2. Aspen

CHAPTER 2

Aspen

Officially weirdest night ever.

My sneakers scuffed against the concrete as we made our way out of the club. I knew we could’ve stayed and danced and drank, but the events of the night made it impossible.

I could still feel Crossland’s hands on my hips, could still smell the cedar and cinnamon of his scent, could still hear the way his voice shaped my name, and it was all making my head spin. Not to mention the stack of hundreds I now had shoved into my small black clutch.

“I can’t believe you wanted to leave,” Jesse said as he kept pace with me. “If I were you, I would absolutely have milked that guy for all he was worth.”

“If you were me, you would’ve negotiated your way into a much higher price,” I said, chuckling as we finally made it past the line of people waiting to get into the club.

“Damn straight,” he said. “I know my worth, unlike some of my best friends.” He eyed me knowingly.

I flashed him an equally knowing look, silently expressing that that subject was not up for discussion.

“What?” he asked, ignoring my look completely. “You didn’t see the way he was looking at you. You totally could’ve gotten more out of him.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Because that’s how life works.”

“Apparently,” Jesse said as we pulled off to the side of the building, settling into an open alcove while we chatted. “I mean, according to the ten thousand in your purse, anyway.”

I couldn’t argue with him there, but I also couldn’t imagine getting any more out of the rich mystery man with eyes like an Artic lake. I could barely wrap my head around the last hour of the night, let alone think about working some sort of angle to get more money out of him.

The last thing I ever thought about was me.

Almost my entire life has been about my sister, Brecken—taking care of her, making sure she was fed, clothed, and healthy. Making sure she got enough rest for school, making sure she got into the college of her dreams…the college I was still struggling to pay for thanks to my parents being completely absent since I was fifteen years old.

At least when I turned eighteen, I’d been able to get custody rights over Brecken, but it was a yearlong battle that cost me thousands of dollars to get my parents to sign over the rights.

So, yeah, like Jesse implied, I didn’t exactly know my value…because I gave it all to Brecken. I always had. It had always been me and her, and I always did everything I could to protect her from my parents until I could safely get her out of that toxic-as-hell environment. I would continue to give all I had to her so that she could have the life she deserved.

And I didn’t have a bad life at all. Just a busy, complicated one.

I had a wonderful sister, an okay job that at least kept us fed, and I had the best friend a girl could ask for in Jesse. And now I had ten thousand dollars for thirty minutes of pretending to be some rich guy’s girlfriend. I mean, what were the freaking odds?

Jesse had dragged me out tonight because I’d been joking about how I was about to eat peanut butter and crackers for dinner for the third time this week, and then he took me to a random club, where a random rich man asks me to fall into his lap?

Again, weirdest night ever.

A crisp breeze chilled my warm skin as we lingered outside the building, the city’s nightlife surrounding us in full swing. All the city’s brightest and most beautiful were strutting down the sidewalks like it was their own personal runway. Everyone was hustling to and from social events looking as carefree and as fun as ever.

I knew I didn’t look like that and I had no delusions that I would ever look like that. Not when I’d exhausted myself to the bones raising myself and my baby sister for the last decade, and I was okay with that life.

But, sometimes, on nights like this, when Jesse dragged me out of my studio apartment in Brooklyn and brought me into the city, I played pretend.

I loved pretending.

That’s probably why I’d been so good at the role Crossland asked of me.

Beyond watching Brecken thrive, there was nothing I enjoyed more than escaping my daily grind. Whether that be in a book, a great movie, or a night out with Jesse where I pretended like I was any other twenty-something with their whole life ahead of them—chasing down a hard-earned career or starting a passion project that I’d dreamed about my entire life.

Brecken was that passion project for me. Ensuring she could put her brilliant mind to the test at her dream college.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” Jesse asked as we lingered outside of the club. “Or do you want to go get some food?”

I definitely had that post-thrill buzz radiating beneath my skin. I wasn’t exactly ready to go to bed, but I knew for a fact I couldn’t go back to that club. If I did, I’d be looking over my shoulder, hoping that the rich guy might make another appearance. Not because I wanted his money, but because he had stunning blue eyes that turned me into a puddle.

It had been so damn long since I’d felt any kind of physical connection, and one touch from him had me on fire. I could still feel it, that slight ache between my thighs, that edged hunger for affection, for release.

