Chapter 8
Walking down that dark hall again, my palms are so sweaty I’m convinced they’ll drip on stage and my humiliation will be complete. Doesn’t matter that it’s cool in the hall. My nerves don’t understand the temperature. While my palms are pouring, my mouth is dry. I haven’t been this anxious since taking the bar.
Cesar smiles. “Last chance to turn back, Six.”
It takes everything in me not to take him up on the offer. But I’m facing twenty-eight years of utter drudgery before retirement versus starting a real life of following my dreams, all in exchange for one night of work. The tired feeling I’d begun my night with vanished the moment I chose to do this. The very idea has invigorated me and given me hope. How could I possibly turn my back on it now? “I’m not turning back.”
“I’ll pull back the curtain and you will step out there. Strut the stage like you own it, because when you’re out there, you do. All eyes are on you, and they are grateful for the opportunity to see you. Each of the men in the audience is fascinated by you. Every one of them wants you. All you have to do is show them they are right to want you.”
I nod once, trying to let his words soak in.
“When the?—”
Footsteps come from behind us, and soon Camille’s face comes into view. She beams at me. “I’m so glad you’re doing this. You’ll have the best time.”
Cesar snarks, “Wonderful timing as always, Five.”
“Thank you, Cesar,” she says, flirting.
He rolls his eyes and smiles. “As I was saying, when it’s over, you’ll come right back here. We will be watching.”
“Why didn’t Cam—Five come right back here after?” Callie asks.
“Because this path is for first timers,” he explains. “I always like to check in before they go off with their bidder.”
She notes, “Oh. That’s nice of you.”
“Six, ready?”
I gulp and nod with all the confidence I don’t have. “Yes.”
He smiles, then pulls back the curtain with himself and the others behind it.
My feet feel like lead. But I do my best to glide out here. What did he say again? They’re fascinated. They’re here for me … something. I never got a pep talk in a locker room before, but that’s what I pictured when he said all of that stuff, and now, I’m in the bright lights on a stage in front of an unknown number of men all ogling me, and I’ve forgotten everything.
Camille whisper-shouts, “Strut!”
Right. So, I do an imitation of her walk, and I might as well be a baby duck for all the grace I have. A sweaty baby duck, for that matter. God, is my dress clinging to me?
The auctioneer says, “We begin our bidding at the customary fifty.”
Shit, we start at fifty?Even if I don’t make Camille’s money, fifty would be enough to take a good chunk out of my loans.
“Timber, seventy-five.”
I got one of Camille’s bidders? So much for Callie’s theory about us not having any crossover.
“Roswell, one twenty-five.”
Interesting name and a good jump.
But then, there’s a lull, and I’m instantly humiliated. Should I strut harder? Really put myself out there? God, I feel like an idiot, parading myself back and forth on the stage. Camille looked glamorous doing it. I’m not Camille.
“Apologies, gents, it appears I had a technical difficulty. Brown, one fifty. East, one seventy-five, Marker, two hundred.”
Two hundred? Wow!
“Chocolate, two twenty-five. Ambergris, two thirty.”
Okay, I’m hovering. But this is one hell of a haul for a night, and my loans would be almost totally paid off. It’ll take another year before I can start my business, but I can work with that.
“Timber, two forty-five.”
This is so weird. But I think I like it. I get the appeal now. Camille is right—this is fun. Awkward as fuck, but it’s fun to know what men think of me. How much of their fortune they are willing to part with just for a single night of my company? That’s a turn-on. It’s not like being at a bar where you’re comparing yourself to every woman around, thinking of them as the enemy. This takes all of that out of the equation. It’s brutal, but honest, and I can respect that.
“Roswell, two fifty.”
Okay, yeah. Looks like I’m staying at a quarter of a million. Oh my god, some guy wants to pay a quarter of a million to sleep with me. This is the strangest night of my life.
“East, are you sure?” He pauses. “Very well. East, three fifty.”
“What the fuck?” I bark.
A few of the bidders laugh at my shock.
The auctioneer ignores me and quickly says, “Timber, three sixty. Roswell, three seventy, East, three eighty.” He pauses. “Timber, three eighty-five. East, three ninety.”
Oh, my god. What the hell is going on? I’m stuck in the middle of the stage, still too shocked to wrap my brain around what’s happening. How did I go from a quarter of a million to three ninety in a matter of seconds?
He waits again, before declaring, “East, you are the winner.” He knocks the gavel, and the auction is over.
