Hot Sugar

“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 SUGAR BABY 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 around 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.

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.”