CHAPTER THREE — STEPHANIE
"Are you absolutely sure, dear?" Mrs. Langford asks me, tilting her head. "You understand how this will be perceived, yes?"
I nod.
"May I ask why you've decided to make this sudden change?"
"I thought this would be a more interesting service to auction off," I say, shrugging.
She looks at me, and I hold my breath. I've just asked her if I can make a last-minute change to my submission. Usually, you can only make changes weeks in advance. And seeing as the auction is starting in a few hours, I knew this was a long shot.
But the idea only came to me a few hours ago. Convincing Mrs. Langford to accept my late submission is my only option.
I study her, praying that she won't change her mind and decide to disallow my change. I had to go back and forth with her for at least 10 minutes before she tentatively agreed, but even then, I could tell she was on the fence about it. She has been this entire conversation.
But at the same time, she's been sympathetic.
I don't know if it's something she can see in my eyes or my voice, but I think she knows that I need this, and maybe that resonates with her.
Or maybe she just wants to help me out. I don't know for sure.
But either way, I'm not going to ask questions.
She let me change my submission, and that's all I need to know. I don't need to know why she agreed.
But I can feel her skepticism. I can practically smell it.
"I know what I'm doing," I say, trying to put her at ease, forcing a smile. "I'm fully aware of the implications of this, and this is what I want."
"Okay," she says. "You're going to have to sign a waiver, though, documenting that you requested this change."
"Sure," I say.
I suspect this is some kind of cover-your-ass nonsense. Although, maybe I shouldn't call it nonsense. Mrs. Langford and I both know full well what I'm doing here, and it's borderline illegal, which is why she has to be careful that I'm doing this freely and not being coerced by someone.
I don't know if that's happened with girls in the past, but I wouldn't be surprised.
I wonder how she feels about this, knowing that there are women selling themselves at her auction.
Maybe she doesn't care because it's for the greater good (aka the animals).
Or maybe she just follows a bit of a "don't ask, don't tell" libertarian laissez-faire attitude and trusts people to make the best decisions for themselves.
I don't know, but I can certainly understand why she'd feel a little bit uneasy letting me make this last-minute change.
The last-minute nature of it probably makes it even more suspicious.
I'm just grateful that she isn't probing too much and is letting me do it.
What she doesn't know is that I have ulterior motives, and not the ones she's thinking of. But I can't say too much. So I force myself to keep the fake smile pasted on my face, even though my jaw is aching.
"Hold on. I'll get it printed now and then you can sign it," Mrs. Langford says.
She rushes off into a room across from us. I look down at my nails and notice that I've ripped a few of them off. When did that happen? It's a bad habit I have, and it gets a lot worse when I'm nervous or anxious. Which I definitely am right now. And am desperately trying to hide.
"Here you go, dear," she says, handing it to me.
"Thanks," I say, grabbing the paper. I set it down on a hardwood table that's up against the cream-colored walls.
I move the small vase filled with lilies to the side and skim the paper.
I'm pretending to read it, but I don't really need to, because I know what it says.
After all, I was the one who requested to change my entry in tonight's auction.
Earlier today, I had been planning to auction off a haircut. Cutting hair is one of my hidden talents. Or maybe I should say was, since it's not such a secret anymore.
My dad has always been cheap. So cheap, in fact, that when I was younger, he asked me to cut his hair. Back then, I was thrilled to earn a bit of pocket change. My mom, on the other hand, was… not so thrilled.
She was definitely not thrilled with the first haircut. Which looked like a band of drunken rogue squirrels had taken up residence in my dad's hair.
The second haircut was a bit better, but not by much. The third was still bad, but salvageable.
By the fifth, though, my dad started to look good. And by the tenth, his colleagues were asking where he got his hair done. And that's when I branched out and started cutting their hair, too.
So it was a no-brainer for me to sign up for the auction and offer my services as a hair stylist. It's what I did last year, too. And it's easy cash.
Since last night, I've been thinking of ways to get David alone so I can explain myself to him.
I've been texting and emailing him nonstop, but I haven't so much as heard a peep from him.
I suspect he's either blocked me or is not reading my messages.
With every unanswered message, I've become more desperate.
I know that the only way I'll get a chance to explain myself is if I can get him alone.
I was mulling it over for hours this morning, thinking of scenarios and ways to achieve this objective, but I kept coming up empty. And then the perfect idea hit me.
The charity gala.
I have to auction off something that will make David bid on me. Something that will make him so furious that he'll make sure he wins. And then when he wins, I can get him alone. And I'll finally have the chance to explain myself.
Obviously, auctioning off a haircut won't do. There's no way in hell David will bid on a haircut from me.
But there are some things that David will bid on. And will make sure he wins.
Which is why I frantically called Mrs. Langford an hour ago, begging her to let me change my entry.
I glance back down at the piece of paper Mrs. Langford handed me, skimming my own words. I made my new submission very specific.
One night of excitement and connection.
I keep reading and the words blur together. I'm checking that everything is there. Near the bottom of the document I spot what I'm looking for. The words jump out at me.
…to take place tonight (after the auction).
That's key. It has to be tonight.
If David wins the bid but has time to sleep on it, he might change his mind. I need to make sure he cashes it in immediately, while emotions are running high.
I keep skimming the document.
… enjoy a meal for two cooked by a renowned chef (prepared during the auction, so it will be ready immediately afterwards).
I chuckle to myself as I read it. Is anyone going to buy this? It doesn't even make that much sense. How am I going to get a chef into this place? It's not like I cleared it with Mrs. Langford.
I guess it doesn't matter, because if Mrs. Langford bought it, then hopefully nobody else will question it. I wasn't sure if it was too ridiculous to believe, but I guess with stuff like this, people don't ask many questions. I'm hoping that's what will happen with David tonight.
I think I did well on such short notice. I mean, I had to get creative with this.
I figured I needed to offer something that not only would happen tonight, but where David would feel compelled to agree. Because I could see him agreeing to purchase my services so that no other men can have me, but then declining me himself.
I just figured I needed to up the stakes somehow, make it so that David will feel guilty if he says no. And what better way than to invent a fictional chef preparing a fictional meal to be enjoyed by two people?
That way, I can guilt him into it. Say the chef will be so disappointed if it's just a meal for one, or something like that. Plus, David hates wasting food. He grew up poor, and he's mentioned it more than once. A cooked meal going straight into the garbage would physically pain him.
The other thing I was careful about was the wording.
I can't be too explicit because that's not allowed, but the listing still needs to catch David's attention in the right way.
So I copied the language high-end escorts used in their listings in previous years.
There are only a few of them, but everyone knows who they are, and they use certain words.
Tells, if you will. For example, "excitement and connection. "
I peppered a few of those in and added one sexy yet classy photo of me in a low-cut burgundy dress. If that doesn't get David's attention, nothing will.
The one thing I haven't figured out is where this "dinner" is supposed to happen. I wrote "secret location" on the listing, which sounded mysterious and sexy at the time. Now it's just one more thing I'll have to improvise.
I sign the paper and hand it back to Mrs. Langford.
"Good luck," she says.
I smile and thank her.
Something tells me I'm going to need it.