Auctioned to Him 4: His Addiction

by Charlotte Byrd

  “You don’t understand. I just got fired. I don’t have insurance. And staying in the hospital for two days…that’s going to be, what, close to five thousand dollars? I can’t afford that.”

  “Actually, if you’re not insured, it’ll be close to ten. But that doesn’t matter. You’re not well yet.”

  “Of course it matters!” I brush his hand off my shoulder. He may mean well, but he doesn’t have to pay my bills.

  “Annabelle, you can’t leave now. You just passed out in the park. On the top of Runyon Canyon. They had to airlift you out of there.”

  Oh my God! I can’t hear this anymore. My mind goes blank.

  Airlift.

  “They airlifted me out of there? Like with a helicopter?”

  “Yes, of course. You just passed out, and you wouldn’t come back.”

  “Why didn’t they just leave me there?” I whisper. How was I ever going to pay for that? That was going to be thousands and thousands of dollars that I would never have. I was already saddled with debt for the rest of my life. And now, I was going to be saddled with debt for many lives to come. If there was such a thing!

  “Are you insane?” Maggie Mae is talking to me. But only some of the words are coming through. I start to feel very dizzy again. The room starts to spin.

  “They couldn’t just leave you there!” Maggie Mae adds.

  “She’s going to pass out again!”

  When I open my eyes again, I find myself in a large room with giant windows. The sun is shining, and no one is rushing around me. Soft classical music is playing in the background. The sheets are the softest I’ve ever touched. Egyptian cotton, has to be.

  Sitting up in the bed, I notice that no more harsh fluorescent lights are blinding me. No annoying beeping noises. Come to think of it, this place doesn’t even look like a hospital. Is it a hospital?

  I start to look around for signs of health and decay. No such luck. I look at my wrist and see a wristband with my name, age, and address on it. Yes, it’s a hospital.

  A knock on the door startles me.

  “Can I come in, Ms. York?”

  The voice is familiar. But who does it belong to?

  “Yes,” I say. My voice is frail and uncertain.

  A handsome young man enters. I’ve seen him before. But where? Oh yes, of course!

  “I’m Dr. Elliot Green.” He extends his hand. “I’m terribly sorry about before. That was all too much for you, and I should’ve predicted it. Too much stress and trauma.”

  “What happened?”

  “You don’t remember talking to Maggie Mae? Arguing about whether or not to stay at the hospital.”

  Oh, yes! Everything comes flooding back to me. I have to get out of here. God knows how long I’ve been here this time. And this room looks much more expensive than the last!

  “Before you start worrying again about the bill, I want to tell you that it has been covered. You don’t need to worry about a thing.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s been covered. I shouldn’t be telling you this because we typically keep that kind of information private, but I don’t want you to try to leave again or worry about something you shouldn’t worry about.”

  “Who covered it?”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “You have to tell me. Or I’m leaving.”

  My voice is stronger this time. There’s power behind it, the strength of which surprises both Dr. Green and me.

  “Okay, but you have to promise not to tell anyone. Maggie Mae knows, but that’s about it.”

  I nod.

  “You have to promise me out loud. I’m breaking the law here. If you tell anyone, I can get fired.”

  “Okay, I promise.” I nod again.

  “Gatsby Wild from Wild International is covering the bill. Maggie Mae told me that you know him. He’s your boss.”

  I nod and then shake my head. “No, not anymore. He fired me.”

  “Well, regardless. He came in a couple of days ago, after he found out what happened, and said to send him all of the bills. So you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

  I shake my head. I can’t believe what he’s saying. This can’t be true. Why would Gatsby do this?

  Twenty-four hours later, I’m finally released. Maggie Mae takes me home.

  “No one knows what made you pass out,” Maggie Mae says in the car. “But Elliot suspects that you were severely dehydrated and stressed out.”

  “That is one way of putting it,” I say. “Another way to put it is that I was heartbroken. Am heartbroken.”

