The Auction (Club Indulgence Duet, #1)(72)

Riggs: How many songs have you written?





Me: Six. Will you come home now?





Riggs: Put on the blue dress. No panties.





Me: Why?





Riggs: I'll pick you up for dinner at eight. Be ready.





I don't ask any more questions. Riggs picks me up, and it's like nothing has happened, as if he never left. We go to dinner, and it feels like a date. He even lets me kiss him all night. Several times, he initiates it. But in the back of my mind, I remind myself to be careful.

There is no normalcy with Riggs. And eventually, this will all end. Somehow, I need to figure out how to let him go.





22





Riggs

One Month Later





"I'm being hacked! All my personal accounts and the bank freezes aren't working!" Hugh declares over the phone.

My grin grows wider. I utilize my most concerned voice. "Are the business accounts safe?"

"George confirmed there's no breach," he states.

Fucking liar.

I continue, "That's good to hear."

Hugh booms, "But I'm getting drained!"

I add, "That sucks. I'm sure the bank will figure it out though. Best to stay calm. Besides, the bank has to refund your money if it's a hack."

"They have. But as soon as they refund me, another hack occurs."

"Maybe you should move banks," I suggest, rolling my deodorant over my armpit.

"It's happening at all five places my accounts are at," he frets.

"Shit," I mutter, but I know he's in it deeper than he's stating. The offshore accounts don't refund your money in the event of a hack. Jones looked into it. When he confirmed, it only made everything sweeter. I guess that's the price you pay for screwing over your business partner and clients.

"Someone's after me!" Hugh claims.

"Sounds like it," I agree, knowing it'll only make him more paranoid.

"Who the fuck has the balls to come after me?" he barks.

I stare at my reflection, giddy. I answer, "Someone with big balls."

He grunts.

"I have to go. Stay calm. It'll all get worked out. If anything happens to our business accounts, notify me immediately." I hang up before he can say anything else.

I whistle as I get dressed, feeling like I just took a hit of a really potent drug. Hugh's call came after I sent him a picture of Blakely in a white bra and panty set. I wrote a little note to go with it.

Me: Maybe I'll marry her and knock her up.





A slew of pissed-off texts followed.

Hugh: I know who you are, you son of a bitch.





Me: Sure you do.





Hugh: Deliver my daughter to me tonight. Or I'm putting a hit on your head.





Me: You'd have to know who I am to do that. And you don't.





He continued tossing texts at me, even though I stopped responding. Ten minutes later, I got the call.

"You're in a good mood," Blakely declares, stepping into the closet.

I tug her into me and kiss her.

She freezes, then kisses me back.

It's something that happens more often every time I kiss her. I don't know why she freezes. She never used to. I chalk it up that I'm taking her by surprise and don't linger on it like I sometimes do. Nothing is going wrong today. I proclaim, "I am. Today's your big day."

Nervousness floods her features.

I peck her lips and assert, "Don't be nervous. You said you were ready."

She takes a deep breath, smiles, and nods. "You're right. I am."

"That's my girl!" I praise, then pat her ass. "Get ready so we're not late. Traffic's going to be a bitch." I leave the room and reply to a few emails, continuing to feel like I'm on top of the world.

Blakely appears, wearing ripped designer jeans, an oversized lavender sweater, and brown ankle boots. She chose it when I took her shopping last weekend. Her hair hangs in her natural beachy waves, and she has minimal makeup on.

"You look great," I tell her.

She puts on a brave smile.

I chuckle. "Are you always nervous before a performance?"

"This isn't the same thing," she claims.

"But are you normally nervous?"

She hesitates, then shakes her head. "No."

"Then I have an idea."

"What's that?" she questions.

I rise, take off her gold collar, and drape an eggplant purple one around her neck. Diamonds sparkle around it, and there's only one ring. It's on the back, hidden. I bought it for her when she told me what she was wearing to record.

She reaches up and traces over it. She says, "I think I'm going to have the most expensive choker collection on Earth."

I grin. "You mean collar collection."

She rolls her eyes.

I suggest, "Why don't you just pretend you're on stage instead of in a studio."

Her face falls again. "It's not that easy."