I’m numb and walking with a numb body is even more awkward than walking with a sweaty one. But Cesar whispers, “Six,” and I know where I’m supposed to go. I wobble my way back there, and I’m swallowed up by the curtain and back in the hallway.
Camille pulls me in for a hug, and vaguely, my body registers that it’s a little painful. Her ribs dig into my softness. “I’m so happy for you. That was amazing. Clearly East saw something he wanted.”
“To make a hundred thousand dollar jump?” Callie asks rhetorically. “Yeah, I’d say so.”
“Come along, ladies.” Cesar gently corrals us back to the library. Once the bookshelf closes, he asks, “How are you, Six?”
“I’m really not sure. Kinda numb.”
“Perfectly normal,” Camille declares. “I was too on my first night.”
“Really?”
She nods. “It’s nerve-wracking to be out there the first time. You never know what to expect. But girl, you killed it.”
Callie grins at me. “I am so fucking happy for you.”
It’s still hitting me in waves. Numb, then nervous, then numb again. “I’ll be done with … with everything I hate about my life. My school loans. My job.” I turn to Camille. “Thank you for getting me involved in this.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t met your bidder.”
“Do you think he’s gross? Have you met East?”
Cesar says, “They choose a new name every year. She wouldn’t know if she’s met him.”
“Oh.”
Callie, ever the girl scout, asks, “What are the next steps? I presume they use condoms?—”
“Of course,” he says with a nod. “No one wants any unfortunate outcomes. All other details are listed in a letter in a folder in your room. Six, you have the presidential suite for the evening. We like all our first timers to have the best room for their experience. If?—”
“It’s beautiful,” Camille says reassuringly. “You’ll love it.”
“As I was saying,” Cesar tells us, cutting her off with a look, “if you have any needs, we will see to them. Food, water, new clothes, all you have to do is pick up the phone and someone will answer. No need to dial a number. The phone works as an intercom more than a phone—if you dialed out, it would not work.”
“I see.” But I didn’t. “Why not let people dial out?”
“All we need is one person to dial up their friend and tell them about what they’re doing for all of this to blow up in everyone’s face.” He shakes his head. “No sense in risking such a thing.”
“Ah.”
“You will enter the room first. You will have ten minutes to follow the instructions in the folder. Then, East will join you.”
I gulp and let that thought pass through me. Can’t focus on him. One thing at a time.
“After the evening has been completed, your money will be delivered to your bank account.”
Callie asks, “And how is this handled by the IRS?”
“How she decides to tell them she earned the money is between her, her accountants, and her lawyers. It is not our concern.”
“I got a guy,” Camille says. “I’ll hook you up with him. He can take care of anything.”
Numbly, I nod. “Um, okay.” Now there’s money laundering? Better than the alternative, I guess. Hell, I practically do that on a regular basis at work, but in a legal capacity with appropriate tax shelters.
Cesar passes me one more flute of champagne, and I chug it. “Stay hydrated. Some of our bidders enjoy using enhancement drugs to get their money’s worth out of the auction.”
“Oh. Well, that makes sense, I guess.” Nothing like worrying about my stamina at a time like this. As if I didn’t have enough on my mind.
“I will escort you to the presidential suite now.”
Nodding, I hug Callie first, and she mumbles into my hair, “Be careful and have a wonderful time.”
“I will.” I hope.
Camille hugs me next, and her bones dig once more, but I hardly feel them. Another wave of numbness has hit me. She says, “I’ll give Callie my info so I can hook you up with my guy for your taxes.”
“Thanks again. For all of this.”
“I haven’t done anything. This is all on you now.”
It really, really is, isn’t it? I smile stiffly and follow Cesar out to the next bizarre part of my night. Part of me wants to dissociate from all of this and pretend it’s not happening, but the bigger part of me wants to be absolutely present for the entire experience. I’m turned on, confused, still kind of numb, and definitely on the verge of something, but I can’t tell what.
“Where are we in the mansion? This whole place is disorienting.”
“The south wing. Don’t worry—when you’re in the halls, you’re not going to be alone. No one expects you to know where you’re going.”
I nod and we go down a long hall. It’s elegant and ornate, but mostly what I notice are the guards. Two posted at each door. We stop in front of a gilded door.
“Enjoy the presidential suite, Six. This is where I leave you. Remember, you have ten minutes before your bidder arrives. Enjoy.” He presses his finger to a lock mechanism, and the door clicks open. I take a deep breath and walk in.
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