Page 55 of Wicked Heat

I actually laugh. “You are the weirdest person I know, and I love you to death.”

“Back at you. And I’m serious. Honestly, I’m kind of jealous. A hot guy is pretty much offering to give you sex therapy. That’s not something to walk away from.”

Sex therapy. For some strange reason, thinking of it that way makes the whole thing seem less sordid somehow.

Still strange and sordid… just less so.

“You still there?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” I push myself off the sofa and start pacing. “I’m telling myself you’re right. But I’m still not sure I can⁠—”

“You have one other option,” she says, cutting me off. “I was about to call you, actually.”

“What option?”

“Get the three mil from somewhere else.”

“Come on, Ar. We already talked about that.”

“That was before I talked to Caleb.”

“Oh, please tell me you didn’t really.” Caleb’s her cousin, and though the three of us grew up together—and he’s had a lifelong crush on me—I really don’t need him knowing my problems.

“Unless you’ve figured out how to scrounge up three mil, you do not get to bitch about me asking.”

I vehemently disagree about that, but I just cross my arms and stare down the phone. Which is entirely pointless since this isn’t a video call.

“His grandfather died.”

“He was in his late nineties, right?” I’m sorry, of course, but I have no idea what that has to do with anything.

“Caleb inherited the brownstone, and he’s already got an offer on it. More than thirty mil. Less after taxes and all that crap, but more than enough to keep him in style for a long, long time. He said he’d give you the money in a heartbeat.”

“I wish you hadn’t asked that.”

“Why? He said yes.”

It really is tempting, but Caleb’s one of those people who expects something in return for everything. And, yeah, Ash is expecting sex, but that’s different.

Except maybe it’s not.

Maybe it’s only different because I’m intrigued by Ash’s demand. And I have no idea what Caleb would hold over my head.

“Tell Ash you thank him for the offer of his fabulous cock, but you just can’t go there. And if taking money from Caleb really bugs you,” she continues, before I can sneak a word in, “then think of it as a loan.”

“Ari—”

“The money’s there. All you have to do is call him.”

“Okay, fine. Let me think about it. Will you call and tell him thanks for me, and I’ll be in touch if I need it?”

“If?”

“Aria…”

“I’ll tell him you’ll call sometime tomorrow.”

I start to argue, but then I remember who I’m talking to. Arguing is pointless.