by Alexis Angel
The view is of a brick wall. The faucet in the bathroom leaks. It's about the size of Mason's walk-in closet. It's definitely for people who are either starving artists or holdovers from the days of rent control. Nevertheless, I didn't mind staying there.
But there was one thing the apartment, with all it's independence from Lorna, couldn't give me that Mason could.
Sex.
Three.
That's how many times a day Mason and I have sex when I'm able to have sex. Seriously, who would think that he was in his late thirties by the way he fucks. He's like a pile driver powered by some sort of Energizer battery. But whereas the bunny would tire out and nap, Mason just keeps going and is ready for more at the drop of a hat, or the bending of a waist.
Ever since the fist night in his apartment where I began to go all out and call him Daddy, I haven't gotten it out of my head. I love pretending he's my stepdad. I mean, technically, I suppose he was, even though at 21 I'm fully emancipated from a woman who bears no familial relation to me.
But it gets me so wet. I can't even begin to describe how filthy I feel when I think about him spanking me as I beg him to smack my ass harder. I moan out "Daddy, don't stop" as he puts his massive cock inside of me. I groan "Daddy, cum all over my face" right before he sprays a quart of cum all over me. And then I lick it up and swap it with him.
Just thinking about him right now has my panties drenched. You remember how Mason told you back in the first chapter to take off your panties before diving into the book? I wish someone had told me to stop buying thongs before I met Mason. Because what's the point?
I mean, for someone on a budget, it's more cost effective for me to go commando. Saves on laundry costs.
But I want to make one thing clear though.
It's not just about the sex.
I think I'm falling in love with him.
One.
That's how many months I've been debating in my head whether I'm really falling in love with the bad boy of Wall Street. I mean this guy used to be a player. Yeah, I told you I know all about his MO. I've read everything about him and that Stacy Sawyer chick on Market Pulse and how they fucked.
But he really does care for me.
Not just because he takes care of me when Lorna cut me off. But just spending time with me.
Take the other day, for example.
I wanted to go to Kittichai, the Thai place on the West Side.
"That place is overrated," Mason said to me when I broached the subject.
"But their chicken curry is so good!" I whined. He looked at me and I pouted. "After everything that's been going on, I could use something like Thai food to pick me up."
It was true. Sharing a meal was a way to forget about the impending vote of no confidence, the power that Mom was amassing in the Firm, or the fact that I was caught in the center of it.
Also, I knew he couldn't resist that pout.
So I was a little surprised when he said nothing more and headed to work.
I followed an hour later and all day it was business as usual, both sides of Kane Price desperately trying to make or break the Red Lion Aviation deal.
Around 6 pm, Mason came by my desk.
"Are you ready to go?" he asked me.
I looked at him with a stupid stare.
"The car's waiting to take us to Kittichai," he said.
It's not just the fact that Mason Kane had actually planned and gotten us into one of the hottest restaurants in New York City with a reservation list of at least a month.
It's that he was standing at my desk, telling me that the car was waiting.
That he was acknowledging me in full view of the people on my floor.
That he held out his arm as I got up and we walked out, arm in arm.
That he opened the door for me to the car, and before I got in, stopped me.
I could tell the words going through his brain.
But how is the Bad Boy of Wall Street supposed to tell a girl that he loves her?
Instead, he did the next best thing.
"I will do anything for you, Becca Lowell," he said. "I promise."
Not as good as I love you, I know, but still, enough to make you feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
Five.
That's how many hours ago I got back from the Duane Reade and desperately pulled out the pregnancy test kit and went to the bathroom and peed onto it.
I mean, the results the first time made me do it again.
And from then till now, I'm starting to wrestle with a nagging question in my head.
How am I going to tell Mason that in the middle of fighting for his company, being stuck in a forced marriage to a woman who is evil enough to pretend for 21 years that she was my mother, and being skewered in the media, am I going to tell him that I've just found out I'm pregnant.
I mean, this should be a happy time for us.
I'm not so sure that I'll do anything more than add yet another burden to him.
If dating me doesn't do it, will this baby inside of me be the straw that finally breaks the camel's back?
Mason
"Mason, are you even comprehending what kind of shit storm you're looking at?" Roy Purpus asks me as I stare out the window. "We're talking about throwing everything you've worked for into the garbage can because of your ego."
This isn't the kind of fucking language that you normally hear in Board Meetings. But then again, this isn't the kind of thing you see in companies.
What's going on isn't actually even supposed to be fucking happening.
I was just minding my own fucking business, when I got an email from Roy if he could pop in with some members of the Board.
So minding my own business apparently means anything that can potentially go wrong with the company. So I said yes, cleared my schedule, and sat back as almost every member of my fucking Board walked in.
"We need to talk," Roy said pretty bluntly and immediately I knew what he was here for.
"Have a seat, gentlemen," I told them as I got up to walk to the set of couches on the far corner of my office.