Funny, I’d kept those feelings buried for months, but one scrap of attention from Crossland and I was practically panting.

It’d obviously been too long since my last one-night stand, and if we’d stayed in that club, I’d be hoping to score that with him. One night. That’s all I ever allowed myself, if I ever felt that chemistry with someone. I worked too much, and history had proven that the second men figured out I had zero aspirations other than to work and make enough to get my sister through college and keep us fed, they bailed.

“Food always sounds good,” I finally said, even though I’d stuffed my face with snacks in Crossland’s VIP game suite, or whatever the hell it was called, that rested above the club.

I was no stranger to cards, but I didn’t understand their betting system in the slightest. The chip values didn’t make sense to me, but I guess when you could throw away ten grand for thirty minutes of someone’s time, the poker bets wouldn’t be standard.

“Food it is,” Jesse said. “Do you want to go to that street vendor you love so much? It’s only a few blocks away.”

My eyebrows pricked up at the idea of sinking my teeth into my favorite taco. It would certainly be the cherry on top of this strange evening.

“That sounds like perfection,” I said, and then grinned. “And since I just got a new deposit,” I added, tapping my little black clutch for emphasis. “I’m buying.”

For once, I thought to myself, my heart deflating.

Sometimes the guilt of not being able to treat Jesse as much as he treated me was unbearable. But Jesse always waved off my concerns, saying that our friendship wasn’t one-sided, and that money had nothing to do with why he adored me. Of course, that was easy for him to say when he hadn’t had to worry about money since his custom clothing line went viral on social media two years ago.

He was one of those special talents that came around once in a decade, and he was so in demand that in order to keep the integrity of his custom line—all the pieces he made by hand himself—he had to release his clothes in quarterly drops. They always sold out and often crashed his website within seconds of going live.

I was lucky enough to know him before his fame, having served him a caramel macchiato with a triple shot years ago when he was having a bad day. I helped talk him through it, and we’d been inseparable since. He’s the reason I was wearing the sleek romper I did now. Without him, I’d still be in my five-year-old yoga pants and a T-shirt. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but I didn’t think an exclusive Manhattan club would approve.

Jesse extended his arm, and I looped mine through it. He turned us in the direction that would take us toward my favorite street vendor⁠—

“Aspen! Wait, Aspen!” I heard Crossland calling my name, and Jesse stopped, spinning us around just in time to see him skidding to a stop before us. His chest heaved as if he’d run through the club and out of it in order to catch up to us.

Jesse kept his arm in mine and stepped just slightly in front of me like he thought Crossland might try to snatch me up and drag me back upstairs again.

A little flutter of heat raced through me at the thought of being in Crossland’s arms again, and I reminded myself that I was an independent woman who had been taking care of myself since I was fifteen and the last thing I needed was a man coming in to save the day.

That shut that needy little feeling down real quick.

“How would you like to make a million dollars?” Crossland asked, not a hint of amusement or playfulness in his tone. He said it as seriously as if he were asking if I preferred coffee over tea.

“Excuse me?” I asked. Who was this guy?

Crossland grinned, smoothing down the lapels of his suit jacket. “Look, I just lost a massive bet and I need you to be my exclusive girlfriend for three months. I’ll be damned if I lose to Ethan Berkeley⁠—”

“Ethan Berkeley?” Jesse asked, looking down at me and then back at Crossland. “What did you say your name was again?” he asked.

“Crossland McClaren,” he answered.

Jesse released me, pulling out his phone and typing away on the screen.

“Holy shit,” Jesse said. “You’re…you’re Crossland McClaren.”

“Yes,” Crossland drug out the word. “I thought we already established that.” He smiled, his eyes solely on me.

Heat trickled into my veins, and I shifted on my feet under that stare.

“Damn,” Jesse said, nudging me as he bent down to show me his phone. “He owns the Calgary NHL team.”

I looked at the screen, noting the numerous pictures scattered across the browser he had opened. One picture had a quick bio underneath explaining Crossland was a billionaire NHL owner with a variety of other companies, some I recognized and some I didn’t. The rest of the pictures showed him either with other people like Ethan Berkeley and Asher Silas, fellow franchise owners, or with multiple models that I’d seen in Vogue or movie stars that plastered the big screen.

My lips parted open, shock radiating through me. This was the guy whose lap I was just on? The one I’d called babe in a fun little game I thought would quickly be over and done with?

