Page 77 of The Auction
Shanae gives her a hug and reassurance her mom will be okay with a little rest, but I can see how guilty she feels leaving.
Outside, she hesitates at her car, looking toward the barn where my bike is still laying on its side. “I’ll meet you at your penthouse or should I follow you?”
“Neither,” I say, holding my hand out. “I’ll drive your car. I’ll send for my bike later.”
Her eyes narrow playfully as she drops the keys into my palm. “Okay, but this isnotyour McLaren. You can’t drive it like a demon.”
“Aww, come on,” I grin, heading for the door. “Let me open her up just a little.”
Cass rolls her eyes, but I can see the corner of her mouth twitching, even if it is still a little sad over tonight’s events.
Big Ben hollers that he’ll stash my bike in the stables and Cassidy glares at me when I rev her cars quiet little engine.
The ride is quiet. I can feel her staring out the window, lost in whatever’s running through her head. I can’t stop replaying it all—the way she answered the phone. How that prick threw her to the ground, the sound she made when she hit.
My hands tighten on the wheel.
And under all of it is the question I can’t shake:Why the hell would her brother sell those horses?
Even I know what they’re worth. Dominion and Saving Grace aren’t just valuable—they’re legendary. A Triple Crown Winner. Champions. Mated. A bloodline people would kill to get. They’re priceless.
In the penthouse, she disappears down the hall, mumbling something about a shower and clean clothes. I can’t sit still, so I order dinner while she’s gone.
When she comes back, damp hair curling at the ends, I lean against the counter. “You up for a surprise?”
Her brows pull together. “That depends.”
“Trust me,” I say, taking her hand.
I lead her to the largest of my extra rooms—the one I’ve been working in all week. The door’s still shut and I stop her there. “Open it.”
She pushes it open and freezes.
It’s an artist’s dream in here—everything she’s ever had in her own studio, and more. Giant canvases leaning against the wall. Sketchbooks—her favorite kind—stacked high. Jars of brushes. Paints lined in neat rows.
She turns to me, eyes glassy. “Jax… I?—”
She looks around again, swallowing hard. I know what she’s thinking. That this is temporary.
Why do all this if she’ll only be here a few more weeks.
Yeah. About that…
“You can take it all with you when you leave,” I lie to her before she can say she fight me on it. “At least now you don’t have to go home every time you want to paint.”
She steps into me, hugging me around the waist with a whisperedthank you. Then again, tighter this time. “And thank you for earlier. For the horses. I’ll?—”
I cut her off and tilt her face up to mine with a finger under her chin. “If you say you’ll pay me back, I’m wiring those assholes another three hundred million.”
Her lips press together, swallowing something I can’t read before she nods.
I pull back just a bit and hold her stare, willing her to answer my question. “Why would your brother sell them?”
She exhales hard, looking away. “You don’t know the same Jonathan that I do.” And that’s it. No more. She walks away before I can press her.
The service bell rings with our dinner, so I drop it—for now.
But I’m going to find out what the fuck that means.