  “What possessed you to run up that hill like that, Annabelle? You haven’t worked out in so long. And you didn’t even bring any water with you.”

  “I don’t know. I was just really sad. And I had all of these thoughts swirling inside of my head about everything that happened with Gatsby. I just couldn’t stand it anymore, I had to get away.”

  Maggie Mae doesn’t say anything for awhile. She helps me up the stairs to our second-floor apartment. Then, right before we walk in, she turns to me.

  “Okay, don’t get mad?” she asks. I wait for whatever she’s going to ask me that’s going to make me mad enough for her to say that.

  “Promise? Okay, please promise?”

  “I’m tired of promises,” I sigh.

  “Okay. You weren’t trying to kill yourself, were you? Because that would be really, really stupid, Annabelle. You are such a great person. I love you, lots of people love you. And I would never want to think that you would even consider doing that. Let alone over some guy.”

  I start to laugh.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug, except that the one thing that didn’t occur to me through all of what was going on was trying to kill myself. “To answer your question, no. Of course not. I was just running. I had to run hard and fast, and I wanted to get away from everything.”

  She nods and opens the door.

  “You don’t know what happened, Maggie,” I say, sitting down on the couch. I want to explain everything to her. I don’t want her to think that I’m just some pathetic loser. There was a reason for everything that happened. Well, not everything.

  “Yes, I do,” she nods.

  “What?”

  “Gatsby came by. After you were airlifted out of Runyon Canyon. Apparently, he heard about it on the news.”

  “He came by?”

  “Yes, he came by, and he told me everything. That’s when he offered to pay your bills.”

  I stare at her. I don’t know what to think. When she says everything, does that mean everything about Atticus and their father? No, it couldn’t include that. But without that, none of this makes sense.

  Chapter 36

  A knock at the door breaks my concentration. My head is starting to pound. I don’t care who that is, I don’t want to see anyone. I go to the kitchen to get an aspirin. When I come back, I find Gatsby sitting in my living room.

  “I’m going to give you some time to talk,” Maggie Mae says, grabbing her purse.

  “No, don’t go,” I say.

  “I gotta go to work anyway. It’s going to be fine,” she says and closes the door.

  I can’t believe that she has left me alone with him! I gather the strength to kick him out.

  “I don’t want to see you. I don’t want you here,” I say, turning to face him.

  “I’m just here to see whether or not you’re okay. I was really worried,” he whispers. His vulnerability is disarming, but I remain strong. He did this to me. I hate him. And I want him out.

  “Well, now that you’ve seen that I’m okay, please leave, Mr. Wild.”

  I add Mr. Wild to create distance, but he takes a step forward and destroys whatever distance that I create.

  “Please, Annabelle, don’t be like that.”

  “Like what, huh? Like what, Gatsby? You asshole.”

  “Annabelle, I want
to explain something.”

  “I don’t want to hear it. Nothing. I don’t want to listen to a word you have to say. You’re dead to me.”

  “No, I can’t be,” he whispers. I look away and wait. But he doesn’t leave. When I turn back to him, I see that his eyes are moist. He wipes a small tear with the back of his hand.

  “No, no, no. I don’t care, Gatsby. Just like you didn’t care that day. Just like you fired me for nothing. I didn’t do anything wrong, and you just kicked me out. I was just trying to help.”

  “I know,” he whispers. “I know. I was such a dick. I was lost, Annabelle. I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted you to stop talking. And as soon as you left, even before that, I realized what an asshole I’ve been.”

  I roll my eyes. Whatever.

  “Atticus came over after that. He apologized and begged my forgiveness. My father was there, and he immediately took his side. He forgave him, and they both started pressuring me to hide all that from the shareholders. But I kept hearing your words in my head. I knew that they were going to try to convince me to take the fall if any of this was ever found out. I just knew they would. Atticus would just cry and stomp his feet and get his way. So after father left, I talked to him. I told him what I thought. I told him that I would lend him the money, whatever he owed, but there was no way we were going to go ahead and defraud the shareholders. Most aren’t wealthy at all. Most are middle-class people who invested some of their retirement into this company because they believe in it. I couldn’t, wouldn’t, do that to them.”

