Eleven Eleven

Live and Let Die

After close to a month of avoiding Max and his calls, I finally decided to take the heat early the next morning before Mason or the boys could even dream of waking up.

"Willow!" he sounded surprised the moment he heard shuffling on the other end as I crossed the room to the balcony. "How's my favorite writer doing?"

"I don't know if I want to write the article anymore." I didn't bother to beat around the bush.

He was quiet, but I could almost picture those beady dark eyes narrowing and face falling in disappointment.

"Willow, think about what you're saying. You're giving up a chance of a lifetime."

"I'm trying to sell a story that isn't anyone's business." I deflected.

Irritation finally entered his voice. "Willow, we need this. You need this. If you write this article, you'll never have to worry about a job or working some crappy minimum wage job again."

"And I'll be exploiting Xander and the rest of the band in doing so." I snapped. "Even if I get permission from Jack to write it and Rolling Stone by some miracle actually picks it up, it'd be like shoving a knife through their back, Max. They'll think that me coming was all some ploy to try and get to know them for the article."

Before Max could respond, a voice interjected from the bedroom to my back. "Article?"

My manager started to speak again, but I ended the call and braced myself from the blow that was undoubtedly about to come. I tried to conjure up any explanation that wouldn't make me look like a complete asshole, but came up short as Mason slowly crossed his arms over his chest, staring me down.

"Mason, let me explain—"

"Explain what?" he snickered. "I think you did a pretty good job of that a few seconds ago. I thought that you were different, that it was possible you weren't another snake looking for a good story and a good time. I was wrong."

I stalked across the room, feeling my chest starting to tighten as the tension between us grew stronger.

"Mason, it's not like that. It's—"

"That's why you changed your mind, isn't it?" he said, shaking his head. "You never gave a shit about Xander or his well being. This was all for a story."

I wanted to deny the statement, but I couldn't. Instead, my outstretched hand fell limply to my side and I fell back a step. "I'm sorry, Mason."

"The first time in years I feel like a real person. The first time I feel something for someone, she's using me until she'd finished with her story. Then I'll be discarded like a dirty laundry, like I never existed. Right?"

"Mason, I never—"

He started to head for the door, shaking his head. "It's pathetic, you know. How much you sit here and pretend to care about us. Screw you, Willow. I'll tell Jack to get you the first plane back home."

Then he walked out of his own hotel suite, slamming the door so hard it shook, and I collapsed back against the bed, burying my face in my hands and cursing the moment I decided to come on this stupid trip in the first place.

*

Though I'd spent the last month despising being in the presence of my father, at this moment I was relieved to have him at my side. He was the only person to not shake there head and stare me down in disappointment and betrayal. The boys had evidently kept the news from Xander for now-I assumed they'd wait until I was gone and unable to defend myself to break it to him. It should be a relief, to be able to go home and pretend as though none of this ever happened. That I'd never reconciled with Xander, that I didn't get to know the boys. I'd be back home with Mom and Blake, and in a few months the boys would come back stronger than ever-with or without Mason.