It was safe to say it wasn’t something I was accustomed to. Before I’d flown with Mason I’d never even seen a private plane except for on television.
By the time I reached the studio I was getting a little sleepy. It was still early in L.A. but my internal clock was still running on east coast time.
As we pulled into the parking lot of what honestly looked like a fairly old and decrepit building I texted Mason to let him know I’d arrived. He’d said the studio doors would be locked and he’d have to come let me in.
I stifled a yawn as I got out of the car and the driver handed me my bags. I wasn’t sure how to handle this situation. Did I tip him? Had Mason already taken care of that when he’d hired the car? I stood there a little awkwardly for a moment and was reaching into my purse when Mason exited the building.
It’d only been a couple of days since I’d seen him but my eyes feasted on the sight of him. He wore a pair of worn jeans and a black t-shirt stretched across his muscular chest.
