This wasn’t happening.
It couldn’t be.
Please God, save me!
But nobody was listening.
Crying with heaving spasms, I grabbed the notebooks and shoved them into my backpack, hands trembling. My body ran hot and cold at once, face flushed, palms clammy and wet. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All I could do was feel, and ravaging pain tore through my soul, making me double over.
Because my dreams were crushed.
They’d been nothing but the imagination of an innocent girl.
Mason didn’t want me.
He didn’t care.
He just wanted another log in his fuck book to show his friends.
And as a virgin, I’d been the biggest prize of all.
With another broken-hearted cry, my legs tore from the apartment, ugly tears streaming down my face. Choked sobs rang in the elegantly-appointed hallway.
Because I was nothing.
Nada. Zip. Zilch.
I was a mite to be used, and Mason had betrayed me in the worst way possible.
Oh god, how had this happened?
The only route forwards was escape … and I was never coming back.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mason
I took the package out the mailbox and turned it over. It wasn’t big, just the size of a shoebox. And it had to be from my mom, judging from the little heart stickers stuck all over with a note to the mailman: “Fragile! Family cookbook inside.”
Come on, Rhonda. You’ve never even met the girl, no need to act like a Hallmark commercial.
But it was fine. And sure enough, as I unwrapped the package, a volume of heirloom recipes appeared. The pages were stained, and I swear the book itself smelled like pasta sauce, tomato-y and rich. But it was all good.
An envelope dropped out as well with my name written across the front in my mom’s loopy scrawl. I sighed. Another note filled with Rhonda’s usual gossip about nothing in particular. There were x’s and o’s all over, you’d think my mom was twelve and not sixty-five.
But my fingers opened the note.
Dear Son, she began.
Here it is. I’m finally sending the cookbook I’ve been promising for a while now. Isn’t it just precious? Your Great Aunt Ida Mae left it to me, and the time has come for you to take possession of this wonderful heirloom.
Or more accurately, do you want to give it to your special lady? Son, you’ve been so happy lately, I can hear it in your voice. Life isn’t just about making money, the loving is what matters most. And anyone who can make my one and only darling boy feel the bonds of affection is already part of the family.
Xoxo,
Your mother who can’t wait to see you.
I shook my head in disbelief. This was so over the top. “Bonds of affection”? “My darling boy”? Rhonda was at it again, watching too many movies on Lifetime. So I pitched the note into the trash, shaking my head. Beth didn’t have to see Rhonda’s crazy words, it was too much, too soon.
But all the same, I fully intended on presenting the heirloom to my best girl. Because she deserved it. She’d love it. The brunette would coo and mewl, looking up into my eyes with a heart full and open, filled with emotion.
And Beth deserved it. She was a worthy keeper of this bit of family history, just like she was the keeper of my heart.
The keeper of my heart?
Was I going crazy?
Was I the one in the Lifetime movie?
But no, it was definitely true.
Beth had penetrated my defenses, turned me into a big puppy dog when I wasn’t watching. And now the sweet brunette was my everything, her words guiding my days, her body invading my nights.
So with impatient fingers, I pressed the button for the penthouse. Shit, I couldn’t wait to see her. I couldn’t wait to rest my eyes on that curvy figure, to see her face flush with pleasure as I presented her with the gift. It was better than diamonds, better than a closet stuffed with designer clothes. This cookbook was a piece of my heritage and history, and Beth would treasure it for sure, holding it close to her breast.
Banging the front door open, my voice rang out.
“Hey, sweet thing. I got a present for you. It came in the mail.”
Silence greeted me, but that was no big deal. The apartment is huge, maybe she was in the back somewhere. Plus, Beth often does my laundry even though I’ve told her again and again that it’s not necessary.
“I have a cleaning lady,” I growled one day as she folded my underwear. “No need to dirty your pretty little hands.”
But my girl had shaken her head.
“No, it’s okay Mason. I don’t mind. I like touching these things, they make me feel like you’re here with me,” she’d confessed, cheeks coloring softly. And what could I do but kiss her then? Hold the female tight and infuse the touch with everything that I felt, all the goodness she brought into the world.
So maybe Beth was in the back right now, doing some laundry as the machines pounded away. God knows those things are loud, practically causing earthquakes.
Nonchalant, I strode through the empty rooms, scanning for my girl.
“Beth? Beth?” I called again.
But oddly, there was no reply. Okay, my apartment’s big, but it’s not that big. This is New York after all, and there are no truly huge spreads. So what the hell? But the kitchen was empty. The stove cold. Everything neatly put away, even though the brunette usually cooks. I looked at my watch, puzzled. It was just after six. Where could she be?
“Baby?” I rumbled again, my voice echoing through the space. “Baby?”
With my mom’s present still in hand, I headed for the bedroom, loosening my tie and grinning with anticipation. God, she was in here for sure, just waiting for me to make an entrance. And my dick jerked in anticipation.
