14. Ford
FORD
I sit up a little straighter in my seat as June walks onstage.
Whoever dressed her deserves a raise. Or their eyes ripped out.
My money’s on Lexie. Considering her time at The Body Shop, she’s a seasoned pro at making men feel…
desire. My cock twitches in my slacks, and I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table as I stare at the goddess in black silk.
Her lips are painted red, and her rich brown hair cascades in a glossy, straight waterfall down her back.
Add in the red heels that match her lipstick and make her legs look like they go on for miles, and I feel like a dog with a damn bone.
I didn’t hear her introduction. I was too busy texting Hawke beneath the table, thanks to our father’s presence across from us and our lack of privacy.
I know it could wait until we get home. Ethan’s…
whatever the hell that was. But I was too impatient to let the moment settle.
Too determined to figure out why he’d bid on Jagger’s girlfriend when he’s all too aware she’s off-limits.
Nah. He’s provoking us. The same way he did to me on the HHU grounds with Cody. It’s like he wants us to start a war.
June’s red lips part as she stands on stage. Nervous. Adorable. And so damn shy, I swear I can taste her innocence from here. She fiddles with the deep V-neckline of her dress, confirming her cleavage playing peekaboo with the audience is still on the side of sexy and not indecent.
Don’t worry, June Bug. You look perfect.
“Do I have one hundred?” Cobie calls.
“One hundred!” a voice calls.
Bryan.
I had him pegged from the minute I walked in.
He’s sharing a table with a few of his fireman buddies to the right of me.
If he were anyone else, I’d greet him like we’re best buds.
After all, it’s how I make money in my line of work.
Connections are everything. But I can’t help myself this time.
Nah, I’m good. Besides, he doesn’t seem like a betting man, anyway.
He seems like a take-her-to-church-and-wait-until-marriage kind of guy.
I wonder if that’s June’s thing, too. If she’s waiting until marriage. If she’s ever been fucked. I raise my hand. “Two hundred.”
“Ooooh,” one of Bryan’s buddies jeers. “You gonna let him win, Bry?”
Shifting closer to me, Jagger whispers, “What are you doing?”
“Do I hear three hundred?” Cobie calls from the stage.
Bryan raises his hand. “Three hundred!”
“Five,” I yell.
“Competitive much?” Jagger mumbles, but he straightens in his seat, leaving me to my own impulsive devices.
Good man. He knows me too well.
Cobie’s brows raise. “Five hundred to Ford. Do I hear six hundred? Six hundred, anyone? Going once—”
“Six hundred!” Bryan volleys. Not gonna lie. I almost thought I had it. Guess not…yet.
June rubs her ruby red lips together, her attention volleying from Bryan to the ground and back again. Not to me, though.
Not gonna look at me, June Bug?
I take another sip of my drink, eyeing June above the rim and daring her to look my way. She’s not a fool. She knows I’m the person bidding on her. The person wracking up the number. The person she could very well spend an evening with.
Would you like that, June Bug? Spending a night with me?
“Six hundred to the fireman on my left. Do I hear seven? Seven hundred?” my little sister calls from the podium.
Despite the mess with Violet’s bid, Cobie’s pretty good at this. Dangling the fruit. Tapping into a man’s competitive edge. Or maybe it’s June’s presence that does me in. Urging me to raise my hand in the air and raise my bid again.
A voice from the back cuts me off. “Offering bargain bin women for the price of luxury? What kind of charity is this?”
Thanks to Violet’s bidding debacle, I already know who it belongs to.
What. The actual. Fuck.
A few gasps follow the asshole remark. My blood boils as my grip tightens around my dinner knife resting on the table.
What I wouldn’t give to shove this thing into his fucking throat for thinking that bullshit, let alone voicing it aloud for others to hear.
June sucks her lips between her teeth, biting hard on her pretty flesh while fighting back tears and simultaneously cutting me to the fucking core.
If Jagger doesn’t get to him first, I’ll kill him.
My gaze zeroes in on June, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.
Slow down, June Bug. I got you.
“Five grand,” I boom. My voice travels across the otherwise silent auditorium. It pulls quiet whispers from the spectators around me. Surprise. Disbelief.
Yeah, you heard me.
The woman on the stage is easily worth twice that number, and I’m determined to make sure she knows it.
Behind the podium, Cobie’s jaw drops. “I—did you—okay, uh, five grand? We have five grand for Ford Harden. Uh. Do I hear—”
“For one night?” one of Bryan’s friends grumbles to him.