  I nod. I am happy to hear that something good was coming out of this. I am happy that he has finally started to do the right thing.

  “So what happened?” I ask. His eyes light up. He’s taking my question as a good sign that I’m ready to forgive him, but I’m nowhere close to that.

  Not yet.

  “I asked him to admit what he has done. To get a lawyer and say that he was terribly sorry about the whole thing.”

  “There’s no way he did that.” I laugh. I don’t mean it. I’m not a cynic, but being around Gatsby recently has turned me into one.

  “That’s what I thought,” he says. “But then he surprised me. He said he would. And he did.”

  “What? Really?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  “Our father wasn’t into it at all, but Atticus was. He apologized. He made a speech. He got a lawyer, and it looks like he might get off with just probation. Especially because there was no investigation. We have very good lawyers.”

  “I can’t believe that he agreed to it.” I shake my head.

  “I lent him the money that he owed, and he’s going into treatment for gambling and alcoholism soon. Father isn’t happy about any of this, but then again, he’s not in charge.”

  I nod.

  “So what I want to say to you, Annabelle, is I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I was a terrible person, and I shouldn’t have done any of that. You were the best thing that happened to me, and I just threw it all away. I want you to come back to work. I want you…”

  He let his voice trail off. We both know what he means. But all of this is too much for me. I’m happy for him, but as for the job and the relationship, I can’t quite comprehend any of it right now.

  “I think I need to lay down,” I say. I have been standing for some time, and my legs are starting to feel weak.

  Gatsby helps me to my bed. He undoes the covers and tucks me in.

  “Would you mind if I stay here with you? I can just sit in this chair. I just want to stay,” he says.

  I nod. The medication they gave me at the hospital is finally taking effect. I want to keep my eyes open and ask him a million questions about everything that has happened, but I can’t. I don’t have the energy. I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute.

  I wake up a few hours later. Gatsby is fast asleep on the most uncomfortable chair in the entire known universe – my desk chair. This isn’t the soft leather recliner on which I sit on at work. No, this chair is made of wood and has only a thin layer of padding on the seat.

  “Hey, you’re awake.” He gets up when I sit up in bed.

  “Yes, so are you.” I smile.

  “Oh, I just drifted off for a second,” he says. By the way his body is contorted, I can see that he was asleep for some time.

  “Oh, my God, I’m so sore,” he whimpers.

  “That’ll teach you about sleeping at my desk,” I say with a laugh.

  “How can you get anything done here? This chair is awful.”

  “Eh, maybe. But that chair was only ten dollars at Rite Aid.”

  “That’s it. As soon as I get back home, I’m ordering you a proper chair. It should be illegal to sit on something like that.”

  We both start to laugh.

  “Come, sit here and I’ll rub your back,” I say without a second thought. He jumps into bed next to me, and I rub his lower back. He pulls up his shirt, exposing his strong, powerful, tanned back. I rub it for a few minutes and then stop.

  “Better?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Well, that’s all you’re getting.”

  He gets up and frowns at me. “Are you sure?”

  I nod. All the things left unsaid between us are building. The atmosphere of the room is getting thick with the tension.

  “Gatsby…” I start. I don’t know where I’m going with this, but I have to say something.

  “Annabelle, I just want to say again. I’m sorry. Terribly sorry. I was an asshole, and you don’t deserve that. You deserve someone who loves you, cares for you, and doesn’t have all this shit around him all the time. And yet, I still want to ask you…”

  “Ask me what?”

  “Ask you to give me another chance. Even though you deserve so much more. So much better.”

