Final Offer (Dreamland Billionaires #3) by Lauren Asher

Making me come.

As if he read my mind, his hand trails toward the hem of my shirt. His fingers graze over my stomach, drawing a sharp breath from me that he swallows with his lips.

The tips of his fingers tease the goose bumps spreading across my skin—

“Mommy?” Cami’s voice echoes off the tall ceilings before a nearby door slams.

My eyes fly open. Cal flies backward, squishing the abandoned cupcake beneath his shoe. He turns toward the empty hallway before releasing a heavy exhale.

“Mommy, where are you?” Cami’s voice sounds closer this time.

Something switches inside of him, the heat in his gaze quickly morphing into something else.

Regret.

I’ve seen all the signs before. The clenched fists. The avoidance of eye contact. The way he brushes a hand over his mouth, as if he can erase the taste of me from his lips.

My heart sinks.

What did you think would happen if you kissed him?

Except I didn’t kiss him.

Well, you sure didn’t not kiss him.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Alana…”

I’m not sure what triggers me more: the way he uses my full name to add some distance or how he can’t look me in the eyes while saying it. I save myself the trouble of having to hear him come up with some kind of excuse, mostly because I’m not sure my heart can survive it. “Let’s pretend that never happened.”

“But—”

“We both got lost in the moment. It’s no big deal.”

“Right.” His heavy exhale of relief drills a hole straight through my heart.

“Can I have a cupcake?” Cami’s voice sounds closer this time.

I look down at the smashed one on the floor with a sigh. “I better go…”

I pathetically linger, hoping he might say something.

He doesn’t.

Instead of standing around, waiting for a possibility that won’t ever happen, I turn and walk away. The emptiness in my chest grows with each step away from him.

I spent years trying to fill the void Cal left me with when he abandoned me the first time, and I’m not about to let one kiss ruin all my hard work.

No matter how amazing that kiss was.

Cal disappears back to the guesthouse, leaving me alone to replay our kiss in a hundred different ways. I somehow finish up the rest of the cupcakes, although the task becomes far less enjoyable now that I can’t separate Cal from the taste of guava icing.

Shame clings to my every thought, making me question if I was the only one truly affected by the kiss.

Of course he was affected.

He just didn’t want to be.

I try to distract myself from my thoughts by watching a new episode of one of my favorite shows. It works for about ten minutes. Once the couple begins kissing, I lose all interest in continuing. Instead, I quickly switch to watching a procedural crime drama I have been following for the last few years.

Nothing screams comfort television quite like unhinged serial killers.

My phone vibrates against the coffee table, so I unlock it and read the text Delilah sent in our group chat with Violet.

Delilah

Check out who is watching the latest episode of The Last Rose with me.



She attaches a photo of her and Wyatt wearing face masks with the TV in the background. I’m not into that kind of reality TV, but the thought of having someone like that who wants to watch a favorite show with me makes my chest twinge. Delilah’s life is a far cry from my lonely night watching TV by myself.

Then do something about it.

The thought of dating scares me almost as much as the idea of ending up alone. But if I continue to live in fear of what could go wrong, I’ll spend the rest of my life by myself, reciting lines from a TV show by heart.

I deserve more than that for myself, and I plan on getting back out there.

I just don’t know when.





I slam the sealed bottle of vodka against the counter and stare at it with shaky hands. On the one hand, I want to drink until I no longer can taste Lana on my tongue. But on the other, it feels like I’m letting her down in some way.

Blacking out won’t solve anything.

Neither will sitting around, reading a book to escape my reality. We all have coping strategies, and mine just happen to be found at the bottom of a bottle.

I hesitate while pouring myself a drink.

You told Lana you would limit your drinking for her.

Yeah, well, these are desperate times and all.

I forgo the glass and drink straight from the bottle instead. The first sip was meant to erase the taste of Lana’s guava icing from my tongue. Alcohol is a poor substitute, but the taste wiped away any traces of sweetness from my mouth. The second chug was to try—and fail—to forget the way Lana’s lips felt pressed against mine. The rightness of it all. The memories that were stirred up by her lips brushing against mine. The craving I have to repeat the kiss all over again, this time without any kid to interrupt us.

The rest of my night is a bit hazy. Next thing I know, a large amount of vodka is missing and the sun is already starting to rise.

This is the feeling I crave. The numbness. The stillness of my thoughts. The ability to disappear into the darkness for a little while and escape my problems.

It’s not until I wake up the next day at two p.m. with a pounding headache that I realize just how much I drank.