"You still haven't heard from her?" Aaron asked, waving at a waitress walking by.

Looking at the glass my hand clutched, I shook my head. "No. I think she blocked my number because all my text messages return to me as undeliverable, and all phone calls are redirected. I get no voicemail, no nothing. And the same goes for emails. No response, which means she blocked that too—or had them sent to her spam folder."

"It's been three weeks. You'd think you would have heard or seen her by now."

"One would think. But not me."

"What about Isabelle? Hasn't she heard from her?"

I shot him a look of what do you think? She's her best friend. So, of course, she's heard from her. And she was most likely told not to tell me anything about Eloise's whereabouts or anything about her.

"Nevermind. That was an idiotic question. Of course, she's heard from her. But what has she said?"

"That I'm an asshole."

"From her mouth or Eloise's?"

"Eloise. The thing is, I didn't do anything fucking wrong. What she saw was nothing her mind told her she was seeing."

I understand what she saw didn't look good on my part. But I was completely innocent. And for Eloise not to give me a chance to explain and defend myself pisses me off. When I told her I was a changed man, I fucking meant it. When I told her I was tired of going from one woman to the next, I meant that too. And when I told her I was ready to settle down and look to the future—with her—I meant that as well.

I meant all of it.

I know I screwed up with Eloise for canceling our lunch date so I could meet with Arnie, Skye, Ian, and Tawny that day, and what she came across may have looked bad. Something I'm sure I would have reacted about also, but instead of her jumping the gun and assuming I canceled our plans so I could have a groupie, she should have confronted me and asked me what the fuck was going on rather than running away and hiding from me.

"The rest of the group are here," Aaron warned, sliding his chair closer to me to allow the group to fit in at our table.

The amber-colored drink stared me in the face; I wanted to slam it down my throat instead of sipping it. And I wanted to tell the waitress to keep em' coming or just to leave the bottle at the table so I could drown in my sorrows and continue telling my drunken self, this is why I don't do relationships, but I don't. I just do what I always do—relish my drink by sipping it.

But as I sit here, stewing about Eloise assuming the worse, the more I want to throw my drink across the bar.

Isabelle sat next to me, resting her hand on my thigh. "She's probably going to kill me for telling you this, but I can't take this shit anymore. I spoke to Eloise this afternoon." My head whipped in her direction. "She's back from Washington."

"Washington? What was she doing there?"

She bit her bottom lip with an apologetic look in her eye. Mason... she was visiting Mason.

"Visiting a friend, I guess."

"Mason," I muttered, my heart letting me know it was on the verge of breaking.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "But don't worry," she added, patting my leg, assuring me all was good. "She didn't go there to become Mason's girlfriend. Eloise said she went there to escape everything here so she could think straight." Isabelle looked me in the eye with sincerity. "She also admitted she went there to talk to him about you. She felt she couldn't talk to her sister or us about you because we were close. She wanted someone else's perspective on things, someone that knew you but wasn't close to you."

"And Mason was the best person she felt she could talk to?" I snapped.

Isabelle shrugged. "He talked some sense into her, at least."

Frustrated, my hand tightened around my glass. "And how did that go?" I looked around the bar, then returned my eyes to Isabelle's. "I don't see her here coming to me to apologize for overreacting. Which is exactly what she fucking did."

Yes, I'm angry, as I have every right to be.

My eyes narrowed. "Where is she now?"

She shrugged. "I have no idea. All she told me was that she was back."

Isabelle knows where Eloise is. I can see it written on her face. I've known Isabelle for a long time and have picked up whenever she lies; the birthmark on her neck brightens.

And it's bright as fuck right now.

I should call her out on the lie—but I won't. With the anger that's been building inside me these last three weeks, I know if I were to call Isabelle out, I'd end up saying things I don't mean. Then Rory will get involved, and it'll be one huge fight.

So, I settled by saying, "Whatever."

"See what being a womanizer all these years did to you? It hurt your fucking reputation and chances of ever having a decent relationship, Callum," Greyson scolded. "Eloise was probably the best woman to have ever entered your life, and you screwed it up."

I ripped the glass from my mouth, slamming it on the table, responding to him with gritted teeth, "I did nothing wrong. Nothing..."

"I understand you did nothing wrong. But your history with women isn't the greatest, my friend. And because of how you were with not wanting to be exclusive with anyone for years, and seeing you walking out of a private room with a pregnant woman and others following behind, I can see where Eloise's mind was. She thought the worse. Which is expected. So, Callum. What will you do to prove to her that she's worth giving up having one-night stands and meaningless sex as you've been? What will you do to show her you'd rather spend the rest of your life with her? If that's what you want, of course."

