Auctioned to the Billionaire

“Felicity, I’m not sure you’ve ever met my father, Alexander. The”—I stop myself before I can fling a name at the trophy, clenching my teeth into a smile. “This is his new wife, Jessica.”

“I’ve met your dad.” I don’t miss the way her nose wrinkles when she admits it. If I know my father, he probably tried to proposition her for a blow job in exchange for a job at Cade. “It’s nice to meet you, Jessica.”

“York,” Alexander repeats, frowning and clicking his fingers together like he’s trying to place her. “You’re not Kevin York’s little girl—”

“Our check is here,” I cut him off, grateful for our waiter’s intrusion. The way my father’s looking at Flick—like he’d drop the trophy in a fucking heartbeat just to get a taste—makes me want to grab him by his thick neck. I need to get away from them and fast before I follow through. Challenging his stare as I add in a tip and scribble my name across the bottom of the receipt, I shove away from the table and stuff my credit card in my wallet.

“Maybe some other time, though,” I say through a tight smile.

Felicity looks bewildered as I rush her out of the restaurant and to my car, but I can’t peel out of the parking garage fast enough. “She seemed … nice,” she whispers, and I snort.

“Nice and fake at the tune of about a half a million dollars in plastic surgery.”

“You keep up with your step-mother’s expenses?” she laughs. I can tell she’s trying to soften my mood, but it won’t help. I grip the steering wheel.

“I don’t give a fuck what my step-mother does. I did, however, care what money my wife was blowing all over the place.” When her mouth drops open and she stares at me blankly, I confirm her curiosity with my next statement. “Yes, Little Flick. I was married to Jessica before she decided to go for the Cade with loose pockets.”

10

Felicity

For the second time tonight, Jackson has rendered me speechless, but this silence isn’t at all welcome. I was already aware that his father was a terrible son-of-a-bitch from my encounters with him at my dad’s restaurant. After Jackson’s story about how Alexander had treated his mother on her death bed, nothing about the man should have surprised me, but I’m stunned. Parents are supposed to protect their children, not screw them over by not only bedding but marrying their exes.

Hell, I hadn’t even realized Jackson had an ex.

The whole situation is like something off a Jerry Springer episode and it makes my skin crawl.

After his revelation about Jessica and Alexander, Jackson is frighteningly quiet. My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach when he zooms the Jaguar past the exit to The Brighton and his penthouse. He’s taking me home. A couple of weeks ago, I would have never believed that I would be so disappointed at Jackson Cade for avoiding me, but my chest aches at the thought of him shutting me out. I don’t want him to spend the night alone, angry about people who are toxic and undeserving of him. I want him with me. I don’t care if it’s inside of me, beside me, across from me—I just want Jackson with me.

Stealing a glance at him out of the corner of my eye, I swallow hard when I see a muscle tic in his jaw.

The sad part is, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry your skeevy father hooked up with your wife, but please don’t take me home without talking first doesn’t exactly seem like the right words. So, I sit quietly, staring at the back of my hands. When he pulls up to the curb in front of my apartment, I touch his shoulder.

Flinching, he looks at me. “I’m sorry, Flick.”

“Come upstairs with me,” I say huskily. He starts to shake his head, but I lean over the center console, holding his face between my hands. “Please, Jackson.”

He takes in my expression for a long time, but I challenge him, daring him to say no, praying that he won’t. Finally, he nods. “All right, sweet. For you.” He pulls around the building to park, kills the ignition and stuffs his keys into the pocket of his dress pants. “I’m not sure I can stay long.”

I bob my head even though my heart and brain simultaneously scream at me not to let him go.

Entering my apartment, I’m relieved to find a short, sweet note from Wendy—If by some chance you come home from playing with the pussy pumper tonight, I’m spending the night with Erik! I toss the note in the trash, then find the ingredients for my best friend’s signature Coke and rum. While I prepare one for both of us, I hear him on his phone in the other room, speaking to someone in a hushed voice. He’s wrapping up the call by the time I’m done mixing our drinks, but I hang out in the kitchen an extra couple of minutes before I approach him.