Bryan says something to the asshole, though I’m too far away to hear what it is.
He looks up at June, then back at me. Yeah, man.
If the roles were reversed, I’d be pissed, too, but it’s not like I’m gonna let Morgan’s dick comment sully June’s perception of herself.
It’s bullshit, and we both know it. With a slow shake of his head, Bryan glances at June again, mouthing, “I’m sorry,” as he collapses in his seat, his hands thrown into the air in defeat.
I almost feel bad for him. If he had the funds, I’m sure he’d offer up another bid.
Instead, he’s screwed. And embarrassed that his girl was just right swept out from under him by yours truly.
“Five grand?” Cobie repeats. “Going once? Twice—”
“Five grand for that cow?” Ethan chuckles. “Have fun at Dairy Queen.”
“Make it ten.”
A hush falls over the crowd. I push to my feet and slowly turn around, taking in every wide eye in the vicinity before my attention lands on Morgan.
With his feet sprawled beneath the table and his arms crossed, he slouches in the seat, meeting my stare with a look of absolute boredom.
I see through it, though. The lackadaisical persona he’s sporting in an attempt to shame someone a Harden cares about.
All right, cares might be a bit of a stretch.
I like June, I really do, but that’s not the point.
The point is he’s using her to make a statement.
To make her feel small in hopes of making me feel small.
Not fucking likely. I cock my head. “Just because you can’t afford luxury, let alone comprehend real taste, doesn’t mean you’re allowed to spew bullshit to the rest of us.
Especially when you’re on our property,” I growl.
His mouth quirks. “Just because I don’t have to pay to get laid—”
The chairs behind me clatter to the ground as Jagger and Hawke flank my sides, daring Ethan to keep running his mouth to one of our own.
Roman appears from the side. He might refuse to sit with our father and deal with his asshole remarks, but he’s as present and aware of everything going down as always.
If we were anywhere else, we’d already be brawling.
But here? Here is risky. Doable, sure. But risky, nonetheless.
Too many witnesses. Too many cameras. Too many innocent bystanders who don’t understand how much Morgan doesn’t belong here.
In Harden Heights, let alone this building.
But if he pushes his luck? I’m all in.
“Make it twelve,” I boom before warning, “I can do this all night long, Morgan.”
His upper lip curls, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. He just sits there, pushing his luck and pissing me off because if he urges me to spend more, it only proves to everyone in this room that I can fork out the cash, and Morgan can’t.
“F-Ford are you—” From the stage, Cobie clears her throat as if just realizing she’s still very much addressing an entire room instead of only her big brother.
“Twelve thousand for a night with June Withers. Going once.” I hold Ethan’s stare for another second, daring him to open his mouth again.
With a subtle nod, he gives in and lets me take the win.
Satisfied, I turn to June. Her pretty gaze is pinned on me for the first time since she walked on stage, but for one of the few times since we met, I can’t place what she’s thinking.
Is she pissed? Embarrassed? Her fingers are tangled together in front of her, and her straight white teeth nibble the edge of her pouty bottom lip.
But her baby blues? They’re zeroed in on me and only me.
What are you thinking, June Bug?
“Twice,” Cobie continues. June’s attention darts to my little sister.
Her lips part as if she’s about to say something, but my sister cuts her off.
“Sold! To Ford Harden for…twelve thousand dollars.” Cobie hesitates.
“Uh. Wow.” A light, tinkling laugh echoes from the microphone.
“Sorry, yes. That’s, uh. Thank you so much, June.
I’m sure you and Ford can figure out the details…
later.” She clears her throat and looks down at her tablet. “Next up, we have…”
I don’t hear another word as June walks off stage.
Her red heels match her lipstick and click with every step, while her shoulders round forward as if she’s trying to disappear entirely despite bringing in the biggest chunk of cash for Cobie’s event.
She should be proud of herself. If there’s a winner for this thing, it’s her.
Instead, she looks like she wants to puke.
Twelve. Fucking. Grand. I’ve always been an impulsive bastard, but this is a new one, even for me.
Twelve grand. Oh, the things I could buy with twelve grand.
Twelve thousand dollars. Five digits, and more than I ever planned to drop tonight.
Hell, I hadn’t even planned to bid in general.
Not on anyone. And especially not on June.
