“And Mr. Newman, you said you confronted Mr. Channing, is that right?”
Jim smirks, loving the attention.
“Of course I did. I wasn’t going to let a grown man come and steal my baby girl away. I told him he’d lost his mind, but he wasn’t backing down. Mason Channing treated her like a piece of property, and now we don’t even know where he’s taken her,” he says, making puppy dog eyes towards the camera. “You hear me Carrie? You out there sweet thing? Mommy and Daddy love you and miss you.”
This is too much.
“You fucking liar!” I scream at the television as the screen cuts back to the studio. “You’re such liars, making me out as a lost child!”
I can’t bear to watch another second of it, and snap the television off with trembling hands before sinking to the sofa, my face falling into my palms.
In my heart of hearts I honestly thought I could one day forgive my parents. Secretly, I hoped they’d get it together and that we could co-exist peacefully. I was even hoping we might be able to stay with them, since things weren’t working out with Mason.
But clearly not. Clearly Rhonda and Jim are using me to their own advantage again. They were making me out to be the young, sweet naïf swept off her feet by a much older man. Not just that, but they were making Mr. Channing out to be a criminal.
But it was all backwards. I’m a grown woman, and have been for a long time. In fact, I grew up fast because of Rhonda and Jim. Their irresponsible ways, the benders, the eviction notices, had made me into an adult since way before I actually hit legal age. And my parents knew it, they were merely milking the spotlight for all it was worth.
But what could they get out of this?
What was their goal?
I have no money.
Nicole has no money.
Could it be Mason? Were they blackmailing him?
Oh god.
Fingers trembling, I dial the billionaire’s cell. He answers before the first ring even sounds.
“Carrie.”
His voice is flat and devoid of emotion.
“Have you, um….” My voice fades, unable to speak the words.
“Your parents are assholes,” he bites into the phone as my heart sinks.
“I know. I’m so sorry,” I struggle to find adequate words to express how I feel. Everything about breaking up is pushed to the wayside. There are more important things now.
“It’s not your fault,” he says in a rasp. “Not your fault at all.”
But I feel like it’s my fault. He’s about to launch a hotel in Paris, and it’s been screwed up by these false allegations tinged with pedophilia and all-around dirtiness. But none of it was dirty. In fact, it was so real that my heart’s breaking now, emotions swirling in a flood of titanic proportions.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again, words trembling. “So, so sorry.”
But apologies have never fixed anything because there’s a long silence on the other end. I know what’s coming, and my heart fills with dread. This is the perfect out. I no longer have to break it off myself. I don’t have to let him know how much he’s hurt me, how much I love him. Instead, the heavens have served up the perfect excuse.
And of course, Mason is all business. This was just a transaction for him, and the billionaire never lost sight of the fact. Now that I’m a liability, it’s time to cut me loose.
And he does.
“Obviously, France is off,” he says curtly, and I nod silently, unable to speak for a moment, heart cracking within my chest.
“Yes,” I finally manage on a strangled tone. “Paris can wait.”
But Mason’s not waiting.
“I have to do some damage control,” he growls. “Goodbye Carrie.”
And then the phone clicks, our conversation done.
A howl escapes me as I sob long and hard. I’ve never heard myself make such an awful sound. The hurt of the world pours from my lips like an injured animal screaming its pain. Tears well from my eyes like the Great Flood, my body doubled over on the sofa, frozen with shock.
But I shouldn’t feel sad. For the last couple days, I’ve been trying to summon the courage to break things off. To tell the billionaire that I was one and done.
But now, he’s beat me to the punch.
He’s cut me off, based on my parents’ ridiculous insinuations.
That he’s a child molester.
A dominant man sweeping their teenage daughter off her feet, overpowering her innocent senses.
I’m under his influence, a victim to his nasty ways.
None of that is true.
Absolutely none.
But it might as well be.
Because this is the end of my love story … and I’ll never see Mason Channing again.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Mason
Two weeks later …
It’s been two weeks.
