hell no. I pinch the ends of the card to tear it, but something stops me, and I flip it over to see his personal number in neat print. With a sigh, I shove it back into my pocket.

Despite being annoying, he’s got way more class, charisma, and power than I ever will. Not power over people, but he exudes this confidence that I’ve never been able to achieve. He sure as hell shut me up.

I quickly shrug my coat on, shivering uncontrollably now, and put my hat and scarf back on. While he’s intriguing and gorgeous, I hate how he made me afraid. I thought I’d gotten control over that part of my life.

I rack my brain, trying to come up with whatever he was talking about. One thing is certain, because I’m an expert in such things, is that it’s sexual. Why else would he give a shit about my age?

Do I want to go back to having men fuck me?

He could be a nice distraction after Gwen and my constant failures in relationships. Still, I want something real, not another guy who just wants to stick his prick in me.

It takes me a minute to get my shit together. Once I’m ready, I head back into the feed store to pick up all the items on Julien’s list from Alfred.

Instead of studying for my social work research methods exam, I look up Mason Vitali online. Besides, I’ve got the test in the bag. Who knew I’d be so good at school? Tito never let us get an education. Aleks and I had to get our GEDs first. While we studied for that, we had to brush up on our reading, which was at about a fourth-grade level at the time. Now, I’ve just started the fall semester. I’m still a freshman, having only started college back in January.

“Mason, Mason,” I mumble as I type his name into my browser. I already know he’s wealthy with a slew of restaurants, but I want to know who he is.

Several links are displayed, and I click on the first one.

Massimo Roberto Vitali is his real name. Mason must be his first name Americanized. Why? Massimo is a pretty cool name. Better than what I was named. Fucking Tyler. The absolute worst. Worse than Jinx. It’s only bad because Tito gave me the name.

Mason is thirty-nine and moved to Durango over five years ago from New York City, with a degree in business. Explains his accent. He has seven restaurants all over Colorado. He’s never been married and has no children. His parents, who have passed away, immigrated here from Naples, Italy, for a better life, and he was born in New York.

I did a quick search on Naples. It’s on the coast in the south. Parts of it are beautiful, but so much of it is in complete poverty. That explains coming to the US. The only thing pretty about this country is the nature and certain cities or towns. Everything else is an eyesore.

There isn’t much else on him other than some articles about his restaurants in magazines. We’ve eaten there already, so I know how good it is.

I keep searching, but there’s little to no information about his personal life. He’s considered an eligible bachelor, yet there’s nothing on his sexuality or mentions of a love interest. He must like guys, right? He could be bi or pan. Is he not open about it? Then again, he had no problem handling and propositioning me out in the open.

There are only a handful of images of him, but he’s definitely hot, in a daddy kind of way. Is that what he wants? What else did he mean by ‘Structure, discipline, confidence, trust, and freedom’? Is this some sort of Dom/sub thing? I know a little bit about it from my hooker days. There was a man who liked playing with me like that, but it was pretty mild. I’m only assuming. Mason was way too mysterious and vague.

And intriguing enough to make me want to find out more.

Chapter 3

Mason

After I get home from the feed store, I hang up my coat and head to the kitchen, where I slice up some apples and carrots for the horses for their afternoon treat. One of my favorite parts of having a ranch is tending to the horses. If I had the time, I’d be the one mucking out the stalls.

I drop everything into a baggie and head toward the stables. I take my truck since it’s a distance away from the house, and it’s cold as hell.

The structure is huge and can house up to ten horses, but I only have four. I plan to fill it up eventually. In fact, I have an Arabian filly headed to me in the spring, so I need to find a trainer for her. My last one moved away this year after I’d made arrangements with the horse breeder.

Word around town is that Sugar-Sweet Ranch has available spots for training, but they’re new, and I don’t know their qualifications, but I’ll check them out nonetheless.

I head into the barn, and my babies instantly nicker and neigh. They know when treats are coming. I never miss a day if I can help it.

I have them all inside today because it’s going to freeze later. I have to work at the restaurant, so I don’t have time to put them in for the night. The heaters in here keep the place just warm enough to prevent freezing, plus they have their blankets.

I’m not ready to face what happened today with that young man, Jinx, so I head toward my favorite baby, Black Beauty. I named her after the classic children’s book. She’s sleek and stunning. A thoroughbred. She’s also the loudest.

I chuckle at her snort and hoof stomping. She sticks her nose out from the door as I pull out a piece of apple. Beauty takes it from my palm, careful not to bite me. As she chomps loudly, I rub her velvet nose and kiss it.

“You’re such a pretty girl. Sweet, too.”

She snorts again in agreement and nudges my shoulder for more treats. I feed her a piece of carrot.

After moving here from New York, I never dreamed I’d have such a stunning place to live with beautiful creatures. I grew up in poverty and fought my way to the top. Everything I know about cooking came from my mother and from generations of recipes being handed down. Now I offer that tradition to the people of Colorado. Could I have opened restaurants in New York? Sure, but Italian restaurants are a dime a dozen there, and that wasn’t the only reason for moving across the country.