Whatever it fucking takes. That's what I'll do. Because Eloise is who I want to spend the rest of my life with. And I will do everything I can to show her; I meant every fucking word when it comes to her and me.

***

Just for shits and giggles, I tried calling and messaging Eloise in case she had unblocked me. And, of course, no surprise there. I'm still fucking blocked—for no fucking reason.

When I entered my kitchen and saw the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue sitting at the center of my counter, I immediately headed for it. Instead of grabbing a glass and pouring myself a drink, I brought the bottle to my lips, wrapped my mouth around it, and chugged. Chugging on it like my life depended on it until my phone rang.

I yanked the bottle from my mouth, liquid splashing everywhere, and slammed it on the counter. Then, seeing it was Trent's name on the screen, I ignored it. After all, this is his fault Eloise called things off between us.

Well, he didn't, really. But right now, it sounds fucking right to accuse him of what happened. He was the one who called and told me I needed to get to the club right away. He was the one who told me to cancel my plans with Eloise. He was the one who could have told Arnie that we could have met later since I had just landed after being away for a few days.

So yeah, I'm a little bitter toward him.

However, I also can't blame him entirely, either. I have a voice. I could have insisted we meet later that day. But no. My mistake was I was thinking about my girl and how happy she'd be to see I bought her a club for her to run.

My fucking apologies for thinking about a woman I'm fucking crazy about.

I grabbed the bottle off the counter and headed to my room, drinking from the bottle along the way.

What will you do to prove to her that she's worth giving up having one-night stands and meaningless sex as you've been?

What will you do to show her you'd rather spend the rest of your life with her? If that's what you want, of course.

It is what I fucking want. But, apparently, it isn't what she wants. If she did, she would have had more faith in me.

I changed into my gray sweatpants and a t-shirt, grabbed the bottle off my dresser, then headed back into the living room to continue drowning my sorrows while channel surfing.

That was, until my phone rang again.

"Go the fuck away. Quit calling me," I snapped, ignoring my phone.

My phone rang again as I took another drink from the bottle. "Christ. If I didn't answer it the last couple of times you called, what makes you think I'll answer now?" I muttered, then angrily rose from the couch when it rang again.

Pissed off, I marched into the kitchen, snatched my phone off the counter, and answered it, shouting, "What?"

"Where are you?"

"Home. Why?"

"Get your ass down to the fucking club—right fucking now."

"No."

"No?"

"That's what I fucking said, isn't it? The last time you insisted I drop everything to get to the club, it cost me, my girl."

"If you don't get to the club, you will surely lose your girl."

My heart stopped, and then it dropped into the pit of my stomach. "What?"

"She's going on the auction block. And there are six people in front of her. If she's worth it, I suggest you quit feeling sorry for yourself and get your ass—"

I hung up on Trent, not giving him a chance to finish his sentence, and against my better judgment, I grabbed my keys and flew out of my house and out of my driveway in a flash.

If this is Eloise's way of wanting to see how much I care about her, she will fucking see how serious I am about her.

Greyson asked what I'd do to prove to Eloise she was the only one I wanted in my life. Well, Greyson, the answer to your question will be proved tonight—that is, if I make it to her in time.

"Hey, Callum, how are you tonight?" Summer, the woman behind the counter, asked as I stormed past the line of people—the same woman Eloise insists looks like Lydia Deetz.

"I'll be better once I find my girl," I snapped harsher than needed to be.

I could have sworn I had seen her lips curve into a victory smile if I knew any better. Like she knows what's going on. And instead of asking why she was smirking the way she was, I continued marching past the crowd and security and through the corridors to get to the auction area.

"Fifty thousand dollars!" A guy shouted.

"Fifty-Five thousand!" A man countered.

They better not be bidding on my girl. I took longer strides, and once I got to the auction area and saw the woman on stage, my heart fell—they were bidding on Eloise.

Fuck, she looked beautiful—and she was way too revealing for my blood. And it angered me more than I was already. She wasn't naked per se, but she might as well be. She's wearing the string bikini I bought for her in Hawaii, her wavy honey-colored hair cascading down her body like a beautiful waterfall, and her lips lined brightly with red lipstick.

She was also clearly nervous about what she was doing. And the higher the bids came in, the more nervous I noticed her eyes were becoming.