“One million,” Crossland said again. “All you have to do is pretend to be my girlfriend for three months.”

Jesse pocketed his phone while I struggled to find my voice.

“Nah,” Jesse said. “You may be who you say you are, but we’ve seen documentaries like this. I’m not letting you make my girl into your weird rich-guy pet.” The seriousness and defensiveness in Jesse’s tone actually made me laugh.

Which made Crossland tilt his head, an effortless smile shaping his lips that I couldn’t stop looking at for some reason.

“Look, I don’t trust anyone,” I finally said. “Thirty minutes was a giant leap for me. Three months would be impossible. No matter how cute you are. But thanks for the offer.”

I needed that taco now more than ever, and tried pulling Jesse that direction, but Crossland stepped into our path, his hands raised like he wanted to make sure we knew he wasn’t about to grab me.

“I get it,” he said. “Trust me, or don’t…trust me.” He cringed. “Look, I’m not a creep. I know that probably isn’t clear with me approaching you on the street and all, and making you sit on my lap earlier for ten grand, but I digress. Please, just meet me here at three p.m. tomorrow and I’ll have a better business proposal for you.” Crossland handed me a business card, and I took it with a sense of surrealism.

Was this really happening?

“Please?” Crossland asked, those blue eyes locking with mine in full pout mode.

I’m sure he’d used that look on more than one person to get his way.

“Three p.m. tomorrow. Give me the ten minutes I need to show you I’m not a creep.”

I stuffed the business card into my little clutch that was now about to burst at the seams thanks to the wad of hundreds he’d given me earlier.

“We’ll see,” I said, and then spun around before I could stand there and say more. Before I could ask all the questions that were brimming in the back of my mind.

Jesse looked back for me, more than once, giving me exquisite details on the fact that Crossland didn’t take his eyes off of us as we walked away, not until we were completely out of sight from each other.

I don’t know why that made me smile, but it did. Guess there was something to be said for holding the attention of somebody supposedly so powerful, but I didn’t truly know who he was. He could be one of those super scary rich guys who collected people like pets and diamonds like candy.

Tonight had been way too weird, but as we stopped in front of the line that snaked in front of my favorite street vendor, I managed to get my breathing in check and my mind clear.

I’d chalk this up to a hilarious story I’d tell repeatedly throughout the years, and I’d never see Crossland again.

Because this wasn’t some romantic comedy movie or Hallmark special where some gorgeous billionaire sweeps in and fixes my life. That’s not how the real world worked.

In the real world, I preferred food truck tacos over exclusive bars.

In the real world, I worked as a barista, not a high-paid escort that helps some rich guy win a bet.

“You didn’t give me oat milk! You gave me whole milk. I ordered oat milk!”

“No, you said whole⁠—”

“I paid seven dollars for this latte,” the lady snapped, smacking her hands down on the counter that separated us. “Now move your ass and make my drink the right way. Or do I need to talk to your manager?”

I was half-tempted to go to the back and grab Chels because she certainly would get a kick out of throwing this customer out, but instead, I took a deep breath and spun around to make the lady a fresh drink.

I was too wiped out to fight today, and she was my third angry customer in the past two hours. Once I finished making her drink, I handed it to her, plastering the best smile possible on my face.

“So sorry for the inconvenience, ma’am,” I said.

The woman rolled her eyes and snatched the cup out of my hands before stomping away.

There was a break in the rush, and I rubbed my palms into my eyes, trying to generate some life there. I’d had a headache since ten minutes into my shift, which I started at five a.m.

It was just after twelve now, and I was practically dead on my feet, but I picked up a few extra hours to cover for someone who was out sick.

Everyone here always counted on me to cover their shift, not because I was super dependable, but because I needed the money, and everyone knew it.

Brecken may have gotten a few grants for her first year at NYU, but I’d blown through my life savings on the rest of tuition. And it was only the first semester. I had no idea how I was going to buy her a second, but I would never tell her that. I just needed one of these fucking banks to cut me a break.

I had an appointment with a loan advisor after my shift—the third bank I’d tried this month.

I cleaned up the counters, refilling the cream and sugar stations and the napkin holders, losing myself in the routine of my day-to-day at work. I thoroughly enjoyed the quiet between rushes, especially after today had been a fuck-all of a day. I could probably blame it on how late I stayed out with Jesse last night, but I’d needed it, so it made whatever hell came my way today worth it.