  “I do deserve better. You were such a dick. You had no right to fire me. I was just trying to help you.”

  “I know that now. I know.” He hangs his head. “Just please, please, give me another chance. I want to be with you. I need you.”

  “I don’t want to be with you just because you need me, Gatsby. I can come back to work, but…”

  “No buts, please.” He puts his finger to my lips. A surge of electricity rushes through my body. His touch does crazy things to me. I want to push him away, but I don’t.

  “What I’m trying to say is that…I love you.”

  The words hang in the air in between us. I’m not sure if I heard him right. Gatsby looks me straight in the eyes and repeats himself.

  “I love you, Annabelle,” he says. “I’ve loved you since the moment I first laid my eyes on you. I love you. I just could never say it before.”

  These are the last words I expected to hear from him.

  “I love you, too,” I whisper. I’ve wanted to say that to him for so long. I just didn’t have the courage or the strength. I wasn’t sure if he would say it back to me.

  “You do?” He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me close to him.

  Our lips touch, and sparks of electricity course through my body.

  “I love you,” he whispers, pulling my head toward his.

  “I love you, too,” I whisper and bury my hands in his hair.

  “I love you,” we say together and fall back onto the bed.

  * * *

  THE END

  The Stranger (Billionaire Matchmaker Book 1)

  After selling his banking start-up to Google, Logan Davenport is officially a billionaire. He’s swimming in money and sex, and that is the way he likes it. But he needs a respectable date to his brother’s engagement party. So he finally gives in and lets his eccentric aunt, Dolly Monroe, find him a date. Much to his shock, she sets him up with an opinionated, average-looking, floral shop owner who seems impervious to his charms. Avery doesn’t want him, and that makes him want her even more. Before he knows it, he falling in love for the first time ever.

  But Logan is keeping a secret. No, he isn’t mar
ried. No, he doesn’t have a child. No, he doesn’t have cancer. It’s worse than that. Much worse. And when Avery finally finds out, he risks losing the only person he has ever really cared about. Can their love survive his secret?

  **WARNING: Steamy scenes, NO Cheating, HEA!

  Prologue

  My name is Dolly Monroe and I’m a billionaire matchmaker.

  I am 5’10’’ when I’m awake and 5’5’’ when I’m asleep. I’m suspicious of women who don’t wear heels, just as I’m suspicious of people who call me out of the blue asking for favors.

  I have a strict policy when it comes to my hair, one which I’ve abided to since I was a little girl in West Texas – the bigger the hair, the closer to God. My hair is as platinum as some of my clients’ records, and it perfectly offsets the 10-carat diamond ring on my left hand.

  I never let my waist get bigger than 22 inches, and I do not have the same restrictions on my breast size. The girls were 36 DD three years ago, and now they’re 36 EE. Who the hell knows how big they’re going to get in another decade?

  I like my men the way I like my purses: in a variety of colors and styles and with a high price tag. My husband, who’s also my high school sweetheart, doesn’t mind, of course, because my little business makes more than a hefty penny and keeps him in a 20,000 square foot Malibu beachfront house and allows him to spend his days surfing and golfing.

  You see, I’ve been at this for a very long time. I was 13 the first time I did my first set up: my second cousin with my best friend from middle school. They dated through 10th grade, married in 11th, and celebrated their 40-year wedding anniversary last year.

  I started my matchmaking business when I was 20 and, at first, I set up average folk like my cousins, then wealthy folk, then millionaires, and now billionaires. This is the only thing I’ve ever done, and I’m pretty damn good at it. People aren’t that different you know. Of course, billionaires come with their attitudes and highfalutin opinions of their own importance, but at their core, they want the same thing everyone else wants: for someone to give a damn about them, not just their money or power. What typically ends up being the problem, however, is that the billionaire (both men and women) think they’re going to get this thing from some 20-year-old, 5’11’’ bimbo, but that’s rarely the case. That’s where I come in.