Because last time, Beth had been waiting on her hands and knees, face pressed into the pillow, legs spread wide open as her fingers played with those sweet pink folds. And when I made an entrance, the brunette swung around to look at me, all hungry eyes and hotly heaving tits.
“Mason?” had been her throaty cry. “Mason, now!”
Of course, I obliged. I was all over that her like white on rice, dicking the female good. But today, the bed was empty. The drapes were wide open and the New York skyline glittered outside the glass, cold and calculating. Hmm. Odd.
But then I noticed it. A trail of scattered clothes, half folded, leading to the walk-in closet.
What the hell?
Cold sweat popped out on my forehead. Something was wrong. It had to be. Beth was neat and organized. She’d never leave things lying around like some slob.
Did something happen to her? Holy shit, maybe the female had passed out. Maybe she was pregnant and fainted while putting away the clothes.
Immediately, I bolted, calling her name and thrusting the closet door open.
But that’s when reality struck.
Because the situation was unmistakable.
The bottom drawer of the dresser was jerked out, still halfway open. More clothes were heaped messily in random piles.
But it the notebooks that made the blood drain from my face. They were scattered all over the flor, colorful and half-open, laying with their spines bent.
Photos of Beth looked up at me, naked and spread out on the couch on my office, panting heavily as she took her first dick.
Photos of other women, pink and flush, in a variety of poses.
Beth must have found them.
Fuck!
Why had I been such a dumb shit?
I should have locked this crap up. I should have burned it. But the truth is, it’d slipped my mind. These last two months have been so freakin’ amazing that I forgot all about the fucking fuck book until last night’s meeting. Shit shit shit!
And now Beth had found it.
I was so screwed, my hand scrabbling for my cell.
The phone bleated, calling my best girl.
&
nbsp; Pick up, baby. Pick up, I commanded mentally. Please pick up.
But the phone rang and rang, before shunting to voicemail. I tried again. She didn’t pick up. She wouldn’t pick up.
My knees felt weak and I literally staggered then, bracing myself against the closet wall. Thump-THUMP! Thump-THUMP! My heart pounded like a giant taiko drum. Holy shit, I was having chest pains, my life exploding in front of me.
Because Judgment Day had come, but I wasn’t ready.
I’d hoped to push the discovery off by years, maybe even decades. Twenty years from now, after Beth and I were married with kids, the whole fuck book concept wouldn’t be so bad. It’d be a joke more than anything, a reminder of my bachelor past. Something that we’d laugh about when we were old and gray, seated companionably in rocking chairs on the porch.
But shit!
It’d all gone off the rails.
My fingers dug spastically into the wood of the door frame, splinters digging into my skin.
She’d found it, and now it was over.
All over.
And like some sick joke, a photo of my beautiful girl lay on the floor, taunting me.
Her face, sighing with ecstasy, legs spread as I held that creamy vag open.
“Hymen Pic #4,” it was labeled in clear black letters. “A+.”
And the damning evidence was like a coffin door slamming shut.
Because Beth was gone now.
After seeing that, who wouldn’t be?
I couldn’t blame her.
I could only blame myself.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Beth
I didn’t know where I was. Nor did it matter.
My feet wobbled beneath my frame as I staggered through the streets. Painful throbs beat at the base of my skull, vision slightly hazy.
Because how could Mason do this to me?
I thought the billionaire wanted me.
I thought the billionaire loved me.
But it was all idiocy. Because why would a guy with everything want somebody like me? Plain Beth White who was ugly and fat, with her nose buried in books all the time.
I’d fooled myself.
More than that.
I’d been lying to myself.
Tears streamed down my cheeks but I didn’t wipe them away. For what felt like hours now, I’d stumbled through the streets of New York. Down sidewalks and up avenues, feet moving blindly forwards. Along corners, passing by other pedestrians who laughed and talked like nothing was wrong.
They had no idea.
If they knew, their thoughts would be cruel.
Look at that stupid girl.
She’s such a lunatic.
She thought that a billionaire loved her. Yeah, right.
A loud sob tore through my frame and bent me in two in the middle of the pavement. But this is New York, and people don’t care. The crowd flowed around my form, some passerby even bumping my shoulder carelessly as tears streamed down my face.
I was all alone.
And crying out once more, my body made a sharp left. There was no reason to be a fool in public. If I could hide somewhere, I would.
So I stumbled my way into Central Park. And it was a little better. The winding trails and towering trees calmed me down, fall colors brilliantly red, orange and yellow. Central Park. How beautiful, how magical and mystical, the setting for so many movies. But the sun was already growing dim, shadows on the walkways, people calling their dogs and kids to go home. Figures. I was the only one with no place to go.
I couldn’t go to Mason’s apartment, that was suicide.
I couldn’t go to work, Carlton Corporation belonged to him.
And my old apartment? I’d run out without the key. There was no doorman, no live-in super to let me in.
So I was stuck.
My messenger bag felt even heavier than before, dragging on my shoulder, posture tilting to the left. I was the walking dead, limping lifelessly down a wooded trail.
