Page 81 of Bidding War

Before dating me, he’s always been a shitty boyfriend to people. At least, according to the college grapevine. He was a well-known womanizer, and now that things have settled down, has he gotten bored? Or maybe I’m too much trouble for him. How many times has he had to save me? And with his father breathing down his neck about me …

How long before Anderson figures out I’m more trouble than I’m worth?

Each thought makes my body want to turn inside out. I can’t be another notch on his bedpost, can I? Not when I haven’t ever even seen his bedposts. That man has never brought me to his place. Every time we sleep together, it’s at my apartment.

Holy crap. Does he live with someone? Is that why he’s always kept us at my place? It’s always felt circumstantial at the time, but now … now I don’t know what the fuck to think.

I’m not sure if the pieces of this mystery are falling together or if I’m falling apart. Anderson bid on me at an auction. He blamed his dad for freezing his accounts so he couldn’t pay me. He rescued me from my kidnappers. Or did he? Sure, Andre puts the blame for that on Elliot, but that doesn’t mean Anderson wasn’t involved somehow. After all he’s working with Moss doing … he keeps me from knowing about his work with Moss. He says his dad forces him to do the work, but does he?

Or does Anderson have a whole secret life that I know nothing about?

I’ve heard about that crap on true crime podcasts all the time. Hell, it was practically a trope in the old days. The man who has a secret family across town. But that doesn’t track—his family was happy to meet me when they thought I was his fiancée.

So, maybe he simply has a secret girlfriend he lives with. Fuck me.

“June, are you there?”

That’s a very good question. “Sorry, Cal, I’m covering a shift for Kelsey. I need to go. Glad you burped.” Which is not how I ever thought I’d end a conversation, but tonight is a strange night.

When I leave the bathroom, I jump straight behind the bar again, diving into the only thing that helps to keep me distracted. Work. I’m eight drinks deep when Kelsey asks, “You good, Devlin?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because you have another twenty minutes on your break.”

Oh. Huh. “I’d rather stay busy if that’s okay.”

“I’m not complaining.” We bang out the night, drink after drink until the place cools down. When it’s quiet enough, he offers, “If you want to clock out, go for it. I’ve got this.”

But I shake my head while I roll silver. I’ve got a nice stack of napkin-encased silverware going, and I’m hesitant to stop. “I’m good.”

“I’m sorry about calling you in.”

“Don’t worry about it. Anytime I can be here for you, you know how to reach me.”

He smiles. “And I don’t want to take advantage of that. Considering I’m sure you have work in the morning, I thought you’d like to go home.”

Home. If I’m going to find Anderson’s secret girlfriend, I bet that’s where she’ll be this late at night. His apartment. My jaw tightens without thinking about it. “You know what? I think I will take you up on that. Home sounds like exactly where I want to be.” I yank off my half apron.

“Thanks again for coming in. You saved my ass, Devlin.”

“Happy to.” I jet out of there and march into the frozen night, catching a cab. I give the address, and within ten minutes, I’m walking up to the door of his building.

It’s one of those high-end high rises. The kind of place that I could never afford in my wildest dreams. I wish I could say I was surprised this is where Anderson West would stash a secret girlfriend, but I’m not.

I may also be getting ahead of myself.

Is he a cheater? I don’t know. But he is—or was—a womanizer, and those guys’ relationships tend to overlap. Unfortunately, I also feel like one of those crazy women who overreact the moment something goes wrong in their relationship.

It’s been a day and a half, and I’m jumping to some pretty big conclusions. But the thing is—our relationship has never been normal. It certainly didn’t start out that way, and we haven’t had more than ten days go by without some kind of catastrophic drama, so it’s hard to not think the worst is happening.

When I walk into the lobby, I’m surprised. There’s no doorman. No visible security. That makes no sense for a building like this. But when I reach the elevators, I realize why. You need a keycard to activate the elevators.

Well, shit.

Just as I’m ready to give up, a pretty blond woman walks into the lobby. She gives me a curt smile as she slashes her keycard for the elevator. This could be her. She’s pretty enough for Anderson. She asks, “Late night?”

“Yeah. So late that I left my keycard back at the bar. Can’t go get it, either.”

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