Final Offer (Dreamland Billionaires #3) by Lauren Asher

Nope. Not going to comment on the private jet, no matter how much I want to.

Once a month sounds doable, especially if it is only a part-time job.

“How much are you offering?” I ask with a serious tone.

“Give me a few more recipes and you’ll be retiring tomorrow.”

Screw retirement. I could open my own bakery and travel around the world, getting the best of both worlds.

My answer is easy. “You know what? Sure. Why not?”

“I was hoping you would be up for the challenge.”

I grin. “When do I start?”

“Does next month work?”

When faced with the option to sit at home all weekend or go to Dreamland, I make the same reasonable choice anyone else would make in my position.

“Sure, so long as Cami can come with me.”

“Of course. My assistant will send you all the details and travel info.”

I stare at the ceiling long after Rowan hung up the call and process what just happened. Working for the Kanes might not be what I expected for myself, but an experience like this would help me grow while giving me an opportunity to learn from other people. I can turn it into the adventure I always wanted.

And you achieved it all on your own.

Maybe dreams do come true after all.





I’ve had thirty days to stew in my decisions, dating back to the first time I ever took my first sip of alcohol. I wasn’t like most kids who have their first drink at a party, under the influence of too many friends and not enough brain cells.

No one was around to peer pressure me into drinking. In fact, no one was around to care at all. My brothers were always busy doing their own things and my father was rarely home before nine o’clock., which meant no one was there to intervene.

That first night, I drank because I was angry at myself for missing a goal and losing the game for my team.

The next week, I drank because my father called me a stupid fuck for failing a test.

The time after that, it was the anniversary of my mom’s death.

Slowly, drinking became a way to numb the problems. To drown out the noise until I was better able to cope with the stressors around me. Except the time to cope never came. When I was presented with adversity, I ran and repeated the same habits that got me into trouble in the first place.

I never learned from my mistakes. I was too lost in my sickness to care much beyond stopping the pain, and everyone around me, especially myself, paid the price.

Not anymore though. I will do whatever it takes to stay sober, not only for myself, but for the people I love too.

My grandpa was right. Sobriety is a journey, except to get to the final destination, I needed to suffer through a month-long turbulent plane ride with no landing strip in sight.

That’s what rehab felt like. But unlike the last time, I gave it a hundred percent because I deserved my all. I wanted to get better for myself and the future I will have once I do.

When I land in Chicago, I head straight to the AA meeting Leo recommended because I don’t have time to waste. All the chairs are positioned in a circle, exposing us to one another. I take one of the last open seats, leaving the one beside me empty.

The chairperson begins, and one by one everyone introduces themselves. It’s an intimate group made up of high-profile lawyers, executives, and professionals. I recognize a few from crossing paths at events, but no one comments on it. Because in this room, we are all the same.

Recovering alcoholics.

I’ve been through this process twice already, so I know exactly what to say when everyone turns to me.

I rise and take a deep breath. “Hi, my name is Callahan, although I prefer to go by Cal, and I’m an alcoholic.”

“Hi, Cal,” different tones and voices reply.

I ignore the urge to clench my fists. “Today is the first official day where I choose to be sober.” Rehab might have helped me start off on the right foot, but not having access to alcohol isn’t the same as choosing to be sober. At least not to me.

I want to be tempted by alcohol and resist.

I want to experience pain and overcome without a single drop of vodka.

I want to prove to myself that I can make it in the world as a sober man rather than one driven by the need to drown my emotions and insecurities with a temporary fix.

People clap like I just won the Stanley Cup.

A few more individuals introduce themselves. While one man is sharing how he is officially one-year sober, the door behind me opens. Everyone turns toward the sound.

The one person I never thought I would see at one of these meetings walks in, shaking an umbrella in one hand while juggling a briefcase in his other.

My father’s eyes connect with mine. He doesn’t look the least bit surprised to see me here, but me on the other hand?

I’m floored.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” the chairperson calls out.

I think he introduced himself as Jeff? Jim? I don’t remember much except that his job is to defend the worst criminals in all of Chicago.

No wonder the asshole drank.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Sorry I’m late? My father doesn’t apologize for shit.

Because he is faking it.

Since fate couldn’t be any more of a bitch lately, he takes the only empty seat available—right next to me. I’m grateful that I look more like my mother because I’d hate for people to connect the two of us as anything more than strangers.