Worth More Than Money (Worth It 3)

“Let me know if I can be of any further assistance.”

“Trust me, I will.”

I hung up the phone and called my pilot immediately. I told him to gas up and set his sights for Williston, North Dakota. I packed up my shit and hopped into my car, figuring I’d shower on the way there. I raced as fast as I could towards O’Hare, then turned my rental car in. After scheduling another one to be picked up once I got to my destination, I boarded my private jet and sat down in my regular seat.

As we ascended and settled into our flight altitude, I wondered what it would be like to see her again. She’d probably be angry at me. I could expect to be slapped, at least. The bitterness my soul refused to let go of warred with the fact that I just missed her. I missed her voice and her presence. I missed her warmth and her innocence. I missed the woman I had come to know her as, and the idea that it all still might be a ruse killed me inside.

The seatbelt sign went off and I unbuckled myself, shoving all of my longing for her to the back of my mind. I needed to clean myself up. I needed to shower and shave. I needed to put my best foot forward in order to stand a chance at getting her to talk to me. I had to focus on the fact that there was still the smallest chance that she wanted to screw me over. The smallest chance that she was still after my money, despite the wild goose chase I was on to find her.

After all, if that child was Andy’s, the idea of raising that child alone was better than doing it in that duplex with a suicidal drunkard.

But at the back of my mind, a truth whispered into the darkness. A truth I refused to acknowledge.

And I wouldn’t acknowledge it until I had undeniable proof that my child was growing inside Michelle.

Chapter 12

Michelle

“Thanks for the beer, sweet cheeks!”

I jumped at the slap on my ass before I cringed. It was the third one that night, and I was ready to hang up my apron and go home. Nick’s job offer had been real. Trey—a friend of his from high school—did have a bar called Devil’s Delight. And he was in dire need of waitresses. It seemed like a classy joint, but it was filled with a bunch of sex-hungry, oiled-up field workers who enjoyed getting handsy with his staff.

I quickly saw why he had such a high turnover rate when it came to waitresses.

No amount of classiness could make the customers behave themselves. Only the owners could do that. But with Williston being a small town, turning away any sort of business meant there was a chance of going under. So, I dealt with the ass slaps and the cat calls and the crude comments from the regulars.

They also tipped well, so I didn’t open my mouth.

It didn’t help that women outnumbered men in my hometown. Which meant I got way more attention than I wanted. Though sometimes, the tips weren’t always worth it. On my first night, I walked away with four hundred dollars in my pocket. But I also walked away with a sore ass, slight bruise on my upper arm from where a man had grabbed me after I refused to sit on his lap, and the disgusting taste of smoke when a man tried to stick his nasty tongue down my throat.

Four hundred dollars was a lot of money to save back for my

child, but it came at a high cost. Which meant I’d have to become friendly with the annoyance of being utterly manhandled in front of an owner that didn’t give a shit about his staff.

“Another drink over here, sweet lips! There’s a tip in it for you if you let me pluck it from that bosom of yours.”

“Titty shot! Titty shot! Titty shot!”

I drew in a deep breath and forced a smile on my cheeks, then picked up a tray full of empty beer mugs so I could go wash them in the back. I brushed past everyone and set them down in the sink, holding back my tears as Trey followed me. He tried to give me a pep talk and reassure me that stunts like that wouldn’t be allowed in his bar. I wanted to snap at him and ask him where the hell he was when a man accosted me so badly he left a damn bruise on my arm.

But I simply let it be while he settled the chanting men down.

Washing the mugs with the soapy water got me covered in it as well. The damn faucet never worked right, and every once in a while the angle would turn and soak me in scalding hot water. I yelped and reached for a rag, trying to towel myself off a bit before I got back to my job. After I ran the mugs through the sanitizer, I walked back out.

As I came around the bar, I looked up to check my tables, bit they stopped at the shadowed one in the corner. It was a table I was responsible for, but no one ever sat at it. It was far away from the crowd and underneath a light that hadn’t been working since I’d started there. But the pair of eyes that locked with mine sent chills running throughout my body.

What in the world was Grayson MacDonald doing in Williston?

I turned on my heels without a second thought and made my way to the back room. The door swung shut and I reached for a towel, trying to dab at the tears running down my cheeks. He was there. Out there. Sitting at one of my tables. My entire body shook and my stomach rolled with nausea. And soon, the door behind me opened up.

“I’m sorry, Trey. Just give me a few seconds and I’ll—”

“Who’s Trey?”

My eyes widened at the sound of his voice as a heat approached my back.

“My boss,” I said, as I turned around. “The guy that owns the place.”