Two weeks since I’ve spoken with my girl.
Two weeks since I’ve seen those lush, pouty lips circled around my cock, whispering my name.
It’s fucking weird, for sure.
It shouldn’t feel strange because I survived for forty-five years without knowing the brunette. And yet everything’s off kilter, colors muted, echoes ringing out when there should be silence.
Yes, Mason.
Here big boy.
Give it to me.
Aw shit.
Because I miss Carrie like hell.
But what the fuck? After her parents got on TV, there was no way we could continue. Everything blew up, papers blasting my picture with all sorts of skanky headlines.
“BILLIONAIRE CRAVES TEEN HE MET OFF BDSM WEBSITE. IS SHE LEGAL?”
Or another favorite:
“LOLITA ENTICES HOTEL MAGNATE. SEX FOR MONEY IN DIRTY ARRANGEMENT.”
Fuck me.
It was fucking awful.
Of course she’s legal, assholes. The site won’t let girls under eighteen even join.
But everything was fucked up. Take the site name for example. Why the fuck did Sugar Babiez have to be named Sugar Babiez? Couldn’t they call it something more discreet like Carousel Affairs or ABC Entertainment? Seriously folks, get with it.
But the damage was done. There was no way I could keep up my public persona while dating Carrie. Termination was necessary.
Because what choice did I have?
Reporters on the curb, sticking microphones in my face.
My mug flashed on TV, gossip hounds spewing filth.
They made it sound like I was some child molester, preying on innocent virgins.
And there was some truth to it. Sort of.
Because Carrie was a virgin when we met, and I dicked it out of her in the best way possible.
The girl screamed.
She mewled.
She panted my name.
So please motherfuckers. You think I’m Roman Polanski? Guess again. My pretty baby wanted it.
But unfortunately, the masses were onto something. They were out for blood, waiting to see heads roll. They just weren’t onto the right thing.
Because the problem isn’t that Carrie’s young. The problem is that she’s my mistress, and Channing Corp. is my wife. You can’t have both, or at least not both out in the open.
But Carrie was out in the open for sure now. Her face was in the papers, her name circled by all the talky types. I’m sure Rhonda and Jim were eating it up, doing interviews on the morning news circuit, spewing their filth and lies.
And as for my girl?
I have no idea what she’s up to. Probably still in the apartment, taking care of Nicole.
Probably upset, seeing that I’ve been ignoring her.
No calls.
No emails.
No nothing.
Just silence.
Because I have to choose, and I can’t have both.
Besides, Carrie’s too good for me.
She’s a sweetheart, so loving and genuine, with a heart of gold to boot.
&
nbsp; But I can’t be with her. Not when Channing Corp. calls my name.
So dejected, I slump in the plane seat just as heavy footfalls sound.
“Mase!” a loud voice booms. “What up brother?”
I don’t even reply, staring out the window.
“Yo yo yo,” the voice booms again, a huge frame taking the seat across from me. “The ribbon cutting went well, nice work my friend.”
But I don’t lean forward to shake his hand, instead grunting with annoyance.
“Please buckle your seats for take-off,” a pleasant voice announces over the intercom, although that’s hardly necessary. Brian and I are the only ones on the private jet, about to breeze our way back over the Atlantic.
Because Brian is general counsel of Channing Corp. Way back when, we were buddies in college, troublemakers who barely cracked a book. But while I went off into real estate, Brian took another path. This asshole actually got himself into law school, and a good one at that. So when Channing Corp. started making real moolah, I hired his ass as the company attorney.
And here he is, annoying the fuck out of me.
“Yo, things are looking good with the new hotel,” he cracks. “Things are real good.”
I nod listlessly.
“Yeah,” is my grunt. “S’okay.”
“It’s okay?” Brian repeats. “Seriously Mason, get a grip. Lady Gaga was there, as well as what’s her name? That French singer? The cute one?”
