Page 59 of Bidding War

“June, baby, you are going around in circles on this. I know you want a better job. We will find you a better job?—"

“I want this job.” I hadn’t realized it until he talked down to me, but it’s true. It’s not just curiosity. Andre is a fucked up sociopath, but I know where I stand with him, and that is more than I can say for any corporate job I have ever had. Strange to think of him as the secure option, but in a lot of ways, he is.

“And I want access to my money again, but some things are not options in life.” He says it with such simplicity that his tone implies it’s no longer up for discussion.

That smug asshole! “You don’t get to make my choices for me, or was I not clear before?”

He smirks just a little, and it makes my blood boil. “This is better.”

“What’s better?”

“This. You being pissed off at me. It’s much better than when you were giving me the silent treatment. What was that about? Are you tired? Were you regrouping? Are you just that pissed off at me? I want to know.”

Years of abuse, dummy! Why else does someone shut down? But I know what he means. He wants specifics. Well, right now, he doesn’t have access to specifics. I give a thin smile. “Some things are not options in life.”

“And that means?”

“That I’m not getting into it right now when we have so much mess to play in at the moment.”

“I do not appreciate being shut out like that, and I deserve to know why.”

It’s true, but it doesn’t change things. There is no way I’m getting into all of that tonight. I can’t handle it, and telling him that now would only mean him trying to drag it out of me indefinitely. I shrug and shake my head. “It’s not up for discussion, Anderson.”

“See, I tried that tactic on you, and it didn’t work. So, unless you want to be a hypocrite, then you’ll tell me what the fuck else is going on.” The edge in his voice sends me spiraling again.

I close my eyes and try to count to ten, but I keep hearing him go on about how I need to talk to him instead of shutting him out. I should listen to his advice because he knows what kind of man Andre really is. I should, I should, I should, I need, I need, I need. My head spins, and then the room spins, too.

Can’t breathe. Can’t think. He’s going to hit?—

No. He’s not. This is Anderson. Not my dad. He’s upset. Not abusive.

I gulp down some water. “I’m going now.” Something latches onto my wrist when I scoot out of the booth and stand up.

His hand. It’s crushing me. I can’t escape. A scream builds?—

Only he’s not crushing me. His grasp is loose. He just wants me to stop for a minute. When I look into his eyes, I could dive right into them and happily drown. He’s not my father. He’s Anderson West. The man I love. Softly, he says, “Please talk to me.”

But I can’t. I take his hand off of me and kiss the back of it. “We’ll talk later. For now, I need to go.”

He sighs and takes his hand back. “I’ll sleep at my place tonight.”

I nod once and flee into the frozen night.

33

ANDERSON

Ihate questions. Not the basic ones—what do you take in your coffee, do you like sunsets—not those. I hate questions with no answers. Questions like, why did I have to sleep alone last night? Why is my girlfriend getting weirdly territorial about Andre when he’s the bastard who kidnapped her? Why has my life become a study in drama instead of a study in luck?

At one point in my life, I had thought I was the luckiest asshole in the world. I have a wealthy family, a name that opens doors, I’m good looking. All the stars aligned for me, and I loved my life.

Only it wasn’t mine.

I see that now. For something to be yours, you have to work for it. I had fuck-all to do with my family’s money when I was born. A name is something given to you. It’s not earned. My looks are primarily thanks to outstanding genetics. I hit the gym whenever I can—or, at least, I used to—but that’s such a small part of what goes into looking the way I do. I know that. The life I had before it all went to shit was not a life I had earned.

It was a gift. But right now, it feels like a noose.

All the things I had given to me are now what my father uses to pull his noose tighter and tighter around my neck, and I am sick of choking on it. But I don’t know what else to do right now, so focusing on June is easier.

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