Page 73 of Devoured
“A quarter of a million over the asking price.”
I rubbed my forehead. Good old New York real estate. I had the money and could easily beat that offer, but I hated spending money when I didn’t have to. I wanted to kick myself in the shins. There were better ways to invest when you bought the property for the best price. But because I had stayed for far too long in Sage City, because I hadn’t made any moves forward, because I had let my dick get in the way, I had almost lost my chance at my next project.
“Got it,” I said. I held back a sigh. “I want to tour the place. Can you hold out on that buyer?”
“Anything for you, Price,” Mills said. “What should I tell him the counteroffer is?”
“Add twenty-five thousand.”
“That’s hardly anything. Chump change. I could—”
“Hold out for me, will you? Give me a few days.”
“As long as you make it worth my while,” he said through his teeth. “When can I expect you?”
And then I did it again. I could have been on a plane that night if I wanted, but I needed a couple more days to talk to Iris, to get everything settled, to make sure that she could handle everything on her own.
Two days, then I would fly out, see the club, and decide whether I could make it into a shining new pearl.
Since it was a short trip to the Dahlia District and back, I drove myself. I walked to my car, cursing under my breath at the moisture in the air. Out of boredom, I weaved in and out of traffic, trying to make myself forget that this was it. That this was one of the last times that I would have to make the trip to the town of Cresting Heights, to the once gilded elite billionaires club, now a club that barely survived through sexual slavery. Soon, I could bury myself in pills and booze and forget about the intricate tattoos, her short black hair, the freckle on her neck, her soft pink lips that she painted purple, her big dark-rimmed eyes that haunted me. In my dreams. In my waking life. Everywhere.
The orange flowers covering the overhangs leading up to the main building were too bright, clashing with the brick walls. It was as if Dahlia had thought that a tropical flower would distract the club members from the fact that they were engaging in sex trafficking. I had wanted to rip out those fiery buds since day one, but they hadn’t irritated me as much then as they did right now.
I could have opened the apartment myself. Flung open the door. Demanded her attention. I had my own key, and I technically owned the building. But I opted to knock. Iris answered the door, no makeup on, her hair in a half ponytail, most of the strands sticking out at the sides, too short to be held back.
“Roland,” she said, stunned. “It’s early. You know I sleep in.”
It was deep into the afternoon by then. “We need to talk,” I said. She hushed at those words and stepped to the side.
“Come in.”
The living room was empty—no couch, no coffee table, no chair, save for a single throw pillow on the floor, one that looked as if Dahlia had accidentally left it behind.
“Why didn’t you buy any furniture?” I asked. I should have done it myself; I knew that she didn’t have any.
“Saving my money,” she said.
“For what?”
She stared at me, not giving an answer. Did she mean that she was still saving it for the club, in case she needed to buy it from me? Damn it. What was she thinking?
“All right,” I said. There was no point in arguing that. “I came to negotiate the transfer of ownership with you.”
“Transfer?”
Her round eyes widened, as if she was permanently shocked or judging everyone, the blush tinting her pale skin to a rosy pink.
“The bet is over,” I said. “I’m giving you the club.”
I don’t know why I said it like that. I wasn’t ‘giving’ her anything. We had made a bet, and she had earned it like she had said she would. But something inside of me wanted to make her feel gratitude toward me.
Those big eyes blinked rapidly. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s over,” I said. “The club is yours. We’ll have some paperwork, but that’s it.”
She swayed slightly, then folded her arms across her stomach. “But does that mean—”
“It means what it means,” I said sharply. “You did it. You can have your club.”
