im because he’s the only person I know in this sea of people. “Hi!”
He stares.
And I babble, “I’m here to bid on Nate Sterling.”
He smiles, just a slight curving of his lips, although his pale eyes remain assessing. “Do you have a ticket?”
“Yes.” I show him my mobile invitation.
He barely glances at the screen. “Hope you have a decent war chest. The competition is rather…fierce.”
Bad enough that even he noticed, huh? But do the other bidders know that I have Nate’s money to spend? “Fierce or not, I’m here to win,” I say, and walk inside.
On the stage are a brunette in a golden tube dress and Nate, who has apparently just come out and looks great in a white tux. Wait, white? I could have sworn I picked out a black tux for tonight before I left his place on Friday.
Maybe he spilled something on it. Regardless, the white one fits his wide shoulders and trim waist immaculately. And it hints at the shape of his pecs and thighs underneath the pristine fabric. All in all, perfect. He probably had help from Elizabeth.
From the breathless way the MC is speaking into the microphone to get the ladies worked up, it seems like she’s already finished with the intro and ready to move to the actual bidding.
Just in time.
I walk over to get to an empty seat while keeping my eyes on my boss, silently trying to communicate I won’t let you down. Finally I reach an available chair in the back and sit down.
“My God, he’s so hot,” a redhead in front of me says.
“Scorching,” says her blonde friend. “I’ve been dying to see this guy.”
“The last Sterling man standing.” The redhead sounds like she’s about to cry.
“Seriously. That Pryce girl isn’t going to let hers go.” The blonde licks her lips and flexes her fingers as though she’s about to dig into some nice tasty veal.
Poor Nate.
“Ten thousand!”
The sudden cry jerks my attention left, then all the way in front. And…wow. That’s Georgette. She’s in a bright red and black dress, thankfully made with just regular fabric rather than some kind of fur. Her makeup is cartoonishly ludicrous with red blush and blue eye shadow that I can see even from this distance. It’s especially dramatic against her pasty white complexion. Didn’t anybody tell Old Glory isn’t a good look for someone’s face?
“Ten thousand five hundred,” the redhead in front of me says. Clearly, Georgette isn’t my only competition.
“Eleven!” Georgette cries triumphantly.
Nate scans the crowd, an anxious frown on his face. He’s probably looking for me but not having much luck since I’m in the back, nicely blending in in my pink. Since the redhead isn’t stepping up, it’s my turn.
“Eleven five,” I say.
“Did somebody say something?” the MC says from the stage.
I wince. Do I have to yell too? A quick clearing of throat. “Eleven five!” I say more loudly.
“Twelve!” Georgette says.
“Twelve five!” says the redhead.
“Thirteen!” I won’t let you down, Nate.
“I know that voice!” Georgette hops on an empty chair, then sees me in the back. “You? The hired help doesn’t belong here!”
The insult barely registers as everyone’s gaze swings toward me. Each one pierces like a lance, and my mouth goes dry as my heart palpitates. I do not like attention. I don’t like people staring. And I certainly don’t like public assessment and judgment.