Page 53 of Sugar

What the hell does that mean?

Since he was right that I hadn’t looked, I opened the attachment again. And then I grabbed my glasses because I was an ancient fucker who’d begun complaining about small font sizes and music being better in my day.

I stood by both.

Even with them, I had to zoom in to skim the list. There were some high-profile names, but that didn’t warrant his efforts. The whole place catered to the elite. I was about to respond to tell him to get to the point when my gaze shot to the bottom of the list, the name nearly hidden underneath a pen.

My gut clenched.

My heart slammed.

And my dick hardened.

Maddie B.

What are the chances that’s a coincidence?

But I knew.

Me: You’re fucking with me.

Cohen: Like I said, just thought you’d like to know. Do with the information what you will.

Me: Take her name out and send her home.

Cohen: She made the choice. She’s an adult.

Me: Barely.

Cohen: Ah. Is that your hang-up?

Yes. I didn’t want to be another Hollywood putz who pathetically chased women half his age. Maddie wasn’t that young, but I was cutting it close.

I didn’t tell him that.

Me: She’s also not a member.

Cohen: I made an exception.

Me: You never make exceptions.

Cohen: I made an exception to never making exceptions. She’ll be good for business.

Not if I torch the place to the ground if someone so much as touches her.

I had no claim on the pretty college student who’d been haunting my fantasies and fueling my self-given orgasms. I wanted her. Fuck, did I want her. But she was too young for me. Too sweet. Too good.

She’d blushed and been flustered by the barely PG-13 things happening at the bar, and because I was a sick bastard, I’d wanted to drag her into the back rooms. I’d wanted to watch that flush spread across her perky tits when she saw the tools that lined the walls. I’d needed to know if her fuckable lips would part when she heard the pleasured moans and pained screams echo through the space. I’d wanted to be the one to show hereverything. It had taken every ounce of my control to walk her from the building instead.

I’d spent the week fighting the urge to call her—or manipulate another run-in at Coastal—by telling myself that she was off-limits.

And she’d spent the week planning to put herself up for auction?

It’s her choice. She can do what she wants.

I just hope she knows what the hell she’s getting herself into.

Tossing my phone down, I clicked the mouse to open my next email.

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