But the park was safe at least. It had been a long time since anybody was assaulted here by criminals. Now it was more raccoons and fireflies, just animal sounds at night. I was going to be okay. Right?
A shot of adrenaline briefly jolted through my frame. But my jaw clenched, teeth grinding against one another. Because I had to stay strong. With nowhere to go, this was my only safe haven.
Nobody will attack you, the voice in my head said firmly. Let’s get real. Nobody even wants you.
Another sharp sob ran through my frame. But what could I do but keep moving?
So walking forwards, I wandered deeper into the foliage, purposefully trying to lose my way. The wondrous thing about Central Park is that it’s still possible to get lost. The acreage is expansive enough so that even in the middle of an urban setting, you can block everything out. No buildings. No planes visible overhead. No people, just wild foliage and the darkness of night.
I stumbled forward, seeing nothing.
It was a little scary, but I squared my shoulders again.
Nothing to be afraid of, reminded the voice in my head. You’re going to be fine.
Suddenly, my phone shrilled, the sound tinny and artificial in the air.
With trembling fingers, I picked up.
“Hello?”
I hated how sad my voice sounded.
“Bethy! How are you!”
Silence for moment.
“Dad?” came my stupefied voice. “Dad?”
“I’m shocked you remember the sound of my voice,” George teased. “How are you, baby girl?”
Of course, it’d been months since we talked, but George always acts like everything’s okay.
“Um, I’m fine,” I managed to stammer. No need to let him in on the sad state of my life. My dad is always too wrapped up in his own thing. “Why? Wh- what’s going on?”
My father never calls me. I didn’t even have his phone number for emergencies. But he plowed on ahead, like we were chums.
“I let you a message the other day. Didn’t you get it?”
“Oh sorry,” I managed. “Sorry about that, just been busy.” The truth is, I hadn’t bothered to check my messages in weeks. My life with Mason had been so amazing, the whirlwind of loving consuming my all. But now that was gone.
And George sensed something wrong.
“You sure you’re alright, Bethy? You don’t sound so good.”
I rubbed my eyes tiredly. Why are you asking now? I wanted to say. It’s not like you care. But there was no point in getting into that at the moment. I was too exhausted, my frame limp, sitting lifelessly on a nearby log.
“I’m okay, Dad. Why, what’s going on?”
He was quiet for a second. “Well, I wanted to get together with you. Maybe have some dinner, you know, the three of us.”
The three of us? My heart jolted with electricity. Did he mean Mason? Oh wait. George didn’t even know about Mason. He was talking about his girlfriend, Lynne. The one who had him over the moon.
So I opened my mouth, words dull.
“Yeah, sure. But I can’t leave the country until Christmas, okay? I’m in school, remember?”
He chortled.
“Of course you are, Bethy! I meant we would come there. To New York, that is.”
I was so shocked I actually stopped walking. “Really? Is something wrong, Dad? What’s going on?”
“No, no. Nothing like that,” came his voice. “I just want to see my little girl again, that’s all.”
This was so strange. After two years, George had barely bothered to reach out, and now he wanted to meet me in the city? But why not? There was nothing to hide. My relationship was over. Or more accurately, my would-be relationship that never really existed was over. So I agreed.
“Okay,” I managed in a defeated voice. “Come whenever.”
“Good, good. I’ll call back later to firm things up, okay?”
His voice crackled all of a sudden, like the signal was dying.
“Sure,” I manag
ed. “Sure,” and then there was a telltale click, leading to silence once more.
Staring morosely into the bushes, my shoulders slumped. This was so strange. So unexpected. George was showing up in NYC after taking off to the far parts of the world to discover himself. I prepared to be disappointed. He probably wouldn’t show. It was nothing.
My heart twisted at the thought.
My mother, my father, and now Mason.
No one cared, not really.
Another round of tears began to fall and I wiped them away with the back of my hand.
But there was no need to hold back in the deep quiet of the park. So I let out a heartfelt cry, body shuddering, shoulders caving in. Why why why? Why was this happening? I was so isolated and alone. The comfortable world I’d created for myself pre-Mason was gone, and I’d never be able to return. Not with the memories that permeated my brain, the feel of his hot breath on my neck, that stiff cock buried in my folds. I cried out again, tears burning down my cheeks, face aflame. If only I could disappear, this pain was impossible to manage.
If only I could become nothing.
If only I could vanish into the void.
Because I was just a big zero, a giant waste of space. You’re such a fuck-up! the voice in my head screamed. Such a loser with no idea how the world works!
And the tears came even harder then, forehead bent over, pressed against the bark of a tree. Because it was true. This was no fairy tale with a prince coming to save me from the beast. Mason was the beast and he had already devoured me whole. He’d torn open my heart with those big white teeth and left me for dead.
How could he do this?
What decent person would do this?
There was some kind of sick game going on, and Mason had betrayed me to a bunch of strangers.
#BABYMACHINE: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance Page 11