Mr. President 2(147)

"Look, slow down. First, I had no idea who you were that day at the bar," I say. "I had no idea that you were Lorna Lowell's daughter. And second, I have enough wealth without your mother's. I haven't been called the King of Wall Street for nothing."

"So what is it then? Are her tits that impressive? Has the head of your cock swollen so much that your brain has lost all ability to reason?"

This is a side of Becca I've never seen before. I have to say, she looks kind of hot all riled up like this. This girl has spunk.

"None of the above," I reply. "This has to do with my position with the board."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks, tucking her blonde hair behind one ear.

I'm really not in the mood to re-count the whole story to Becca, but I figure this may be my only opportunity. I need to set the record straight.

"Your mother owns a large stake in my company, Kane Price," I say. "So large that according to company bylaws, I had to give her a seat on the Board of Directors. And she's now in the role of Chief Counsel advising all investment matters."

"But I still don't understand," Becca says. "Why would you have to go and marry her? Where's the connection?"

"She basically held my hand to the flame."

Becca laughs. "Give me a break. You're a grown man. Why wouldn't you just say no?"

"It's not that simple," I say, "and if you've watched the news at all, you'd see I recently got myself in a bit of a fucking mess."

"That's putting it mildly," she replies.

"She threatened me. If I didn't agree to marry her, she'd not only bring me down, but the entire company as well. You may not believe me, but I actually give a shit about the thousands of Kane Price employees. Their livelihood is at stake, just as much as mine is."

"Well, I'm still pissed you didn't tell me," Becca says.

"It wasn't my choice," I reply. "That night, I had no way of predicting this."

I can see by the look in Becca's eyes that she still doesn't believe me, but it's too late to convince her any further because I hear Lorna enter the dining room.

"What wasn't your choice?" she asks, her voice sharper than my steak knife.

Fuck my life.

I need to pull something out of my ass to placate her and smooth things over. This should be interesting.





169





Becca





I watch as Mason tries to cover his tracks with my uber bitch of a mother.#p#分页标题#e#

"I was talking about this steak," he says casually. "Becca asked how I could possibly eat my steak this rare, and I just said it wasn't my choice."

Mason looks at me, his eyes pleading with me to play along.

I agree to smooth the situation over with him and jump in with the lie. "Yeah, I half expect it to start mooing again at any moment."

"Grow up, Becca," Lorna says.

If that's the harshest thing she's got for me, I can live with that, so I let it go. What I can't live with is the fact that Mason consented to marry my mother. This feels like one big joke, where a camera crew is going to jump out from the kitchen and say, "Surprise! You've just been a part of one giant prank!"

But of course, I know it's far more serious than that. Still, how could he have agreed to the marriage after what we went through—rescuing me from Robert at the bar, the obnoxious banker who thought he was God's gift to women, and then of course what later happened in the bathroom stall… even he has to remember that.

I watch as Mason turns on the charm for my mother. He's completely ignoring me at this point. H's smiling a little wider, and his body is turned in her direction.

"Beautiful spread," he says to her, motioning at the table, and my mother smiles.

"I can show you a different kind of spread," she purrs, and I want to gag. I mean, literally fucking gag. But this feeling of disgust is mixed with something more … is it jealousy?

Yes, I admit that Mason can be a cocky asshole at times, but he's confident, successful, driven, powerful … and it helps that he's hot. Scorching hot. The good outweighs the bad. Believe me.

Yes, he's technically old enough to be my father … and I guess he is my father now … well, stepfather, but that doesn't make it any less strange, and I mean, if I'm honest, the moment I placed my hands on his chest and my fingers traced the hard edges of his rippling muscles, I knew he was truly a god among men.

He's ripped. Just thinking about those eight, perfect squares of muscles in his abdomen makes me wet. And I can't even think about his faultless 12-inches of manhood … unless I want to be instantly soaking wet during dinner.