The memory of being perched on Crossland’s lap flashed red hot through my mind.

It wasn’t the first time he—and his offer—had crossed my mind today. The ten grand was absolutely going to give me some breathing room for the next two months, especially if I budgeted properly.

But with the debt piling up, and the interest killing me on the two credit cards I’d maxed out to get Brecken necessities for her dorm room and books for the semester, it was hard not to think about his offer. I mean, one million was probably nothing to him, but it would change my life.

I was already one of the best budget bitches around, according to Jesse, so it’s not like I’d blow the newly found cash on⁠—

No, what was I thinking?

I couldn’t possibly take Crossland up on his offer. Who knew what he actually wanted me to do? He might claim he needed me to pretend to be his girlfriend for three months to win a bet, but what if all he wanted was an on-call fuck? Or maybe he’d be like that guy in that movie and he’d trap me in a locked room and surgically remove pieces of me to feed to other rich people?

An ice-cold shiver raced down my spine, and I laughed at myself as I finished tidying up. My imagination and the ability to picture the worst-case scenario in every possible situation was some unavoidable gift of mine.

Crossland could’ve done a lot more in the thirty minutes he’d bought with that ten grand last night, but he hadn’t. I’d been perched on his lap, even going as far as wiggling around a little to see how he’d react, and he hadn’t so much as attempted to take advantage. Hell, he’d barely even touched me unless he needed to. I highly doubted he was like the murderer in the movie, but one could never be too careful.

Besides, like I concluded last night, I wasn’t living in a fairytale. Some gorgeous billionaire wouldn’t magically fix my problems. They’d be fixed by hard work, picking up these extra shifts, and doing my best to get a loan at this bank.

An hour and two irritated customers later, I finally clocked out and changed into what I hoped was a presentable, responsible, adult-looking outfit. One that said, I’m a trustworthy individual who you’d love to loan money to.

I headed to the bank a few blocks away, making it to my appointment ten minutes early. Lucky for me, the loan advisor was ready for me, politely shaking my hand across her desk as we both took our designated seats.

“Miss Reed, we’ve extensively reviewed your application for a loan. I’ve spoken to three of my superiors, and unfortunately, we can’t approve you at this time.” She dipped her head slightly, a heavy dose of pity in her eyes as she looked at me.

I probably would’ve curled inward with shame at that look, the one I’d seen all too often when people found out how broke I was, if I hadn’t been so busy trying my best not to break down in tears.

This was the third time I’d been turned down.

“I have a steady job,” I blurted desperately. “I work over sixty hours a week. My credit score wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Oh no,” she said, shaking her head as she flipped through the papers on her desk. “It wasn’t your credit score. You just don’t have the equity or assets that we would need in order to ensure that the loan would be repaid.”

I tilted my head. “So, I need to prove that I have enough money to not need this loan to be approved for it? What kind of sense does that make?” I tried to keep the sharpness out of my tone but was unsuccessful.

After being turned down for the third time, I was at the end of my rope. Cost of living was insane, and I lived in Brooklyn. It’s not like I lived in the city or in a high-rise. I lived in a very cheap ground-level studio apartment. I ate packaged ramen and boxed mac and cheese most of the time. Things like good bread, milk, and eggs were luxuries to me.

Thankfully, every shift I worked, I earned a free meal—a salad or a chicken wrap or one of the protein snack boxes. Thank the universe I’d been able to get Brecken on the cafeteria plan. I’d never seen the girl so excited in my entire life, even more than when she got accepted into NYU. When she found out she had unrestricted access to the cafeteria twenty-four seven, you would’ve thought I handed her the keys to a brand-new Mercedes.

My heart sank at the reasoning behind the excitement—a childhood filled with the stress of not knowing when her next meal would be or where it would come from. Once again, the hatred toward my parents swelled to the point of pain. I shoved it down, focusing on the positives—Brecken was attending NYU, the college she’d busted her ass off in school to get into, and she had finally stopped insisting she skip a year and get a job like me. I refused to let her see the struggle because of that fact. The last thing I wanted her doing was putting off her dreams because of money. I could handle this.

“There has to be something you can do,” I said, but the loan advisor just looked at me like I was making the situation awkward.

If I didn’t figure out a way to get this loan, there was no way I could afford a second semester for Brecken. They wouldn’t approve us for financial aid, and she’d exhausted every grant application she could.