"We didn't want to come to you like this Mason," another Board member, Peter Cheil, said to me. "But Roy here got us together and raised some good points about the Red Lion Aviation deal."
That's when I walked up and went to go stare out the fucking window.
You can't blame me, because if I had been right there I would have hit something.
That's basically where you came in. You're all caught up now.
But what I didn't tell you that I think is that I've been fucking set up.
"We can't pass on a trillion dollars, Mason," Roy says to me, raising his voice when he sees that I'm quiet. "We'll be the laughingstock of Wall Street."
Okay, let me just take a moment to talk to you real quick and explain something to you.
I bet a part of you is probably hoping you could ask me if this Red Lion deal is really so fucking lucrative and it's already been reported on in the newspaper and all that shit then why the fuck has no other firm on Wall Street gone in and snapped it up.
That's a very good question and a part of me wishes that the people in the fucking book would take a moment to pause half way through and answer any and all questions for readers. Because it would certainly make your experience a more enjoyable one.
Let you focus on getting wet and imagining my 12-inch cock between your legs instead of thinking about the complicated nature of investment banking.
Let me put it really simply to you. Lorna proposed a deal to me. And that deal was put together potentially with Red Lion and whatever other players are out there. In putting the basics together, we've already signed a fuck ton of paperwork. I'm talking fucking Non-Disclosure Agreements, Memoranda of Understanding, Clauses for binding arbitration.
So Red Lion knows that if they breach any of that shit, the penalties are tremendous. We know that if we breach any of the shit that we agreed to before we started talking to them, the penalties are tre
mendous.
So it's like both sides sat down to talk about a potential alliance. But before they sat down, they used a third-party negotiator to make sure that everyone was clear how many guns each side was going to carry, where they were going to sit, and what was going to be served for dinner. With the expectation that if one side brought more fucking guns or tried to sit somewhere else, the other side and the third party mediator would both blow them out of the fucking sky.
So until Kane Price formally declines the offer and releases Red Lion Aviation from any sort of clauses that we had, no other Firm can come in and sweep us up.
There are two ways to do this. The first is to formally let the company we're looking to invest in know that we are not going to at this time.
The other alternative is to let the contract lapse without renewing it.
Nine times out of ten, the best way is to just let the contract lapse.
That's what's got Lorna fucking spooked.
"We're running out of time, Mason," Roy says to me from his seat. "And people may start to question your leadership if you let this one slip away from our fingers."
That's when I fucking realize that Roy Purpus has probably been fucking Lorna.
I turn around and look at him.
Yeah, he's most likely the guy who she's using to round up allies for her cause. She probably bent over, shook her ass for him and grinded herself on his fucking cock before sucking it down and riding it.
I can definitely see that. Roy used to be a happily married man before Lorna joined the Board.
Now there are rumors that he was cheating on his wife with another woman and the affair started right around when Lorna joined. He's had wild fluctuations with his weight and has looked fucking strung out at times. I've seen the signs. That's what happens when you fucking party too fucking hard. Sniffing too much of the fucking blow at the fucking club.
Yeah, Roy's life has definitely gotten worse in the time that Lorna has been here. I think his wife has even left him recently, taking their daughter with her.
"You think my Board is going to try to oust me from the company that I fucking built?" I ask, hostility tinting my voice as I take a step toward the sofa that Roy is sitting on.
But Roy's a weak fucking man now. When I first met him, he was a strong and savvy marketing executive. He now withers under my stare.
"We're not talking about ousting you, Mason," he says defensively.
I know the rock and hard place that Roy is fucking trapped in. Lorna probably set him up to do this. Probably fucking sucked his cock in exchange. But poor Roy, he probably didn't know the best way so he started putting together a group of Board Members to back him up.
But now they're fucking quiet, staring at the both of us and letting Roy do all the talking. And Roy isn't used to being able to defend himself from my words.
"That's exactly what you're fucking talking about, Roy," I say, pressing my advantage. "You walked into my office and told me that if I don't gamble with the future of my company, you're going to fucking take it away."
Now either Lorna fucked a bunch of other Board Members when she joined or Roy has done a fucking wonderful job recruiting people because he holds his head lower. But it doesn't matter because another Board Member, Harry Trent, stands up.
"That's not what Roy is saying at all, Mason, and you know it," he says to me. He's standing and looking at my side and I turn my body toward him as he continues. "Like it or not, when you went public you agreed and signed paperwork with the SEC that you would look out for the shareholders. And you'd listen to our advice when doing it."
"That's not what this is fucking about," I snarl.
"It absolutely is, Mason," Roy says, standing up. "And if you do something that we believe is against the best interests of the company based on your ego, we'll fight you on it."
Is that a fucking threat?
"And that is a threat, Mason," Roy says, reading my thoughts. "We'll go to the news outlets, the stock exchange, and wherever it was that we went and did the work so you didn't have to. And once we're there we will contradict the shit out of you. This company will be paralyzed and eventually destroyed when it could've been profitable for all of us.
