Page 53 of Shared By the Highest Bidder

“Dad.” His face turns pale gray.

“Is there a problem over here?” The prick glares at me. “Getting a littleloud.”

Loud. Like how we fucked in his pool house in Connecticut that weekend.

“No,” I answer because I’m not afraid of Francis fucking Ives.

The manager comes back, sneering.

“We feel it’s best if you leave. We are packing up your food. You can grab the boxes by the hostess.”

“You’re throwingmeout of here?” I get to my feet again.

“What’s going on?” Bernadette asks, coming up behind me.

“Shit.” Emery tugs her close to him. “The old man is here.”

“Keep your shitty food.” I take out my wallet.

“It’s been paid for,” Francis says, pressing on a cane.

“You’re something else, Dad.” Ash stands up and tosses his napkin. “You spent a fortune on lawyers to keep my money from me, but you’ll gladly throw it around to pay for a meal I didn’t even eat.”

My blood boils under my skin watching Ash suffer this indignity.

As we leave, something happens that halts me in my tracks. Ash grabs my hand. I squeeze it tight, signaling that I’m here.

I’ve got your back.

And fuck, I want him on his back.

We get outside, and I see Emery and Bernie heading toward a food cart I recognize. It’s a famous one in the city that draws a line around the block.

Emery being Emery, he goes to the side door, and after handing over what I’m sure are hundreds, a moment later he’s got four containers. Bernie follows juggling two sodas, two waters, plastic tableware, and napkins.

We find a spot to sit and the four of us eat the best damn chicken and lamb kabobs over cilantro rice.

I glance at us, lined up, sitting on a short wall, especially Bernie, happily eating with her legs kicking.

Had anything like that debacle in the restaurant happened without her, the three of us would have just stalked off to be alone. None of us want to leave Bernadette.

Even Emery, the workaholic, has been away from his desk longer than I’ve seen in years.

I’ll get Bernie all night when I get home. The idea of that bath of hers, in my house, under my roof excites me.

But right now, I’m sitting with Ashton, his thigh brushing against mine, relaxed and not tense. Maybe tense if he’s thinking what I’m thinking.

I sneak a look at him. He and Bernadette are laughing at the absurdity of it all. But he’s leaning into me.

When he turns his head and gives a slow-building smile, it knocks the wind out of me.

We’re healing.

It feels good to be part of this... Whatever the hell this is.

I like it.

ELEVEN

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