Free AFRICAN AMERICAN URBAN FICTION: BWWM ROMANCE: Billionaire Baby Daddy (Billionaire Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance) (Multicultural & Interracial Romance Short Stories) by Carmella Jones Page B

stay on top of domestic affairs.”
                  “All that is true, but it is also a cover. It’s a means to an end,” he said, picking up speed as we headed toward the south end of town toward the docks.
                  I just listened, feeling a little dizzy and very confused. He touched my forehead again. I guess I looked about as good as I felt.
                  “Our involvement in the news industry has always been more about having access to events, people, places, and information. Journalists can get in anywhere with a press badge. People will talk if they think they have a story for you, and even more if it’s juicy and off the record, but not really. Controlling the news lets you control the people. My family decides who knows what, and controls what is known. We dictate perception, if you will,” Anthony said, trying various explanations to balance some point he was getting at.
                  He got quiet, seemingly to allow that to sink in for the remainder of our ride. I still hadn’t caught on to what he was trying to drive home, but he did have good points about the power of controlling the media. I just needed to understand why.
                  When he finally turned the car off we were at the docks. I saw a variety of ships and workers. Nothing I thought looked too strange except for Anthony and me.
                  As soon as he stepped out of the car a worker rushed over to give him packaging supplies. As that one left, another ran over and gave him a few folders and whispered in his ear.
                  “Jayne, my family also owns a few shipping companies – land, water, and air – to help us move things without hassle,” he said.
                  He helped me out of the car and then took my purse from me. I kept tugging the the shirt I was still wearing down so my bottom didn’t give these guys a free show. He rummaged through my purse, pulling out the things he had gathered from his room. I didn’t even try to protest. Once everything was in the box, he taped it up and marked it with a sticker that said “fragile.”
                  He put the box under one arm and took one of my hands in his free hand. He handed the box to a worker and gave instructions about “losing” the package while the crew for a particular boat was at sea today. He looked through the files. Each one had a small portfolio on a person with a brief data sheet and two photos, one alive and one dead.
                  My stomach turned and I doubled over, vomiting on the dock. Anthony picked me up again and a worker came immediately with a hose to clean up my mess.
                  Anthony carried me to a small building that served as the main office. When he came in carrying me, everyone inside greeted him but quickly made themselves scarce.
                  “Anthony, are you a murderer? Do Jerome and Donte work for you?” I asked.
                  “The short answers would be ‘yes’ and ‘yes,’” he said, sitting me in the most comfortable chair in the room.
                  He stepped into a different room and I heard water run. When he returned he had a paper cup with water for me to drink and a damp paper towel that he patted around my face.
                  “Is the shock too much for you and the baby?” he asked.
                  “I’m always nauseated now, and running away from you this morning took a lot out of me. Not to mention you brought me to the smelliest place in the city aside from the waste water treatment facility,” I replied.
                  “Do you think you will be okay?” he asked.
                  The concerned eyes only I ever saw were still there. Now, I realized just how real his bad-boy exterior I was. I had always been drawn to it, but now it concerned me. I knew I