Roy is looking at me with a glint of jealousy in his eyes, and I realize that the odds are stacked against me.
"How many of you here share Roy's opinion?" I ask.
Literally every hand in the room goes up. Some forcefully. Some in an irritated fashion.
But at the end of the day, they're fucking taking sides against me.
Lorna's been fucking busy, that's for sure. Whatever she had been planning, she's had it ready and in motion.
And right now, I'm staring down a fucking potential coup.
I'll be at her fucking mercy.
Maybe it's time I start playing fire with the fire in the same fucking fashion until I can take them once and for all.
But that'll mean I just have to get down and dirty with the rest of them.
Which is fine. I've had to in the past.
There's just one person who might be upset beyond all measure with me.
I'll leave you to figure it out.
"What would you propose our next steps would?" I ask.
Roy takes out his phone and dials it.
“Hi, Lorna,” he says into the device. “I have Mason here. He wants to talk to you.”
He hands me the phone.
On the other line is the salvation for my company.
The chance to live another day.
All for the small price of my soul.
Becca
It drives me crazy when I send a text message, and I don't get a response for days. Especially when that someone is Mason Kane. It's been several days and I haven't seen, or heard from, Mason. He hasn't shown up at my apartment, he won't answer my texts, and he won't answer my calls.
At work, he seems to be in meetings all day or offsite.
It's like I'm in the Twilight Zone or something without seeing him.
Can you blame me though, huh?
I love him.
I’m carrying his child.
Oh, God. I need to tell him.
It’s like fate is making this even harder for me to tell him than normal.
I try to send him another text:
"R U Alive?!"
Nothing.
I send another one: "This isn't funny. Can U at least let me know U R breathing?"
He still doesn't respond, and from what I can tell, the messages are delivered, but not read.
It's uncharacteristic of him. What did I do to deserve this?
One minute, things are going great, and the next … they aren't going at all.
I decide to call.
I find him in my contacts and press the call button.
It rings, and rings, and rings some more before finally going to voice mail. But there's still no Mason.
It's what I expected.
Fuck. I really need to speak to him, but given that he won't text or call me, and I can't find him at work, or even at his apartment, it's proving difficult to do.
I've spent the last 48 hours researching Red Lion Aviation, and I'm finding more holes in the company than I've found in the slice of Swiss cheese on my sandwich today. I need to run a few things by Mason. I honestly have so many questions, and he's the only person who can help me answer them.
I decide to call his secretary.
"You've reached the desk of Mason Kane, how can I help you?"
"Hi, it's Becca."
"Oh Becca! Hi! It's been a while," she says. "It's always good to hear from you. Where have you been? I've haven't seen you on our floor."
"I've been around," I say. "Just busy. Listen, I've been looking for Mason. Is he in the office today?"
She thinks for a moment and then responds. “He isn't taking calls. Can I take a message?"
"No, that's okay," I say, slightly pissed off that he’s not taking calls from me. Whatever list he mad
e of people he’d take calls from I guess I didn’t make it. "Do you expect him back in the office today?"
"He asked me to re-schedule all of his meetings today, so I figure he isn't planning on returning today," she says.
"I see, do you have any idea where he might be right now then?”
She contemplates for a moment whether or not she should give me this information and then relents. "Between you and I, he's at the Four Seasons."
"The Four Seasons on 57th?" I ask.
"Yes, that's the one."
Thank you!" I shout. I hang up the phone and can barely contain myself. I need to catch Mason before he leaves. I need to leave now myself. I grab my purse and keys and throw on my coat. I run outside and hail a cab. I can feel the minutes ticking away. If I don't catch Mason at the Four Seasons, I may not have the opportunity again for a while. Especially with the way he's been playing hard to get.
A cab pulls up in front of me and I hop in, directing the driver to the hotel.
"As fast as you can, please," I tell the driver, and he listens because I hear the squeal of our tires against the asphalt.
Within minutes I'm at the Four Seasons. I pay the fare and run toward the hotel, which is situated in an ideal spot in the city—minutes from Central Park and the Museum of Modern Art. But I don't have any time to gawk and take in my surroundings. Instead, I run into the lobby.
I realize I didn't think to ask his secretary what he was doing here. Is he renting a room? Is he in the middle of a conference? Or?
I decide to walk up to the front desk.
There's a middle-aged woman in dark-rimmed glasses staring at me.
"Can I help you?" she asks.
"Yes, I'm looking for a Mr. Mason Kane. I think he may be renting a room here for the night."
The woman types the name into her computer and my heart is racing with each click of her keyboard.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. We don't have a Mason Kane booked for the evening."
Fuck.
"Thanks," I say, walking away from the desk and wondering what my next move will be. I start walking and then, by chance, notice a restaurant off of the main lobby. It's called The Garden and it's decorated with faux trees and plush, neutral colored chairs. It looks like an inviting enough place.
