Final Offer (Dreamland Billionaires #3) by Lauren Asher

Better to try and fail than not to try at all.

I throw my hands in the air with defeat. “Screw it. It’s not like I have much else to lose.”





Cal didn’t give me more than a weekend to process the news about the lake house before he texted me bright and early Monday morning asking to meet up at Early Bird Diner for lunch. For both our sakes, I decided to comply.

Because Mondays aren’t bad enough, my entire morning before our lunch meeting is a complete and utter disaster. Normally my job as a Spanish teacher at Cami’s school follows a predictable routine. But naturally, given my luck today, everything has gone wrong, from a broken fire alarm interrupting my tenth graders’ final presentations to a first grader throwing up in the back of my class right before lunch. The only thing motivating me to make it through today is the fact that I only have two weeks left before the summer break.

I’m already late by the time I arrive at the diner, so the parking lot is full. I circle around Main Street twice to find a spot with no success. The town is beginning to advertise for the mid-June Strawberry Festival, Lake Wisteria’s biggest event of the year, so a majority of the parking spots are taken up by the mayor and his helpers hanging up promotional signs to entice tourists.

It takes me five minutes to find a place to park. It’s fitting, with how sucky my day has been, that I would find one right next to my failed dream.

The store has sat empty for years, the landlord unable to permanently fill the space for longer than a few years at a time. Business after business have tried to make it, but they have never been successful. Even a bakery opened here once, which was a whole new level of torture given my dream to open my own shop in the space. They shut down not even a year later.

What makes you think you would be successful then?

My throat thickens, and I turn my back on the storefront.

You have bigger issues to deal with right now.

I hold my head high as I walk toward the diner.

“Hey,” Cal calls, startling me.

I turn toward the direction of his voice. He leans against the brick wall outside of the front entrance, appearing completely out of place with his perfectly pressed white linen shirt and his custom-tailored pants. His outfit reminds me of the other rich tourists who visit, looking like they belong yachting in Ibiza rather than on our lake.

He slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to get a better look at me. “Cute dress. Did your mom make it?”

The mention of my mom has my throat closing up. Grief is a strange thing. It comes and goes, usually at the most inconvenient time, turning our lives upside down while we process the loss yet again.

I instinctively reach for the gold necklace she gave me for my quinceañera, rubbing the cool metal between my fingers back and forth. “Yeah.” My voice cracks.

“How is your mom doing by the way? I didn’t see her car at the house. Is she visiting your family in Colombia for the summer or something?”

My heart pounds hard against my rib cage as I halt midstride. “You really don’t know.”

His head tilts. “Don’t know what?”

My gaze darts toward the entrance of the diner. “She passed away a couple of years ago while your grandpa was still in a coma. Stage-four pancreatic cancer.” I’m surprised I can get the words out without my voice catching.

It only took you two years to get there.

For the first year after my mom passed, it was hard to talk about her without crying. Every memory felt painful—both physically and mentally. It took Cami asking a lot of questions about her grandma for me to get used to speaking about her again with a smile rather than tears.

“Shit, Alana. I had no idea about your mom.” Cal places his hand against my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. The warmth of his palm works like a balm, warding off the chill seeping into my bones.

“I thought you knew.” And chose not to show up for her funeral anyway.

His head shakes hard enough to ruffle his hair. “Of course, I didn’t. If I had—Fuck. I forbade my brothers from mentioning… this place.”

My breathing becomes increasingly difficult with every inhale.

“I’m so sorry.” His grip tightens. “I wish…” He pauses, as if considering whether he should speak or not. “I should have been there for you.” The way he says it with absolute certainty makes me believe him.

Our gazes connect. Something unspoken passes between us before he wraps his arms around me and tucks me against his chest. My body relaxes instantly in his hold, and a feeling of rightness consumes me. Any anger, frustration, and heartache from the last few days melts away like it never existed in the first place.

I know the relief is only temporary. That the moment he lets go, reality will come crashing down around me.

Just a few more seconds, I promise myself as I press my cheek against his chest. I forgot how right it felt to be held in his arms. Or the comfort that overwhelms me as I listen to the beat of his heart, pumping rapidly in his chest.

I ignore the voice in the back of my head nagging at me and allow myself to enjoy being taken care of.

Why do the things that feel the best always hurt us the most?

“What about your sister?” He runs his hand through my hair, making my spine tingle from the intimate gesture.

“What about her?”

“Is she…” His voice trails off.