Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
She tugs me up out of my seat and practically pushes me up toward the stage, ignoring my awkward attempts to avoid drawing any attention. Everyone’s eyes are already on us, and I can’t bring myself to say no.
I grit my teeth and glare at Taylor.
“You so owe me for this,” I bite out before turning and pasting an uncomfortable smile on my face as I make my way up to the stage.
It’ll be fun, I tell myself, no matter how much I don’t believe it.
Everyone else on stage looks to be enjoying themselves; they’ve probably been to something like this before. No one would do it if it wasn’t fun. It’s just a silly little game.
And, hey, I’m sure as hell distracted from everything that happened with Sloane today.
The bidding starts with the first woman who was called up, my mind whirling as absolutely staggering amounts of money are called out, tossed around like nothing. Who the hell offers ten grand for a date?
I feel out of place with all of the other people up here, so obviously confident and enjoying themselves as bids are placed and won. I’m not used to having this many eyes on me, especially not when I’m dressed like this. My heart is beating in my throat every time I make eye contact with someone. I’m sure everyone out there can tell just how out of place I am here, how much I don’t belong.
Then again, maybe some weirdo out there actually likes that sort of thing. A girl like me who has no idea what the hell she’s doing.
I scan the room over and over, hoping to catch sight of my mystery man somewhere. He wouldn’t tell me I might see him if he wasn’t actually planning to show up, would he?
Sure, I don’t technically know what he looks like, but this is a masked event. Surely I’d have to recognize him in this crowd—the only time I’ve ever seen him was with a mask over his face. Besides, it’s not like men who are so obviously gorgeous even behind a mask and built like that are common.
My nerves triple in the time it takes for me to scan the room again, once again finding Taylor as the only familiar face.
Familiar mask.
Whatever.
The line ahead of me dwindles far faster than I’d like it to, and before I know it, I’m the only one left, standing in the center of the stage as the man behind the podium holds an arm out to me.
“And, for our final date auction of the night, give it up for this lovely lady in blue,” he announces, smiling broadly. “Let’s start at a thousand dollars!”
Taylor starts the bidding, as promised, and people start jumping to bid after her.
“I hear one thousand; do I hear two?”
Voices ring out across the club floor, some old, some young, a mix of genders, all causing panic and bile to rise in my throat. The price creeps steadily higher, each increase making me feel a little more faint.
I’m about two seconds from backing out entirely when a deep, self-assured voice cuts through the rabble. My focus narrows down on a small table in the back corner that I’m sure was empty just a few minutes ago, now hosting a familiar muscular frame and smirking lips. An intricately designed black mask covers half of his face, but I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.
My mystery man.
“Fifty thousand,” he calls, almost sounding bored.
His eyes never waver from mine.
“Fifty thousand!” the auctioneer cheers. “Do I hear fifty-five?”
Wait.
What?
Fifty thousand? Dollars?
That’s insane! He’s seriously going to bid fifty grand for a date with me when all he’d have to do is send a text? Either he’s batshit crazy or has more money than God.
“Fifty-five!” a voice from my left rings out.
What the fuck is happening?
“Sixty,” my mystery man counters without hesitation, his eyes glued to mine as he slowly wanders his way up between the tables.
He’s so certain of himself, not pausing for a moment as whoever is attempting to outbid him racks the price up. They go back and forth several more times before a smirk tugs at those lips, and he puts an end to the auction with three words.
“One hundred thousand.”
A heavy silence settles over the entire room, even the man behind the podium stumbling for words. My mystery man looks unbearably smug, not stopping until he reaches the stairs at the edge of the stage.
“One hundred thousand!” the auctioneer calls. “Going once, twice… she’s all yours.”
My mystery man grins in a way that makes it obvious to everyone I was always his, and it sends a shiver down my spine. He holds one hand out, patient but expectant, and I can do nothing but close the distance between us, making my way down the stairs to slide my hand in his.