We were at an impasse.

I leaned my elbows on the desk, raking my fingers through my hair as I barely held back the tears enough to look the woman in the eyes. Maybe if I was open and honest with her, she’d do something with all that pity she was throwing my way. I normally kept my little sob story to myself, but I was out of ideas.

“Look,” I said. “I’ll get a second job if I have to. Hell, I’ll come work for you. I’ll clean your house, run your errands, or answer phones here. Please. I need this loan to make sure that my little sister gets the education that she’s worked her entire life for. I don’t want this money to buy a yacht or put a down payment on a house I don’t need. I want it so my sister can go to college. Can you understand that?”

The loan advisor furrowed her brow, pursing her lips enough that I thought she might be entertaining pulling some strings for me to get this loan.

But then she shook her head, and my heart completely broke.

“If there was something I could do, I would. But I can’t,” she said. “You have to qualify. You have to check the boxes, which you don’t. Also, we’re not hiring now, but you can keep checking in⁠—”

I scooted away from her desk, the sound of the chair scraping against the linoleum cutting off her attempts at empty empathy. A couple tears rolled down my cheeks that I quickly swiped away, and I sucked in a deep breath before letting it out slowly.

“Thank you for your time.” I hurried out of her office, out of the building, and I kept walking, lost in the emotions strangling me.

I didn’t check the boxes.

No shit.

I hadn’t checked the boxes in high school, the teachers and advisors always disappointed in my tardiness or my inability to stay awake in class, never once asking me why I was so tired or why I always showed up late.

I hadn’t checked the boxes when I was thinking about going to community college because of my terrible grades in high school, and I certainly didn’t check the boxes at any of the higher paying jobs I’d applied to because of the same reasons.

It was one stupid, debilitating cycle that I was sick of being a part of.

I was smart where it mattered—sure, I couldn’t do quantum physics, but I could follow directions to a T and socialize like the best of them, even when my battery was drained. I was a hard worker, and I rarely complained, even when I had a constant stream of customers ready to call me an idiot for getting their seven-dollar coffee wrong. I never called in sick, and I always picked up extra shifts. I deserved that loan as much as Brecken deserved to get the education she’s always wanted.

I blew out of breath, pausing when I came to a bench and sat down, watching the hustle and bustle along the city sidewalks as people went to and from events, work, school, lunch dates, and who knew what else. There were people scamming other people for money every day, there were people selling products that broke seconds after opening the package, and there were people who stole and lied and cheated to get the money they needed, and here I was trying to do it the ethical way, and I couldn’t get approved because I didn’t check a couple fucking boxes?

I shook my head, anger overtaking the despair that was swirling inside me. I hated when my mind lashed outward, blaming the world for my problems rather than accepting that I’d failed somewhere along the way. I should’ve tried harder in school, should’ve ignored the exhaustion and pushed through, should’ve…should’ve…

My phone rang and I dug it out of my purse, prepared to send whoever was calling to voicemail. But it was Brecken, so I swiped the screen to answer.

“Hey Brec,” I said, forcing my voice into a normal tone.

“Hey, sis,” she said. “Guess what?”

“What?” I asked, a small smile lifting my lips at the sound of her voice. She sounded so excited.

“I got an A on my economics exam. Me and some friends are heading to the cafeteria to celebrate, but I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

“Nicely done! I know you were worried about that one.”

“Economics isn’t really my forte,” she said. “But now I can breathe.”

Her silence after was so loud I could hear it. “What else is going on?”

“Well,” she said, hesitant. “Um…my English Lit class assigned a few new books I have to read over the next month. I checked the library on campus and the local one but…”

My heart sank, but I breathed in deep. “Oh, no worries,” I said. “I bet you can find them online, right? Or that half-price book store you love? I’ll transfer some more money into your account to make sure you have enough.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I don’t want to put you out. If you’d support me getting a job then I could⁠—”

“Your job is school,” I cut her off. “That’s hard enough. I’ve got this. You worry about getting those books you need, let me worry about the finances.”

Brecken sighed. “Okay, thanks, Aspen.” Background chatter erupted over her end. “My friends are calling me. You’re the best. Love you.”

“Love you,” I said, barely able to keep the crack from my voice as we hung up.