I shrug my shoulders. No fucking clue. It doesn’t matter how good-looking women are these days, there’s only one face I see. Carrie. Those sweet pouty lips, the big brown eyes.
But Brian went on and on.
“We’re booked for the next three months,” he crowed. “Booked solid, money’s gonna roll!”
But frankly, I’ve lost a lot of interest in the business. Cash comes too easily. Everything comes too easily. It’s like a wife. When it’s a sure thing, it’s not exciting anymore.
So I nod again.
“Great,” is my terse reply. “Real great.”
Brian shoots me a sideway look.
“You still upset over that … uh, matter?” he clears his throat delicately.
I roll my eyes.
“You can say it,” is my harsh grunt. “I’m not gonna blow up or anything.”
Brian holds his hands up. This guy is from Texas, and his fists are the size of hams.
“Just sayin’,” he repeats, shaking his head. “Just sayin’.”
I let out another pissed off grunt.
“Listen,” come my words. “Her name is Carrie. We met on a BDSM website. It was fucking disgusting and depraved. I fucked her all the way until Sunday, and gave her money for it. It happened.”
But Brian doesn’t say anything at first, merely thinking.
“So what’s wrong?” he says calmly.
“Well for one,” I drawl. “I practically ruined the Paris launch. I mean, Mr. CEO fucking an eighteen year-old naïf? Our PR department had to do massive damage control, did you notice?”
He nods.
“Yeah, but it’s over now,” are his smooth words. “So what?”
The “so what” throws me into a frenzy.
“So I fucking owe my life to Channing Corp.! And I almost fucked it up over a woman!”
Brian nods sagely.
“We’ve all done shit like that. Remember when I thought Angela was gonna leave me? I went ballistic remember? Became a raging maniac, had to take two weeks personal leave from work.”
I shake my head. That’s right, but this is a thousand times worse. Because Angela is Brian’s wife, and marital strife happens. By contrast, Carrie is a sugar baby, a sex worker when you really get into the details.
“Listen motherfucker,” comes my low growl. “I spent decades building this company. I’ve sacrificed everything to make it work. And where does that leave me?” is my disgusted rasp. “Head rolling in presses, skewered with my balls nailed to the wall. Yeah, that’s what I get,” I say in a nasty tone.
But Brian doesn’t lose his cool. It’s part of being a good attorney.
“Listen,” he says. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you need to find some balance. You’re acting like it’s all or nothing. Get a grip, my friend. Life ain’t that harsh.”
But I’m beyond reason at this point, and I turn on him, blue eyes blazing.
“Oh yeah?” is my snarl. “You wanna tell employees why their CEO is paying for sex? You wanna boost company morale by announcing, yes, I’m a dirty motherfucker who forks over cash to tie up teenage girls?”
Brian holds up his hands in a placating manner.
“Naw, it’s not that bad,” he says. “I mean, yeah, you guys met over a sketchy website. But it could be worse. She could be a criminal or something.”
I shoot to my feet, towering over him.
“Are you fucking serious? Does everyone meet on a site called Sugar Babiez? Does everyone fork over five thousand dollar allowances to pretty girls who like their pussies spanked?”
But Brian isn’t fazed.
“I guess. Sort of. Because I give my wife a lot more than that. Ten thou a month. Plus a bonus if the kids make honor roll.”
I drop down into the seat again, beyond pissed now. This fucker just doesn’t get it. Angela’s his wife! And what’s this shit about honor roll? Who the fuck cares? So I say it.
“That makes no sense, motherfucker. Angela’s your wife. This is different.”
But Brian shakes his head again.
“What’s so different? The fact that we have a marriage certificate? That we have three kids together? If I know you, Mason, then my bet is that pretty girl is pregnant already. You never used protection back in the day, and you’re probably not using it now.”
That shakes me to the core, jolting my big form. Because shit. I’ve been sloppy with Carrie. I’ve come in that sweet pussy dozens if not hundreds of time now, and she’s a fertile teen. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. She’s probably pregnant.
