#Babymachine (Baby Crazy 1)

And everything hit full throttle then.

“Am I okay?!” I screamed the question back at him. “What do you think? Does it look to you like I’m okay? What kind of question is that?”

My fingernails dug into the leather and shearling jacket. My whole world was being destroyed by a giant hurricane, and nothing would ever be the same again. I was in love with a man who didn’t love me back. And in fact, had never loved me.

“Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen like this.” His voice was an agonized rasp, like it was being torn from his throat. The billionaire stood up, then paced away, running those fingers through coal-black hair.

“For it to happen like what?” I snapped. “Because now that I look back on things, it seems like you planned everything. You’re a slick guy, aren’t you?” My words gained strength and speed, becoming hurling fireballs. “Nothing ever just happens to the CEO. I don’t believe that for a second.”

The man stood in front of me, hands in the pockets of his expensive pants, blue eyes bleak and dark with pain. Or was that fake pain? Was this all a set-up again?

“Baby, please.” He took a step closer. “Let me explain.”

But what was there to explain?

It was clear how he felt. It was clear by his actions, by that fucking fuck book, by all the photos. But some things still weren’t clear, and it was better to rip the Band-Aid off in one go. So glaring like a hellcat, I pulled the jacket closer and snapped.

“I found your notebook and the pictures,” were my icy words.

Just saying it out loud made the tears roll once more. But I was gonna do it. I was gonna get some answers, even if it was like stabbing myself in the heart over and over again. “What were they for? Who did you show them to?”

He was silent for a moment, looking down.

“Tell me, Mason!” I demanded on a scream. “I want to know why!”

That handsome face twisted with misery. Maybe he was sorry. Maybe he regretted it. But that was just a load of bullcrap. No one who does depraved shit like that is ever really sorry.

Steeling myself, I stared hard at the big form. God, he was gorgeous. Tall and massive, blue eyes staring into my soul. And I hated myself even more, shame rising hot and fast in my chest once more.

But this didn’t have to happen. Mason doesn’t control you anymore, the voice in my head whispered. Be yourself, Beth. Take charge.

The billionaire pressed his lips together, still thinking. And then he lifted those blue eyes, a mass of swirling emotions in those crystal depths.

“It was a contest,” he began, the words curdling on his lips like they were sour to taste. “Just a contest.”

A contest? Scoring pictures of naked girls and rating them? Talking about them like they were pieces of meat to chew up and spit out, not even good enough to swallow? Was this some kind of depraved frat house? Or some animal farm, where the ladies were pigs raised for slaughter?

But I kept my mouth shut, waiting for an explanation.

“When I first got to the city and started making money, I wanted to belong,” he rumbled slowly. “I finally made the piles of cash that had haunted me since childhood. I was able to give my mother all the things she deserved, all the things she fought hard to give me as a kid. A roof over my head, nutritious food on the table. She worked like crazy after my father left so I didn’t have to drop out of school to support the family.”

He sighed heavily, expression torn.

“I had the money. I had the boats, the apartments, even the planes. I had a job that practically did itself and you know what? It was fucking boring. So I got caught up with these guys,” he admitted. “They seemed like the shit at first. Rich as fuck, doing whatever they wanted. Drugs, cars, girls, all that at a snap of their fingers.”

I stared at him. Really? Drugs, cars, girls? That’s what was important to Mason? Clearly, I didn’t know this guy at all, pain kicking me in the gut.

But Mason was caught in his own reverie. Shoes scuffing against marble floors, the billionaire paced to the other side of the room, staring blindly at the bright lights of the city.

“We’ve been doing this shit for a long time. Too long. And one of those things is the fuck book. It’s what it sounds like,” he said, swinging around to look at me, eyes blazing. “A log of girls we fuck and how good they are. If they were good, we shared them. Sometimes all twelve of us had a girl at the same time. Other times just one on one.”