"Just dinner. Conversation. It doesn't have to be more than that unless you want it to be."
"Are you serious right now?" My fingers tighten around the phone. “Let me guess… You’re going to offer me another fifty thousand dollars for the privilege.”
“Yes, I’m completely serious, and no, I’m not offering you money. Like you said… you’re not a whore.”
The audacity stuns me. How dare he put me in this situation? Yet beneath my outrage burns something else—something dark and hungry that whispers how easy it would be to say yes.
"Do you think I'm that desperate?" My voice shakes with anger. "That I'd risk everything for you?”
"Jenna, that's not—"
"I'm not free, Caine." The words come out sharp, brittle.
"I know… I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did." My hands are trembling now. "You think because you're rich, you can have anything—anyone—you want."
"That's not what this is about… this isn’t about sex.”
"Then what is it about?" I demand, but I don't wait for his answer. "Don't call me again."
I hang up, throw the phone down like it's burned me. Oliver startles and sprints off. My chest heaves with each breath, anger and arousal warring inside me.
The worst part isn't that he asked.
It's that for one terrible moment, I wanted to say yes.
I so, so badly wanted to say yes.
A few days later, I pace around the kitchen, still worked up, my hands shaking as I pick things up and put them down again. Oliver paws at my feet, but I barely notice. The absolute nerve of that man.
"Who does he think he is?" I mutter, grabbing my laptop from the counter.
I fire up my laptop and make my way upstairs to check on Liam. He's sitting on his bed, playing a game on my old phone, surrounded by stuffed animals.
"What's going on, sweetie. Having another party?"
He smiles up at me. "Everyone is tied of the party now, so we just chillin' now."
I smile. I love the way he sounds like his dad sometimes. "Tired," I repeat. "Not tied." I'm always correcting his speech—I can't help it. But he doesn't seem to mind. It's what his speech therapist does.
"Ti-rrr-ed," he repeats.
"Well, I'll just be on my computer in my room if you want to hang."
"Okay," he says sweetly, focused on his game.
As soon as I sit on my bed, I flip my laptop open. My fingers fly across the keyboard:Caine Hall Portland Maine.
The search results load instantly, and there he is—his face staring back at me from professional headshots and news articles. CEO of Hall Properties and Development Inc. The company's website boastsTransforming Communities Across New England,with photos of finished pristine developments.
Caine ‘The Fox’ Hall. Professional pool player. Multiple championships.
I smile. What a fitting nickname. He definitely is a fox; sly and cunning, clever and playful.
I click through page after page, my annoyance building. Thousands of employees. Charitable foundations. Featured in Forbes. A goddamn billionaire playing games with my life, my marriage, my sanity.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm calling Jessica.
