Final Offer (Dreamland Billionaires #3) by Lauren Asher

“Not even close, but it would put a nice dent in my bank account.” His eyes draw me in like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm.

I shake my head in disbelief. “You’re insane.”

“No, Lana, I’m in love. There’s a big difference.”

“What’s he doing here?” Violet’s head snaps toward the front door of Last Call.

Delilah and I follow her gaze. I lock eyes on Cal, who hasn’t noticed us sitting in our usual spot by the back.

The pit in my stomach becomes a canyon as Cal waves down one of the bartenders and orders his usual vodka tonic. He takes a seat by himself on the other side of the bar, giving everyone his back. I can’t make out if he is drinking yet or not, but my stomach rolls all the same.

“He shouldn’t be here.” My fingers press into the leather booth, leaving indentations behind.

“I’m sure he has a good explanation.” Delilah stares at her drink.

I stare at her like she grew a second head. “A good explanation?”

She doesn’t answer.

Violet scoffs. “What happened to getting sober?”

“He promised me he was.” I reach for the chip I keep on me at all times.

So much for that.

“Just hear me out—” Delilah tries to get my attention, but I’m too far gone.

My frustration boils over, and before I have a chance to stop myself, I charge over to his table.

“Alana!” Delilah calls after me, but I can’t hear her over the pounding of blood in my ears.

Cal looks up at the sound of my name, and his eyes widen as he catches me stomping over to his table. A few people turn to look over at us, the unwanted eyes making my cheeks heat.

“Here, asshole. You can have this back now.” I throw his sobriety chip on the table. It spins a few times before landing beside his drink.

The muscles of his back turn rigid underneath his shirt. “I gave it to you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Why?”

“Because it doesn’t mean anything.” I motion toward his drink.

He pushes the chip back toward me. “I’m not drinking.”

“Then explain this shit.”

“Have a seat and I will.” Besides his clenched jaw and rough voice, he does a good job at tempering his anger.

It only pisses me off even more. The only reason I take a seat is because I feel like my legs might give out at any moment.

The hardness in his expression softens as he takes a good look at me. “It’s not what you think.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “Of course it isn’t.”

“Give me a little more credit than this. I’m not risking everything with you for bottom-shelf vodka and flat soda.”

I stare into his eyes. “Then why order a drink in the first place?”

“Because I want to prove to myself that I’m stronger than my biggest weakness.” He stares at the glass in between us like it’s the enemy.

My mouth drops open.

The fight leaves him with a single deep exhale. “How can I expect you to trust me if I don’t trust myself?” His voice cracks. There is a slight tremor in his hand, and I grab on to it instinctively, wanting to ease some of his pain.

Our fingers interlock. Warmth spreads up my arm like wildfire, sparks shooting off my skin like embers off a flame.

I push the drink away from both of us. “You’re doing this because you don’t trust yourself?”

“Learning to trust myself again is a process.”

“Then find a different one because this is torture.”

His gaze lifts. “It’s not nearly as bad as knowing you still don’t believe anything I say.”

My chest caves in on itself.

“What do you expect? You hid a pretty big secret from me.”

“I’m going to fix it.”

“How?”

“It might take you a few years, but I’m pretty sure I can wear you down.”

My eyes widen. “Years?”

“All I have is time.”

“You plan on living at the motel for years?”

He recoils. “God, no.”

“Then what?”

He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the scar on top of my knuckle before letting my hand go. “You’ll see.” He stands.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to go hang out with Wyatt.”

My brows hike. “You and Wyatt are friends?”

“He’s my sponsor.”

I blink. That explains why Delilah tried to stop me from making an ass of myself.

If only you had waited to hear her out.

“Will you be at the open house tomorrow?” His question comes out of left field.

“The open house? Why would I do that?”

“Because I plan on checking out the house and seeing what Ryder did with the place.”

I stand up on shaky legs. “Well, I won’t be. I have plans.”

His smile is a weak one that doesn’t sit right on his face. “Oh. That’s a shame.”

“Why?”

“Don’t worry.” He kisses my cheek before walking out of the bar, leaving his full vodka tonic and his sobriety chip behind. His absence only causes the chasm in my chest to widen even more.