I came so much. It's a wonder that she doesn't get...
"Mason," Becca says, turning to me and cuddling against my chest. "I have something to tell you that I was going to tell you last night...before everything happened."
I look at her. She can tell me anything she wants.
"I'm here for you, baby girl," I tell her.
She looks me in the eyes. Those wide, beautiful doe-eyes.
"I'm pregnant," she says simply. I can tell her eyes are intently searching my face to see what my reaction is going to be.
I mean, fuck, think about why she'd be worried, okay?
Technically, I'm still fucking married to her mother, right? Can you imagine the headlines? King of Wall Street Impregnates Stepdaughter?
But fuck the world.
She may be worried, but I'm stunned.
With fucking happiness.
I grab hold of her and without saying anything pull her close to me and kiss her. Hard.
"We're pregnant?" I ask. "We're fucking pregnant?"
"Well, I am," she says, rolling her eyes and sticking her tongue out at me.
"Fucking brat," I say smiling.
"Your wicked lil' brat, Daddy," she says, bringing our bedroom play out into the sunshine. "Always yours. Are you upset?"
Why the fuck would I be upset? I hold her close to me and show her how not upset I am.
"With everything you're going through right now, I didn't know," she says in between kisses.
Here is where I pull back.
"We're going to be okay," I tell her.
She nods thoughtfully, both of our minds all of a sudden drifting off to work.
"If only there was a way to show that Mom knows that Red Lion Aviation is a shady company..." Becca trails off.
But I've already been thinking about this. Sure, I may have looked like I gave up and chose Becca last night.
But you know I'm Mason fucking Kane. King of fucking Wall Street. I don't give up that fucking easily, Gorgeous.
"What were you coming to tell me the other day at dinner?" I ask Becca softly. "Was it just to tell me about the baby?"
Becca shakes her head. "I had more research I had done," she says. "I think it could help if we looked into it."
That's what I thought. Baby girl is thorough and meticulous.
"Email me that research," I tell her. "If it's like the last thing you found, I think we can begin to start connecting the dots."
She nods thoughtfully. "You mean from the employee records?"
I nod to her.