CHAPTER FOUR — DAVID
I'm trying to avoid her, but it's impossible.
She's sitting two chairs over from me, and I can smell her from here.
She smells like lemon sherbet and cinnamon sugar toast. She's flirting outrageously with the CFO seated to her right, and I am tempted to roll my eyes.
I know she's not into him. He's not her type, but it's grating nonetheless.
"And finally, for our last item of the evening, we have a bit of a change in the programming. We didn't have time to print new programs, so I'm going to read out the new item. You can also check the auction website, which has been updated. Scan the QR code on the back of your program to access it."
I hear scraping and look over. It's Stephanie standing up. Change in the schedule? I flip to the program and find her. She's listed right at the end. I skim it. Haircut, blah, blah, blah. It seems pretty standard, but she's changed it? To what?
I get a weird feeling. I look at her, and she's smiling, no, smirking. She's up to something. I know it.
She catches my eye and smirks again. And I get that fire in my stomach. My heartbeat quickens, and I'm reminded of everything.
Like a montage, our memories come flooding back: the escalating games we played with each other, all of the smirks, me putting her over my lap and punishing her, then fucking her, and then her turning around and betraying me.
That smirk is like a trigger for me. I look down, trying to get my breathing back to normal.
I notice a bulge in my pants. I hate that she has this effect on me.
"…an exciting evening of connection, with one-on-one time and intimate conversation…"
I look up, alarmed. What the hell? I zoned out while the woman (what's her name, Mrs. Langley or something?) was reading out Stephanie's bio.
Stephanie's standing beside her, looking at the ground somewhat bashfully, but also I can detect a hint of a smirk on her face. Only I can see it, but it's there.
Why is she smirking? Intimacy. What the fuck? I scan the QR code.
And then read the bio quickly. My stomach drops. I know what this is.
Sure enough, I look back at the brochure. It's very similar to what Sasha's written. Sasha the stripper. The only difference is that there's something about a mysterious restaurant or something.
I look around the table. The CFO is licking his lips. Disgust rolls in my stomach. Actually, as I scan the room, there are many men who look just like him or worse. It's like vultures circling a dead body.
Oh, no way in hell.
"Let's start the bidding at 500," the auctioneer says. Before I can think straight, my placard's in the air. "1,000," I say.
The old lady beams. "Excellent! We have 1,000. Do we have 2,000?"
The CFO raises his placard. I shoot him a glare. He just smiles.
"3,000," I say. I look to my left. A few tables over, a man in a dark green button-up and with red hair is raising his. I think he's a tech startup guy, pretty young, maybe a few years older than Stephanie. Better than the CFO, but I still don't like it.
In fact, the idea of anybody with her but me at this point is enough to make me want to blow a fuse.
"Do we have 5,000?"
"5,000," I blurt out.
"10,000," the CFO says, raising his placard. What the fuck?
I look at Stephanie. She looks beautiful in a light pink sundress with a sweetheart neckline. The flowy material skims her body and plunges at her bust. It has capped sleeves, exposing her delicate collarbone.
Her brown hair falls down her shoulders like butterscotch. She looks good enough to eat. No wonder all of the men are acting like hyenas right now.
She looks at me and bites her lower lip. I can tell she's nervous. She's probably wondering if I have the money to afford this.
The truth is, I do, which might seem surprising seeing as I'm a landlord. I mean, why bother having a tenant unless I needed the money, right? Well, the truth is, I became a landlord maybe a decade ago, and back then, I needed the money.
But for the last five years or so, I haven't. Housing is expensive, and there are slumlords everywhere. Tenants need places to stay. I deliberately keep my price below market rate for a reason.
I could always move into a bigger place myself too, but it's more than enough for me. I'm not the kind of guy to drive a flashy car or wear fancy watches. I don't need to.
But some investments have paid off, combined with a big promotion at work, and needless to say, I have the money saved up for a rainy day. And right now, it's pouring.
"25,000." Someone raises their hand.
"Do we have 30?" The CFO's placard is up before the auctioneer finishes the word. Thirty thousand. This is getting ridiculous.
"50,000," I say, before anyone else can jump in. It's quiet.
"50,000 going once, going twice. Sold! To number 81."
I look at my placard just to check. It's me, for $30,000.
Unlike most auctions, this one is the type where the winner pays the second-highest bid.
It's good for the nonprofit because you get bidders trying to bluff each other out.
I jumped straight to fifty to scare everyone off, and I guess nobody was willing to call my bluff.
And honestly, it wasn't a bluff, I was prepared to pay 50,000.
I'd be prepared to pay much more for Stephanie.
Not to buy her, really. To protect her. It'd be worth every penny.
I look at her. At first, I feel relieved that she won't be off doing God knows what with Mr. Lip-Smacking, Greasy-Haired CFO.
Then, looking at her, she catches my eye directly and smirks and then winks.
Now I'm pissed. What the fuck? She baited me.
She baited me, and now I've not only been played by her once, but twice.
Anger overtakes me. I can't believe she's made me feel foolish again. I can't. I don't know yet what I'm gonna do with her, but I can't let her get away with this.
I eat the rest of the dinner mechanically.
She comes back to the table, and I avoid looking at her the rest of the dinner.
I shovel the limp green salad and mushroom pasta into my mouth reflexively.
I'm not tasting the food. All I'm thinking about is what I'm going to do to her when I have her all alone.
I watch her shoveling pasta into her mouth, and can't help but think about all the other things I want to shove in it. I shake the thought from my head. There will be plenty of time for that later.