Page 181 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

HUNTER

I wake up shortly after six. Both Dixie and Eric are still asleep, so I slide out of bed as quietly as I can and head down the hallway to the washroom.

In the shower, as hot water washes over me, my thoughts wander.

I should have talked to Dixie last night. Eric wants a relationship, and so do I. I thought I didn’t have the space for it, but when she’d showed up at my door yesterday evening, I’d realized how wrong I’d been.

But I hadn’t broached the subject. Partly, it was because I’d been tired and drained—it had been an emotional roller coaster of a day, and I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for this conversation.

But the other reason I’d held my tongue was Dixie herself.

In all the time we’ve been sleeping together, Dixie has never spent the night. Hell, even having sex in bed is something she avoids. Back seat of my car? Kitchen counter? Shoved up against a wall? Dixie’s good with all of that. But the instant I suggest we head to a bedroom, she tenses up.

Last night though, she’d agreed to stay, and it had felt like an important milestone, and I hadn’t wanted to do or say anything to make her regret her decision.

Today, I promise myself.

How will she react?

I wish I knew. A threesome is difficult for Dixie. Her asshole of an ex-boyfriend shamed her for her desire, and it’s impacted her almost all her adult life. She’s concerned about what people think. Yesterday, she’d flinched when Xavier, Fiona, Adrian, and Brody had walked in.

On the other hand, she’s come so far in the last few weeks. She’s more open about her desires, more willing to ask for what she wants. She trusts us. She came over yesterday. She agreed to spend the night. Those are all good signs, right?

I head downstairs. I grind a handful of coffee beans, dump the grounds into a filter, and turn on the coffee maker. I’m just about to sit down with a mug when my phone rings.

It’s not a number I recognize. I pick it up anyway—it could be a patient—and a woman’s voice answers. “Could I speak to Hunter Driesse, please?”

“This is Hunter.”

“Mr. Driesse, hello. My name is Sophia Thorsen. I’m the Director of Outreach of the Highfield Community Health Center. We met at your mother’s will reading a few weeks ago.”

I can vaguely picture her. Caucasian, early thirties, blonde hair, average height. “I remember who you are, Ms. Thorsen.”

“I’m so sorry to bother you this early, Mr. Driesse, but unfortunately, we’ve run into an emergency.

We just got word yesterday afternoon that the building housing our health center is going to be sold.

Our landlord has received an offer he cannot turn down.

If we can make a counteroffer in the next two weeks, he’ll sell it to us. ”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Do you know who made the offer?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t. He didn’t share that information.”

It’s Donahue. I know it. The timing is too much of a coincidence for it to be anyone else. I left him a message yesterday afternoon after my lunch with Annette and told him I wasn’t selling, and he’s immediately jumped into action.

The fucking asshole. He knows how important this health center was to my mother, and by extension, to me. He’s determined to build his goddamn subdivision, and he’ll stoop to any level to make it happen.

Including shutting down the only community health center in town.

When Sophia continues speaking, her voice sounds bleak.

“We need to raise two million dollars in fourteen days. It’s an aggressive goal, especially on the heels of our last fundraiser, but we’re desperate.

Mrs. Driesse left our organization a very generous bequest, but that money has already been earmarked for necessary equipment. ”

I can read between the lines. They’ve just wrapped up a fundraiser. They’ve already spent the money my mother left them. They’re tapped out, and the odds of them succeeding are slim to none.

Sophia Thorsen doesn’t know that my refusal to sell this house is the reason she’s begging people for money at seven in the morning. She’s asking me for a contribution; she doesn’t expect me to cough up two million dollars. I’m one of many donors on her list.

But I know the truth. This is my doing. I backed Donahue into a corner, and now, I face an ugly choice. I can either save my mother’s house, or I can save the health center.

I promise her a donation and hang up.

There’s a knot of guilt in my stomach. I can’t solve Sophia Thorsen’s problems. I do okay—I make a comfortable living, but I can’t write her a two-million-dollar check. Not without selling my mother’s house.

Then Dixie enters the kitchen, and I catch sight of the closed-off expression on her face, and I know that my problems are just beginning.