I swallowed hard, already mentally calculating what I had left in my checking account. Luckily, I had the cash I needed to deposit, and even though I’d already budgeted for most of it, I could make some room to cover the newly required books. But damn, I hated that sinking feeling on my chest over such a small shift in expenses.

I opened my bag, searching for some lip balm, my fingers hitting the contents I’d dumped in there from the small clutch I’d carried last night.

My fingers brushed a small piece of cardstock, and I pulled out the business card Crossland handed me last night. I glanced at my phone, checking the time.

He’d told me to meet him at three.

An hour ago, I’d been certain I would never even consider his offer—thanks to all the true crime documentaries I watched and seriously not wanting to end up being a steak in some rich guy’s skillet—but I didn’t know what else to do. I was sitting here stressing over a few book purchases, let alone tuition and bills.

I checked my face in my phone, making sure I didn’t look like I’d been crying before I forced myself to move. I looked as fresh as I could, despite a little despair in my eyes, and quickly decided it didn’t matter. He’d already made me the offer, so I might as well go see if it still stood.

Twenty minutes later, I walked inside a spacious building where the top ten floors were dedicated to McClaren Inc. I didn’t have a clue what that meant or what the company did, but I was ushered in like they’d been expecting me. Security deposited me in an expansive office with a view of the city skyline that literally took my breath away, saying that Mr. McClaren would be in shortly and that I was to make myself at home.

And really? I could make myself at home in this office. Two of my studio apartments could fit inside the office, which was occupied with rich leather furniture in one corner, bookcases filled with books that itched to be cracked, lush rugs sitting beneath walnut desks and tables, and floor-to-ceiling windows that were tinted just enough to make it comfortable to look at the sparkling city under the mid-day sun.

It was those windows I was drawn to, and I walked across his office, pausing before one to look down at the city below. It seemed never-ending from this height, stretching out with all the possibilities in the world.

But I felt like I was sinking, drowning with how much possibility I couldn’t grasp.

Hello, pity party, let’s just make this a whole damn vibe today.

It smelled like coffee and cinnamon in here, all things comforting and cozy, like it’d be easy to curl up on the oversize couch and take a nap. Something I hadn’t expected for a billionaire’s place of business, but then again, I’d never had any experience with a billionaire before.

I heard the door open and shut behind me, and I slowly turned around. The weight of the entire day, the entire last ten years, hit me all at once. As if everything had been driving me toward this destination, toward this spot, toward the deal I was about to make.

Was I really about to do this?

Was I really about to sell myself, my body—hell maybe even my soul—for a chance to give my sister a normal life?

Yes.

Fucking hell, I would do anything for that girl.

Crossland smiled at me, surprise making those blue eyes sparkle. In this light, he was more breathtaking than the view behind me.

I hadn’t gotten a good look at him last night, not with the muted lights of the club, or the soft the light in the game room. He was tall and broad, with dark hair that was cropped close to his head, a neatly trimmed goatee dusting his strong draw, and light brown skin that was smooth and stretched over muscles that his custom-tailored suit had a hard time hiding. His lips were full and really hard to ignore when he smirked like he was now.

Damn. Maybe being a steak wouldn’t be so bad⁠—

“I have to say I’m surprised you showed up,” Crossland said, stopping my erratic thoughts in their tracks.

“I have to say, I’m surprised, too,” I admitted, folding my arms over my chest. I was so out of place in this world, his world.

“I have something for you,” Crossland said, taking long strides toward his desk with a confident gait that had me standing up just a little straighter. He grabbed a file off his desk and handed it to me.

“Is this the contract?” I asked, only half teasing as I opened the folder, rifling through the papers inside.

Crossland laughed, then casually slid his hands inside his dress pants pockets. “That’s a full background check,” he said. “My entire history, right down to the ticket I got last week for speeding.” He came closer to me, tapping the papers in my hand. “Everything in here usually requires an NDA signature before reading.”

I glanced up at him. “And yet here you are, handing it over to me,” I said unable to hide the bitterness in my tone after the long ass day. “I feel so special. If I get on my knees right now, will you throw in an extra million?”

I regretted the words the second they flew from my lips.

This wasn’t his fault. It was my shitty attitude thanks to the day I’d had, and I was taking it out on him.

Crossland took a step back, smirking with nothing but challenge in his eyes.

“I don’t pay for sex, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and rough. “And if you’re so offended by my offer,” he said, pointing toward the door. “You’re more than welcome to get the fuck out.”