24 Inches (Size Matters 2)

a few ruined clothes to a person who's dealing with a ruined heart, you know?

Oh well.

Mason

Fucking Christ.

If you're still with me and you don't hate me after what just happened, then you're a fucking saint.

Because right about now, I feel like the lowest piece of shit around.

I deserve to be with this fucking woman next to me. With this harpy from hell.

"Ready, dear?" Lorna says to me, getting up from the table.

She doesn't even look backward; she's walking toward the door. Her ass is swaying and I even catch a few of the men seated around the restaurant stare at it as she walks by them, but I swear to fucking God it does nothing for me.

Once Becca stormed off, I had the chance to be the man that could look at himself in the fucking mirror.

I could have gone after her and taken her in my arms and told her that she never needed to worry about me. That if she wanted to I'd drop everything.

But I didn't.

Because big bad Mason Kane is a fucking coward.

You heard that right.

The King of Wall Street is a lowly piece of fucking pond scum that can't even reassure the woman he loves. And yeah, I fucking love her. I realize that now.

But to save my company, to save everything I built, I'm following the woman I hate outside the Four Seasons.

The rain is coming down by now pretty hard and we wait underneath the awning as Lorna's limo arrives.

"Let's go to my place, dear," Lorna says with a lascivious smile. "Becca's moved out so we can really break the place in."

I don't say anything at all because I'm afraid if I start talking I'm going to say something I fucking regret.

Instead I get into the limo after Lorna and sit down, my mood darkened.

Remarkably, Lorna does not jump me the moment the door to the limo closes. No. I know, it's a fucking surprise to me too, and honestly, a good one. Maybe the only good surprise in an otherwise fucked up situation.

I mean, I know where we're headed. I know what she expects of me. She's been very upfront with her desire. I just haven't thought about it.

Instead of jumping on me, Lorna sits across from me. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, wantonly hiking up her skirt to give me a better view of her inner thighs.

On Becca, I would be hard in an instant. Hell, the car would be rocking back and forth by now.

Instead, all I can think about is the look of abject hurt on Becca's face when I told her that I couldn't leave. That I had to stay for dinner. That I would probably be going home with Lorna.

All I can think about is Becca's body as it trembled as she realized that I was going to place the survival of my company over her feelings.

Listen, I hate it when you look at me like that, alright, Gorgeous?

This is Wall Street. This is business. You don't have time for feelings.

I have a fucking fiduciary duty to my shareholders. To the people who rely on me to keep the company running. There are people with retirement accounts, both investors and fucking employees. Their families.

The car stops outside Lorna's townhouse and the driver opens the door.