Final Offer (Dreamland Billionaires #3) by Lauren Asher

“Because…”

“Because what?” She shoots me a pointed look.

I bite down on my cheek to keep my last shred of dignity after throwing away most of it tonight. She gives up waiting and begins sweeping harder this time, making a few pieces of glass fly across the hardwood floor.

“Did you even bother going to rehab again?” she asks after the longest minute of silence. Her question comes off nonchalant, but there is a tightness in her shoulders as she sweeps.

I laugh. “Of course. Want to take a guess on how that turned out?” I try to bow but my coordination is severely lacking, so I nearly topple over. This time I don’t have a table to save me, so I flap my arms until I regain my balance.

Pathetic, Cal. Absolutely pathetic.

She stares at me with an expression I can’t make sense of given how much alcohol is pumping through my veins.

“I don’t want to pity you, but I do.”

“Exactly what every man wants to hear from the woman he loves.”

She blinks once. Twice. Three times before she strings a sentence together. “And that’s our cue to get you to bed.”

“Are you joining me?”

She grabs my arm and leads me up the stairs and toward my old room while grumbling to herself in Spanish. We walk in tandem to my bed. My center of gravity is thrown off when the tip of my sneaker catches on the floor, throwing Lana off-balance too.

“Whoops. My bad.” I laugh it off.

Her heavy sigh makes my chest hurt. She guides me toward the bed without any other incident. Once my ass safely lands on the foam mattress, she steps away, but not before I latch on to her wrist.

I tease the inside of it, earning the softest gasp. “I’m sorry.”

She tries to tug her hand free, but my grip holds. “Stop saying that.”

“Why?”

“Because words have meaning, and your actions cheapen them.”

My grip on her hand loosens, so she takes advantage and detaches herself from me. The crack in my chest expands, revealing the emptiness within.

“Sleep it off” is the last thing she says before my bedroom door clicks shut, leaving me alone with my demons to keep me company.





I wake up the next morning with a pounding headache and the urge to hide from Lana after last night. Unlike my father, I’m not a mean drunk, but I am a stupid one who can’t keep his mouth shut.

To make matters worse, I broke Lana’s vase and then made her clean it up afterward.

I throw a pillow over my head to muffle my frustrated groan.

You have no one to blame for your behavior but yourself.

The door to my room creaks open. I pop my head out from underneath the pillow, expecting to find Lana in the doorway.

“Hi!” Cami shouts.

My head throbs in a silent reply. “Let’s use our inside voices.”

“Sorry,” she whisper-shouts.

Close enough. “Where’s your mom?” And how do I avoid her for the rest of the day?

“Making lunch.”

Lunch already? How long did I sleep in?

“And what are you doing in here?” I sit up in the bed. I’m still wearing my clothes from last night, which look like they spent a week at the bottom of a laundry hamper.

“Mommy said you’re not feeling too good.”

My head knocks back. “She did?”

“Yeah. I heard her on the phone telling Aunt Dee you got a hang-ovary.”

I bust into laughter, although I regret it instantly with the way my head throbs. “I think you mean hangover.”

Her goofy, gap-toothed smile is slowly growing on me. “What’s a hangover?”

And this right here is the reason why I shouldn’t be allowed around kids in the first place.

I clear my throat. “It’s when people make bad decisions at night and wake up sick the next day.”

Her forehead scrunches. “Like when you eat too much chocolate and get a tummy ache?”

“Sure, kid. Just like that.” I wish my problems stemmed from eating too much chocolate. It’s far less harmful and way more enjoyable, which are two pluses in my book.

“How do you get better?”

I sigh. “I’m not sure if I ever will get better.”

“Why not?”

“Because I get sick a lot.” As sad as it is to admit.

Cami’s stare doesn’t hold an ounce of judgment. “With a hangover?”

“Yes.” Just because I have a high tolerance while drinking doesn’t mean I’m immune to feeling the next-day effects. I’ve just gotten better at managing them.

And disguising them.

“Oh. Wait! I know what will work! Stay right there, Cow-l.”

“It’s Cal. Just Cal,” I emphasize.

“Okay, Cal.” But it comes out more like cow. Maybe she’ll get it eventually, but today isn’t that day.

Cami runs out of the room, leaving my door wide open. Her bare feet slap against the wood floor as she rushes down the hall.

I’m tempted to leave just so I can avoid having another conversation with the kid. With the way my head throbs, it might be for the best.

Or you could just play nice and entertain Lana’s daughter after everything that happened last night.

Earning a point or two with Lana wouldn’t be the worst thing. As much as I’m not a kid person, I’m willing to pretend for a little while if it makes Cami happy, which in turn will make Lana happy.