She has a boyfriend, for shit’s sake. Even so, I can’t make myself regret it.
The nervous, deer-in-the-headlights with a smidge of how-in-the-world-did-I-get-here and I-wish-I-could-disappear look on her face was more than enough to make the cash worth it.
She’ll be tied with the highest bid of the night, and if that doesn’t boost a woman’s confidence, I don’t know what will.
Hell, maybe it’ll even be enough to erase Morgan’s asshole comments. And if it isn’t, I’ll find out what is.
“Well, shit.” Hawke chuckles behind me.
Rolling my shoulders, I sit back at the table, and my brothers join me before Hawke hands Jagger a few Benjamins.
“What?” Hawke asks when he catches my stare. “You think you’re the only one who takes bets?”
I bite back my scoff. Cocky motherfucker.
Of course, he had a bet going with Jagger.
Honestly, I shouldn’t even be surprised.
We’ve been betting on each other’s personal lives for years.
Little things like whether or not Hawke will disappear before the night is over, or if Jagger will spend the night at Violet’s, or if Roman will leave his car unlocked even when it’s parked in our garage.
I should’ve known they’d have a bet going tonight. Question is…is it about the price June went for, or who made the bid? Is my interest in her so obvious? Fuck, I hope not.
“Put the money away,” our father growls as Cobie continues to emcee from the stage.
With a low rumble of amusement, Jagger slips the bills into his suit pocket. “What? Now we can’t even make a familial bet every once in a while? Come on, Titas. Let us live a little.”
My father ignores him, choosing to pin me with a glare instead. “Can’t even keep your impulses in check for one night, huh, Ford?”
Impulses? He wants to talk about impulses? My molars grind before I smooth out my features and reach for my almost-empty glass of bourbon. Bringing it to my mouth, I hesitate. “There a problem?”
“Twelve grand?” he demands.
I toss back the rest of my drink. The burn along my esophagus is a welcome distraction.
I focus on it. The tingle. The warmth. The heat.
I let the feeling wash over me, holding onto it when all I want to do is reach across the table and throttle the guy glaring a hole in the side of my face.
Because I can’t. And that? Is a hard pill to swallow.
“Nothing to say, boy?” he sneers.
He wants to talk dollars? Really? Then again, I got my obsession with money from the asshole, so I guess it makes sense.
Maybe if he hadn’t frozen each of our trust funds earlier this year, he’d have a leg to stand on, but the money I spend is mine.
He has no say in what I do with it. He has no say in what I do with anything. Not anymore.
My glass clinks as I set it down. “You have something against charity?” I taunt. “Our mother’s charity?”
“That is twelve thousand dollars,” he repeats through gritted teeth. “Twenty-two between both of you.” His glare cuts to Jagger, emphasizing his point.
“And why is that a problem?” Hawke goads.
Titas doesn’t answer him, which, considering how much he enjoys hearing himself speak, catches me off guard.
Why is it a problem? I take a second to piece together the information I’ve been given. Jagger bid ten grand, I bid another twelve, and the night’s only begun. You’d think he’d be ecstatic. So, why the long face?
Cobie said she needed to hit twenty grand. For what? What did he promise her? I swallow the question, well aware it won’t get me anywhere. But what will?
With a merciless grin, I wave over one of the bartenders and take the second bourbon he’d already poured when he caught me finishing the last. I make a mental note to leave the solid tip I promised when I asked him to keep the drinks coming all night.
As the bartender swaps out the empty glass for my new drink, I assess my father across the table.
“It’s not an issue, is it, Daddy Dearest? Our donation?”
I’m pushing my luck. I can see it. The throbbing vein at his temple.
The familiar ice swallowing his hollow eyes that match Hawke’s.
If we were in his office, or anywhere private, really, I’d brace myself for the back of his hand.
But for now? For now, I’m safe. Safe enough, anyway.
Even then, it doesn’t quiet the fear creeping up on me.
The expectation of what will come the next time we’re alone.
“Cat got your tongue, Titas?” I push.
“It’s a lot of money for two girls.”
“But if I didn’t get my generous heart from you…” I clutch at the left side of my chest. “Where’d I get it from?”
With a slow nod, Daddy Dearest pulls out his phone and begins typing something. I watch his lips, waiting for them to mouth the words of whatever he’s writing. It’s an odd quirk he’s had for as long as I can remember. Sure enough, his lips form two words, three syllables.
June. Withers.
Perfect.