Page 47 of Jesse

“Oh… just my mother on the line,” I lie. “I’ll call you later. Tell Stephanie congrats. And tell Donny to hit a home run, or whatever. Bye!”

I let the call to go to voicemail, then tap my fingers on my leg as I wait for the message to chime.

No chime. No message.

OK. Probably just one of those robocalls. Nothing to worry about.

But the call comes in again. Blocked number.

Now who could this be?

My bets are on either some jerk’s lawyers or the jerk himself.

I take a deep breath, tab accept, then say, “Emma Dumas,” as I let it out.

“Missing anything this morning?” The jerk himself. And he sounds like he’s eating something. Because he’s chewing like a caveman.

“Who is this?”

“Hm. Funny.”

“Should I be missing something?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe your boat?”

I smile. “Nicely played. But that boat was a piece of shit anyway. You can keep it.”

“Oh, you mean that one by the dock?” He laughs. “No, I didn’t take that one. In case you forgot, I know a thing or two about boats. I took that one in the boathouse. The million-dollar one.”

Asshole. But what do I care? One stupid boat I never use isn’t enough to piss me off this morning. I won last night and we both know it.

“Can I help you with something, Mr. Boston?”

“No, Ms. Dumas. I’m calling to help you with something.”

“What’s that?”

“Wanna know what’s on the agenda for today?”

“Excuse me?”

“Our date? Remember? You bought me? Now you have to show me a good time.”

“That’s not how bachelor auctions work.”

“It actually is. You pay to take me somewhere.”

“No, I pay them so you can take me somewhere.”

“Exactly. So I made all the decisions.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not spending the day with you. I’m never seeing you again for as long as I live.”

“Well, unless you want to live in a six-by-six prison cell, then I suggest you rethink that plan.”

I huff. “You’re kidding me.”

“I am abso-fucking-lutely one hundred percent dead serious.”