#Babymachine (Baby Crazy 1)

“I have to go,” were my low words. “Right now. I have to go.”

Mason’s expression was anguished.

“Baby, please,” he began again, gesturing futilely with those big hands. “It’s not that bad, I swear. And I didn’t show your pictures, I swear on my mother’s grave.”

That did it.

This guy only cared about himself.

“Mother’s grave? Who the fuck cares about your mother? I’m the one who was violated! Me!” came my scream, spittle flying from my lips, face a mottled red. “Me! You didn’t give a shit about me, not at all!”

Mason ducked his head, big hands in his pockets.

“I made a mistake,” were his quiet words, a deep breath expanding his chest. “I’m so sorry Beth.”

But I didn’t care.

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry? How about me!” I screamed again, my voice ten decibels in the expansive space, reverberating off the gleaming white walls. “How about me?”

And silence rang out then. Because there was nothing he could do to make it right. What happened was sordid and disgusting, the billionaire’s betrayal shaking me to the core. And it hurt like hell too. Deep inside, my heart splintered into smithereens, the shards lodging in my gut.

Turning shakily, I stumbled to the door, but not without one last jab. But this time, I was so cold that it was scary.

“Goodbye,” came my dead voice. “You’re not the man I thought you were, Mr. Carlton.”

And the words hurt him, for sure. The billionaire winced like I’d struck him in the face, pain evident on that handsome face. But he didn’t follow me, instead remaining rooted to the floor, hands in pockets. He stared, blue eyes filled with regret and a swirl of other emotions. I’d feel sorry for him if the situation weren’t so dire.

Because it doesn’t matter anymore. Coulda, shoulda, woulda. The hard facts are that this man betrayed me. This is the man who played me like a silly fool, paying me for some photos in the name of “research.” Research, my ass. It was all for his boys’ club, those assholes trying to one up each other with their big dicks and bigger egos.

And dully, I stepped into the elevator, seeing nothing. Hot tears made me squeeze my eyes shut, but they didn’t fall this time. Because I won’t let this destroy me. Even if I’m just a shell now, insides crumbling into dust, I won’t let him know. I won’t let Mason see how I’m breaking into pieces, how he’s destroyed my heart, my head and my life. I won’t. I can’t. It was me, Beth White, before, and I’ll find that girl again. I have to … because there’s no choice but to move on.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Beth

Six months later …

Six months without Mason in my life was forever.

I couldn’t lie to myself about it. I missed him. A lot.

My heart hurt. A hole ached in my soul each night, alternately making me cry and scream. He’d made me feel things I’d never dreamed of, anguished emotions churning in my stomach. And it wouldn’t stop. Every night, I twisted and turned in my lonely single bed, crying out, his name hoarse on my lips.

Suddenly a beep interrupted my thoughts. Lifelessly, I stared at my cell screen.

Hey, kiddo, the text read. Just got here. See you in a few!

George and Lynne were supposed to be meeting me at the Figaro Café, but they were already half an hour late. Figures. Frankly, I was shocked he was showing at all, George can be pretty flaky. But now, here was confirmation, so there was no point in taking off.

A shadow dropped over my head, and I craned my neck, squinting upwards.

“Would you like something else, Miss?” asked the waiter politely. His face betrayed no emotion, but I could read his heart. What a sad girl. Sitting here, all alone, clearly waiting for someone who’s not coming. Just another plump pumpkin, stood up for the umpteenth time.

I swallowed hard.

No need to take it out on him.

No need to tear my hair in a fury and scream, to protest the judgment.

Because I was pathetic in a way. Really tragic, dreaming endlessly about a man who didn’t want me. Who didn’t even respect me.

So I just smiled wanly.

“Another Coke please.”

The waiter nodded, turning silently, disappearing into the back.

And blinking hard, I stared at my empty glass, eyes blurring.

Because I did feel pathetic. The Figaro was packed today, lots of families milling around, waiting for spots. Most of the other tables had groups of people, extra chairs pulled up as parties laughed and talked. But here I was, one person taking up an entire table to myself, with nothing but an empty glass in front of me.

Just go, I imagined the other patrons sneering. Go and let us sit down.

But it wasn’t my idea to meet here. So I looked down at my phone again, pretending not to see even as people furtively eyed my table. I’m sorry, apologized the voice in my head. It’s my dad doing this. He was supposed to be here ages ago, and I’ve been waiting.