Page 19 of Bidding War

We hang up, and I’m beside myself. I didn’t know Elliot would take things this far. He’s wiping me out of my industry entirely. I’ll have to move to some city where no one has ever heard of Elliot West, and where in the hell is that? Bangkok? No—he probably has a tailor there. Fuck! What am I going to do?

How am I going to pay my bills with no income? I don’t have the money from the auction, I don’t have a job. How long will I have an apartment? Or food? A quick check of my bank accounts tells me I have three months of living expenses covered. What about after that?

In the back of my mind, I hear my mother’s voice. “You can always come home.”

Except that I can’t. I promised myself I would never do that. It’s not that I don’t love my family—I do. But they are like chaos. Good in small doses.

At my old firm, I thought I was building relationships with people. My clients loved me. But it wasn’t enough. None of them would pick me over Elliot. Who would? Other than Anderson.

I take a deep breath. Just thinking his name resurrects the ache in my chest. I miss him. I don’t want to, but I do. And if I reach out to him now as a jobless loser, I’ll seem even more pathetic than I feel. Besides, he’s too handsome and too much of a playboy to stay single for long. He’s probably moved on already. I’m the last person he’s thinking about right now.

Home vodka isn’t working for me. I’m going out for a drink.

I get dressed and doll myself up. Maybe I can pick up a new friend for the night. Someone who looks nothing like Anderson West.

11

JUNE

My head is full of spinning, vodka-fueled thoughts at Manny’s Bar. It’s an average neighborhood spot with a mix of bankers, doctors, mechanics, and realtors. Dark wood floors glisten from a mix of low lighting on two-for-one shots spilled during happy hour. It’s not too loud, not too packed. I have a book on my Kindle, and even the stools are comfy with a cushioned back support. Perfect.

I’m two and a half Cape Cods in when a guy at my left asks, “This seat taken?”

“No, go ahead.” My gaze remains on the TV.

“I’m Neil.”

I turn to him, and I’m pleasantly surprised. Sandy blond hair, smiling brown eyes, and a dimple on his left cheek. Holy crap, he’s cute as hell. Very cornfed Iowa farmer fantasy vibes. And he looks nothing like Anderson. “I’m June.”

He has a movie star smile to boot. “Nice to meet you, June. What’re you reading?”

“A mafia novel.”

“What’s it about?”

I can’t tell him I’m reading this novel to figure out if Elliot is involved with the mafia, but honestly, that’s the only reason I’m reading it, so I only pay attention to the details about the mob. I’ve skimmed everything else. Couldn’t tell him the plot if I tried. “Just a Godfather rip-off. Everyone wants to be the don, I guess. What do you like to read?”

He gives a sheepish grin. “It’s kind of nerdy, but I like sci-fi novels.”

“Sci-fi is good. Some of the best films come from sci-fi novels. The original Jurassic Park still holds up. Plus, one of my favorite films skims right along the border between sci-fi and horror.”

“What’s that?”

“Aliens.”

He laughs. “Can’t believe I met a fellow nerd here. Thought this bar was too classy for that.”

I wink at him. “We’re everywhere.”

He chuckles, and after that, the conversation flows easily. Until it doesn’t. “… so, June, what do you do?”

Crap. “I am a tax attorney. Or I was until recently. Got laid off.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

I shrug. “What do you do, Neil?”

“I’m a hedge fund manager at Bryce-Connolly.”

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