LOGINBetty Hard. And soft.I can feel the muscles bunching under Julian’s shirt and the way his biceps jump under my fingers that are wrapped around them. Not intentional, by the way. We were falling. And the only thing I could do, other than find some magical way to stop the rapid descent, was cling to him. Which……my thumb strokes his arm as a smile curls my lips, like a guilty pleasure. I knew he was fit under his shirt, because he filled it out properly, with those fine calves and toned legs hidden under his pants that are now caged by my thighs. But, mhm, it was different when I could actually feel every bit of it, hard but in a firm cushioning way. Like a bed I could lie on for a while longer…except the bed was making my stomach flutter and my thighs warm enough to get my blood pumping upward. Pumping into one spot, that was now softly pulsing. Ah—Nope! I shake my head, kicking the inappropriate thought into the gutter. No way I’m lusting after a man after I just sent the b
Julian I didn’t think getting Betty on my side was going to be easy, but my head is aching right now.“…and this,” she points to a section of the contracts she drew up herself, her finger tracing the words. “I’d like to amend it.”I resist the urge to dig my fingers into my forehead or reach for one of Volkov’s suspiciously sourced bottles. “Okay,” I nod slowly. “What do you want it to be?”“Thirty vacation days instead of fifteen.”“Sure.”She withdraws her finger and raises her gaze to my face. “You’re going to give me thirty days?”Why does she sound surprised? “That’s what you want, isn’t it? Thirty days. That’s a month. I’m sure I can do without you for that long.”I realize I said the wrong thing the second her mouth flattens and her arms cross over her chest. “You can do without me for that long? You’re running a business, aren’t you? Are you going to get someone to fill in for me during that month—and then fire them after?”Her tone doesn’t spare me any of the judgment I’ve b
Betty “Good morning, Betty.” Julian Hawthorne says, smiling. “I didn’t think you’d come in this morning, but Kristoff informed me that you’ve never missed a shift since you started working here.”Yeah. Because I know the implication. But…I shake my head, pushing that thought aside. There’s something more perplexing. “What are you doing here?”Julian squints. “What am I doing here? I bought the place last night, remember? And you work for me now. But I have other plans…” he trails off, turning around and heading back into the bar. I stand in the open doorway—dazed and confused—for seconds. Then the pieces begin to reform. Last night. Yup. I ran into Julian Hawthorne leaving the bar. He got me in, then vanished, leaving me with Andy who I wasn’t interested in dancing with. Then I decided to leave, but Kristoff and a freaking big dude stopped me. Okay…Then Julian showed up. And he said he’d bought the bar. Along with several others. And—“A dollar?!” The question flies out of my
Betty My head is splitting. And the sun is streaming in through the curtains I forgot to close when I left my apartment last night. “Ughhh.” I groan with my eyes still closed, reaching for my pillow that moved to the edge of the bed sometime during the night…or morning, rather. My blind search turns up nothing, but I’m too tired to open my eyes. My mouth is dry. My throat is parched. And for some reason, my head feels like it’s going to explode, even though I’m sure I only had what…two, three drinks? Surely I wasn’t that much of a lightweight? It’s been ages since I had a glass of anything over 5% alcohol, even though I work in a bar. Precisely because I work in a bar, actually. The cheap beer, the overinflated prices of other alcohol options, the leering patrons with wandering hands and gazes…Everything was enough to put me off drinking forever. Or turn me into a raging alcoholic. I chose the former. Why does the sun have to come out so early in the morning? The mornings
Betty I tilt my head to the side, my mouth pursing as I stare at Julian. His employee? When did that happen? I didn’t agree to anything, nor did I sign a contract. “Mr. Volkov is not selling the bar,” Kristoff barks, his eyes narrowing. Ohh.So that’s what he meant.He still has plans of getting the bar. I sigh quietly. Julian Hawthorne isn’t just reckless. He’s stubborn too.“But Mr. Volkov and I have already concluded our plans,” Julian replies, his voice remaining infuriatingly calm. “It’s not in writing yet, but you know he doesn’t give a fuck about that, don’t you? He’d rather carve his contracts in blood.”A snort escapes me before I can stop it, and I quickly bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. There’s nothing funny about Volkov torturing people to yield to his demands, though. Unfortunately, Julian notices.His eyes flick toward me, and for the briefest second, there is a pleased glint in them, as though my reaction has somehow entertained him. The c
Betty“You didn’t tell me that you knew Julian Hawthorne?”I ignore Andy’s loud voice in my ear and the couple that bumps into me as they cling to each other on the dance floor, their tongues deep down each other’s throats as if they are the only two people in the entire club.Andy’s friends have all gone, each of them dancing with women they picked up at the bar, and I was going to sit on my own, but somehow he found me and I couldn’t say no to one dance.One dance turned to two.Two turned to four.Now my feet are aching, my ears are ringing from the music, and I don’t know how to tell him that I’m not interested in having a conversation when I can barely hear myself think.I shake my head. “I don’t know him. He saw me outside the club when I was leaving and offered to get me inside because he owns the place.”Andy’s brows scrunch together, and he cups a hand around his ear as he leans closer to me. “What?”I groan under my breath before raising my voice. “I need to use the restroom
The laughter in the room slowly fades, but the sound of the auctioneer’s gavel still echoes in my ears. Sold. My hands curl into fists at my sides as the reality settles over me like a suffocating weight. One dollar. That’s what my life is worth. I glare at my stepfather, but he’s slumped o
Alina’s POV The man holding my arm doesn’t loosen his grip even when I stumble on the marble step.“Walk,” he mutters under his breath, giving me a shove toward the stage.My heels scrape awkwardly against the polished floor, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the low hum of voices filling
A black, sleek Mercedes car. Of course. Adrian Hawthorne, one of New York’s finest and wealthiest heirs, wouldn’t choose anything less. The car I rode in when he took me from the auction house was more expensive, with plush leather chairs that melted my bones as I touched them. I’d forgott
I’m tongue-tied. “I—” I stammer for the first second, unable to look at him. “It was a mistake.” A genuine one. And it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t said we should sleep in the same bed. “It won’t happen again,” I tell him, lifting my head to face him. “As long as I have my own







