Final Offer (Dreamland Billionaires #3) by Lauren Asher

I stare at it.

“No. Cal is busy,” Lana answers before I have a chance to even consider.

I look up at her, finding her working her jaw.

“Right. Do you need me to pick you up once you’re done?”

Her head shakes. “Thanks, but no. Wyatt and Delilah can give us a ride back to the house.”

“What about the car seat?” I blurt out.

“I’ll grab it from you tomorrow if that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

I expect to feel a warm rush of relief as they walk away, but my chest throbs instead. A sense of longing, deep and forbidden, takes over. The kind of longing I haven’t allowed myself to feel for years.

This is for the best.

Then why does it feel so shitty to watch Cami and Lana disappear into the school while I stand by myself, looking in like an outsider?

Because you are an outsider.

I try to shake off the feeling and get in my car, but I hesitate outside the vehicle.

A part of me wants to go with them. It’s a small part, but a part nonetheless, and it freaks me the fuck out. So I do what I do best.

I run.

I try my hardest to stick to sober activities like grabbing an early lunch at the sandwich shop and picking up a new book at the store, but nothing relieves the pressure in my chest.

The drive to one of the tourist bars on the other side of town is a blur—just like all the vodka tonics I drank afterward to numb my emotions.

So much for limiting yourself.

I tried my hardest, but I’m powerless when it comes to alcohol and controlling myself under extreme stress. It’s not until my vision is cloudy and my head is quiet that I finally feel at ease.

No more thoughts of Lana.

No more thoughts of Cami.

No more thoughts of what my life could have been like had I not fucked it all up six years ago.

Just me, the steady beat of the music streaming out of the speakers, and alcohol to cure my problems.

My world feels like someone tilted it at a forty-five-degree angle. I stumble out of the rideshare and manage to walk up the driveway of the house without falling on my face. It takes me three tries to get the front door unlocked. The house is pitch-black inside, and I trip over my own feet.

I run into a wall, except the wall is actually a table that teeters from my weight before falling backward. Whatever was on top of the wood surface shatters, the echo amplifying the horrific sound.

I wince. “Shit.” I stand there in the darkness, afraid what I might uncover if I turn on a light.

If I could even find a light.

As if the house read my mind, one turns on above me. Flowers of all colors, shapes, and sizes are strewn across the hardwood floor, surrounded by a thousand shards of glass.

“Oh my God.” Lana stands at the top of the stairs. “No. No. No.”

“Lana!” I shout. “I missed you!”

A man of subtlety, I am not.

Her look of shock morphs into one of anger. “Are you drunk?”

I shake my head. “Buzzed.”

“What are you even doing here? You’re supposed to be staying at the guesthouse.”

“I wanted to say hi.” I hold up my hand and wave like a complete loser.

She takes a deep breath. “Don’t move. Let me go put some shoes on before coming down there.”

“You got it, babe.” I salute her, which only earns me a death glare.

I’m not sure how long it takes her to get her sneakers on, but I stare at the wall, questioning how I ended up in this mess.

Lana. Cami. Graduation.

I smack my forehead. “Right. That’s how.”

“I can’t believe this right now.” Lana scowls as she walks down the stairs. It only deepens as she assesses the mess surrounding me.

I flinch. “I didn’t mean to break it.”

Her eyes glaze over, looking shiny underneath the chandelier. I hate the look on her face almost as much as the silence building between us as she analyzes the broken shards of glass.

“I’ll buy you a new one. I promise.”

“I don’t want a new one. I want this one,” she snaps.

“I’m sorry.” My bottom lip juts out. I saw Cami do it once and it automatically worked on Lana, so maybe I will get lucky too. “It was an accident.”

“Accidents happen, but getting drunk is a choice.”

“You’re right. A bad choice.”

“Yet you keep making it anyway. God, Cal. You’re thirty-three years old. Act like it.” She points at the spot I’m standing in. “Stay right there.”

She disappears around the corner before returning a minute later with a broom, a dustpan, and a trash bin. Her anger is like a fire, sucking all the oxygen out of the room as I stand there, useless and silent, while she begins sweeping the mess into a corner opposite of me.

“Who got you flowers?” I point at the mix of wildflowers strewn across the floor. “Was it a guy?”

Smooth, Cal. She will never suspect a single thing.

She shakes her head and keeps sweeping. “I’m not getting into this with you right now.”

“Why? Because it’s true?”

“Because you’re drunk and acting like a jealous idiot over someone who doesn’t even matter.”

“So what if I am jealous?”

“Why would you be?”