“Sir, with all due respect, there’s scruffy and then there’s untamed bear.”
“That really wasn’t all that respectful,” I laugh, taking the shaver.
“Apologies, sir.” I roll my eyes because we both know he doesn’t mean it.
“But really, who’s going to bid on you if you look homeless?”
“Homeless? In a custom Italian suit? I doubt — wait. Bid on me? I thought it was a charity auction.”
Ivan’s eyes meet mine in the rear-view mirror, and he gives a beleaguered sigh, his eyebrows scrunching. “It is. It is a bachelor auction for charity. Don’t you read your emails? I know for a fact that James sent you one because he was sitting next to me on the couch giggling while he typed it out.”
“God dammit,” I mutter, tossing the razor aside as I scroll through my emails from James.
From: Adler, James
To: Acevedo, Matthew
Attn: Added to Schedule- Charity Auction 4/29
PR booked you a spot in a bachelor auction to benefit Sonoma County Elementary Schools. Funds are being raised to supply children with new technology, including laptops and educational resources. PR will have a photographer on hand and will follow up after the event.
- J
There it is, clear as day. “What the fuck? How on god’s green earth did I miss the word ‘bachelor’ in ‘bachelor auction.’?” It’s a pretty crucial detail and I’m the fucking detail guy.
“Was that rhetorical, sir, or did you want me to answer?” Ivan pipes up from the front seat.
“Knock yourself out. You’re going to tell me, anyway.”
“You’ve worked twelve-hour days, seven days a week, for months. You’ve slept in your office more nights than you’ve slept at home. If you had actual house plants, you’d have killed them long ago. The only reason you’ve consumed anything other than diesel-grade coffee is because James or I brought it to you and—”
“Thank you, Ivan. I get the point.”
“Very good, sir.”
2
CHELSEA
“Seriously. What year is it?” Olive asks, straightening tempting little jars of chocolate mousse so they stand in neat rows on the buffet table. “I thought bachelor auctions went the way of the dodo bird.”
“Apparently not,” I laugh. Servers buzz around us, clearing tables and refilling wine glasses. The dessert buffet keeps emptying almost as fast as we can restock it. The hotel ballroom is practically dripping with purple, green, and gold silk. Mardi Gras beads and feathered masks lay in the center of each table. I pick up a gold mask and toss it at Olive. “But it’s for a good cause.”Even if it gives me the heebie-jeebies.
She holds the mask up to her face and squints at me, pursing her lips. “Yeah, but something about buying a person feels yucky as fuck. Even when they look like that…” Olive lifts her chin, gesturing over my shoulder at the group of men waiting to be auctioned off. “Yummiest petting zoo ever.”
The men are milling around in a roped off area. Most are wearing suits, but there’s a construction worker, a firefighter, and a cop, all in uniform.
Sort of.
There’s a lot of exposed skin and missing pieces to those costumes. The bright lights keep reflecting off the biceps of a particularly shiny man wearing nothing but scrubs on the bottom and a surgical hat. I have to question the decision making of any man who uses enough baby oil to blind passersby. Does he need to be that slippery? Is he planning to wrestle someone later?
“You’re not buying a person! That’s terrible! You’re just buying time with them. You don’t even have to go on the date if you don’t want to.” I wish I didn’t feel the need to defend the fundraiser, but my students need new laptops. The ones we’ve been using are nothing short of prehistoric, and there’s only so much the PTA can do with bake sales.
“Just buying time, huh? And whatever happens after that is up to us, right? Sounds like prostitution to me.”
“You’re the worst,” I snort, pushing her back toward the kitchen. “Get back to work. We need more of those little lemon tarts.”
“But I’m volunteering my time. I should at least get to ogle the construction worker for a sec.” Olive leans around me, craning her neck to get a better view of hammer-toting hottie. She’s not the only one staring, either. The hall is packed with women, and they all have a steely glint in their eyes as they size up the bachelors as well as the competition.