And suddenly realization jolts my frame.
“If she’s pregnant, then I’ve got to make it right.”
Brian raises an eyebrow.
“Of course. And if she’s not?”
I seethe in my seat. But there’s no solution.
“Then I’m fucked,” are my dead words. “Totally fucked.”
Brian rolls his eyes again. I swear, no one but my best buddy would get away with that move.
“You’re not fucked,” he says drily. “Far from it. You just need to make things right, whatever that is. Marry her. Date her. Pay her more money, I don’t know.”
And I’m fucking confused now. More money? How would that work? Wouldn’t that make things worse?
But Brian shakes his head once more.
“My man, you’re talking like this is a game of all or nothing. You win, or you lose. You win, or she loses. There’s always someone losing. Get what I mean? It’s not like that.”
What the hell is he talking about? If anything, I see it completely different. I’m losing all around, that’s what has me so pissed.
And like he can read my mind, Brian shakes his head again.
“No Mase,” he says slowly. “You’ve been agitated the last two weeks, acting like a snarling beast on steroids. Everyone’s been circling you carefully, afraid to poke the bear. But for what? Seriously for what?”
“To keep this company on its feet!” I practically scream in the cabin. “What else?”
Brian looks at me wryly, not even stirring from his seat.
“If you haven’t noticed, Channing Corp. is fine without you. We’ll be fine.”
I’m stunned.
“Are you shitting me?”
He shakes his head.
“My friend, I don’t know if you want to hear the truth, but here goes. You barely do any work anymore. You’re there, but not there. You’re leading meetings, but letting other people execute. And I’m not saying that’s bad. After all, that’s what CEO
s do.”
“But at the same time, take it easy man. You’re acting like it’s either Channing Corp. or Carrie. One or the other, take your pick, zero sum, no holds barred. And that’s just not true. Lots of people have both. Look at me, I’ve been married for twenty years now, and it’s worked out.”
I snort. Brian just doesn’t get it.
“Naw, it’s different for me. I’m the face of this outfit. People expect me to represent the values of this place. Hell, my name is on the door. I can’t be fucking some teen for money. That’s never gonna fly.”
But Brian shrugs again.
“It’s already flown, my friend. It’s already flown, bye-bye birdie. All that shit was two weeks ago, and the PR department did a pretty good job containing the damage, if you ask me.”
I snarl.
“Yeah, but they’re not exactly gonna be happy if I start up again. Damage control starts with the source, that’s what I’ve always preached. And if I start fucking that girl again, then what the fuck? PR will have my head.”
Brian taps his fingers against the chair seat thoughtfully before answering slowly.
“First, who cares what PR thinks? They’re a bunch of idiots. Second, how can it be worse than it already is? Which wasn’t so bad, by the way. And third, why don’t you make it legit then? Make her your girlfriend for real. Didn’t you already, kind of?” he asks, squinting his eyes. “I thought you introduced her at a couple industry events.”
That’s true, but under totally different circumstances.
“Yeah, before people figured out that we met on Sugar Babiez. And before they knew I was paying her.”
Brian shrugs again.
“So what? Make it legit now. It’s fine. You can have both, Mason. You don’t have to pick and choose, acting like there’s a hornet up your ass. Seriously my man. We’ve weathered worse than this. Remember the Great Recession? Remember when the Governor went to jail and we thought we were gonna be indicted as well? It’s gonna be fine, brother, roll with it.”
I sit back in my seat, still fuming.
But Brian has a point.
Channing Corp. is a monster on its own now. There are countless functions that run without my input. Like legal. Like sales. Like development. They don’t need me for a lot of stuff.
And then there was the idea of making Carrie legit. Was it that easy? Could I put a stop to all this gossip, force those fuckers to eat their words?
The Dom's Secret: A Light BDSM Bad Boy Romance Page 15