The bid was at one-hundred-twenty-five grand, so I fucking shouted, "Two-hundred-fifty grand," doubling it.

And some fucking prick doubled mine, pissing me off.

Let the bidding war commence.

"One million!" I shouted, glaring at the young punk bidding against me. Rico Suave, as Aaron calls the little fucker.

Take that fuckface.

"Two million!" he countered.

Asshole.

"Four million!" I yelled, my eyes on the young sack of shit. My eyes darted to Eloise, then back to the young prick, wondering if he'll go higher.

Eloise craned her neck, looking more nervous than when I arrived. With the room filled with five hundred or so people and me blending in through the crowd, I'm pretty sure she had no idea it was me fighting for her—out of my comfort zone, no less. I'm here in my sweatpants and a t-shirt instead of my suit and fucking tie.

All for her... I didn't care what I was wearing or what I looked like. Eloise is worth me coming out looking like a slum instead of looking like someone important.

"Five million!" the asshole finally shouted.

All eyes were on me, which was fine. They'll all see this woman isn't going anywhere with anyone other than me. And if we have to bid all fucking night, then so be it.

Because just to prove a point, I'll bid until I'm fucking broke—that's how much Eloise means to me.

I don't care about what I have in my accounts—I only care about her.

Take that, Greyson—you asked, I'm delivering.

"Ten fucking million!"

There were a lot of oohs and ahhs going on in the room, a lot of staring, and a lot of eyes going back and forth from me to Rico Suave, and I didn't even fucking care. I blocked them out. I cared only about getting my stubborn girl back.

Even if it breaks the fucking bank.

"Eleven million!"

The kid is slowing down. So seeing if he'll continue fighting me and to prove to Eloise I'll keep going higher until he concedes, and she's mine, I'll continue upping the ante.

"Fifty fucking million!" I yelled, glaring at the young punk glaring at me.

"You can fucking have her," he shouted at me.

"Do I hear fifty-one million?" the shocked auctioneer asked—looking around the room, waiting to hear any counter offers, and when there were none, he shouted, "Fifty million going once. Fifty million going twice. Fifty million sold to the guy in pajamas!"

"Pajamas," I scoffed. It's called comfortable clothing before one goes to bed.

"Winner of silver lining, please go on stage and get your prize."

Silver lining... she knew what she was doing—she did this to fucking test me.

Prize... she is my prize. I don't know what I did for me to deserve her then, but someone rewarded her to me back when we were in Florida.

And I'm not about to hand my winnings over to anyone—she's mine for life.

Eloise's eyes widened when I stormed on stage and straight to her. Without saying a word, I pulled her to me, lifting her and throwing her over my shoulder like the caveman she's accused me of being.

"I can walk," she hissed.

"So can I."

"I mean, put me down, Callum. I can walk myself," she groaned.

"No."

"Yes," she barked.

So I barked back. "No. I don't need you running from me again—for no fucking reason. It's time to get everything out in the open. Like I had planned to do three fucking weeks ago."

She knew I was right because her body went limp, and she quit fighting me. Using my card, and not caring if anyone was in room number eight because I'll just throw them out, anyway, I slid it into the slot, then shoved the door open when the light turned green.

Once the door shut and locked the door, I marched her to a chair, set her in it, then secured her to it by handcuffing her wrists and ankles to it, wanting to be sure she wasn't going anywhere.

"You're an asshole," she groaned when I locked the last handcuff to her ankle.

I wanted to chuckle at the remark, but didn't. This was no laughing matter.

I rose back to my feet, and with my eyes on her, I folded my arms against my chest. "Look at me, Eloise."

"No."

My eyes closed as my nose flared. "I'm not going to ask you again. Look at me. Please."

After a minute or so, she finally turned to face me. "Happy?"

"Not yet."

I won't be happy until you hear me out.

Her eyes slowly traveled from mine down my body, and then they shot up after I cleared my throat. "Yes, I'm wearing fucking sweats. I didn't get a chance to change into something more appropriate. And to be honest, I don't give a flying fuck. I came here to set things straight and to fight for the woman I promised to give the world, who seems to think I was full of shit."

She huffed. "You've got a funny way of showing your promises."

My head cocked to the side. "Do I? Because I remember telling you I promised to tell you everything after dealing with my brother. But I wasn't given a chance to explain anything because someone jumped the fucking gun, immediately thinking the worse, and took off."

Her eyes lowered to the ground, quietly asking, "Who was she? Were you the one who knocked her up?"

"Her name was Skye, and no. I didn't fucking knock her up. She was there with her husband, brother-in-law, and sister-in-law. Arnie, Ian, and Tawny."

Her eyes finally met mine when I mentioned Ian's name. "The art museum guy?"

I nodded. "Yes. Him. Arnie is his brother. Skye is Arnie's wife. And Ian and Tawny are obviously married. She's the painter I told you about."

"Oh," she whispered.

"Yeah, oh," I hissed. "And what you saw was me escorting her out of the room to show her where the restroom was after she got sick."

She swallowed, returning her eyes to the ground. "I thought that you were in there entertaining her. And when I saw the others walk out behind you, I thought you were all in there having a... you know..."

"I know exactly what you were thinking, Eloise. And had you confronted us, demanding to know what was going on, you would have immediately gotten your answer. But no. You chose to assume the worse, take off, leave the ring I gave you behind, move your shit out of my place, and skip town—to see Mason, of all people."

"What were you doing in that room?" she asked, her eyes lifting to mine.

"Showing them around. And comparing our sex club to theirs. Trent also asked if Tawny could paint him some pictures to hang in the rooms. So we brought them in each room Trent wanted pictures in, with each painting being different—the way each room is—to make the rooms more personal, to make the people renting the rooms feel as if they were in their own home."

"I feel stupid."

"As you should." I probably shouldn't have said that to her, but I'm too fricken angry to be nice right now. Furious, she didn't give me a chance to explain what she saw then and how it took three weeks to finally get the opportunity to tell my side of the story.

"I'm sorry."

She should be sorry, but I kept that to myself.

"I'm sorry, I just cost you fifty million dollars. That wasn't my intention at all."

"I don't care about the money, Eloise. What I care about is you. If the fucking bidding went up to a billion dollars, I still would have thrown more money at it. I was determined to stay all night to continue bidding until I was fucking broke. That's how much I care about you and want only you in my life."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her throat clearly sounding like it was suffocating with tears. "I fucked up."

"Yeah, you did." And I don't care if that sounded mean, because she needs to know I'm not fucking around. I'm serious about her. She also needs to know my love for her isn't fake. It's real. I don't tell many people I love them. And when they get that kind of affection from me, it means they're special to me. I only tell the people I care about, and who mean the world to me I love them. And that says a lot because there aren't too many people I say that to.

Only a select few.

"How did you know to find me here?"

"I'm sure you know the answer to that," I snapped, "but in case you don't know. Trent called me, informing me you put yourself into tonight's auction."

"I'll return your money," she quietly said.

"I told you. I don't want the money. The twenty percent you made tonight off my bid is yours. And if you want more than the ten million you just made, just tell me. I'll add it to your account in the morning."

"I don't want your money, Callum. I don't even care about money. What I want is you. I want us," she pleaded, tears escaping her eyes. "But I also know there can't be an us if you're still hung up on your ex."

My hands lowered to my hips. "I'm not hung up on her, Eloise. And had you given me the opportunity to explain why I went to Oregon, you'd know why I went there. Three weeks ago, you would have learned I was there to say my final goodbye to Victoria and her family. To let them know I had found someone worth giving my heart one hundred percent to, and not just partially. To tell them I had fallen in love with you, that in order for me to secure my future with you, I needed to let her go."

I dropped to my knees and inched my way between her legs. "I love you, Eloise. I never said it to you because I felt it was something you wanted to hear. I told you that because I do love you. I've never loved anyone as much as I do now—more than I ever loved Victoria."

Her breathing hitched. "You do?"

"Yes. Like I told you before. You're my weakness, Eloise. You've been my weakness ever since my eyes landed on you in Florida. And I'll keep repeating myself until I'm blue in the face and until you realize I'm telling you the truth. I'd do anything for you. And I mean anything."

An expression I couldn't read appeared on her face. And then her eyebrows grouped together. "What do you mean, anything? What did you do?"

My hand raised to the corner of my mouth, and as I itched it, I admitted, "The day you freaked out over nothing was when I bought you a sex club of your own from Arnie and Skye. And the day prior, I bought us our own private jet so you can fly wherever you feel like visiting whenever you feel like it. And now that there's a sex club involved—in Minneapolis. You'll be able to fly there whenever your stubborn little heart desires to check on the club or whenever you wish us to use it."

"So that's where the six million dollars went," she whispered.

Yeah. That's exactly where the fucking money I couldn't care less about went—money I forgot to inform Emma about after I had asked her to balance my account. The money you and Emma saw missing that caused this entire mess.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter!! 🤞🤞