Chapter 17 Harrison
Harrison
From the side of the stage, I take in the room.
What a nightmare.
Women. Lots of them. Packed in like fucking sardines.
One shouts out, “Show us what we’re bidding on!”
Brian’s expression is pure, unfiltered glee. “I’ll match the winning bid if you oil yourself down for the crowd.”
“Bite me.”
Zac straightens my tie. “We should probably mention that tearaway pants are sold separately.”
“It’s Raining Men” blares over the speakers.
For the love of God.
I glare at them both.
Brian winks. “Showtime, stallion.”
I’m about to cut bait and run when Zac shoves me toward the stage entrance.
I watch as Brian makes his way center stage. The crowd goes wild.
He taps the mic and waits for the room to hush.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight for the annual Christmas Bachelor Auction in support of our veterans. Up next, a man who gives his all to a worthy cause.” He pauses dramatically. “Please show us your generosity as you bid on a date with Harrison.”
Fantastic. Let the humiliation begin.
I step out like I’m auditioning to be a Vegas bottle service boy. The second the spotlight hits me, my brain shuts off.
Deer.
Headlights.
Full system failure.
Along with an unnerving amount of silence.
You could hear a pin drop.
I’m greeted by a sea of wide eyes and raised phones, all locked in that capture-the-car-wreck position.
Then I notice the cameras. So many fucking cameras. Telephoto lenses everywhere.
Not one.
Not two.
Three full rows of press badges.
I did not sign up for this.
I take a few tentative steps forward, clinging to the hope that Pix’s fifty bucks is my Hail Mary pass out of here.
I give a small wave, the universal signal for polite applause and let’s all pretend this never happened.
I scan the crowd for Pix.
She’s nowhere near the front.
Not the middle either.
I tilt my head, squinting past the glare, searching the shadowed pockets in the back rows.
Finally, I spot her.
Barely.
She’s wedged between two women in the nosebleed section, tucked so far back she might as well be hiding behind a potted plant. Shoulders hunched. Chin lowered. Hair strategically shielding half her face.
While the other half is buried in her phone.
Can she even hear from that far back? I mean, she’s practically outside the building.
That’s when the flashbulbs explode like fireworks.
And the room loses its damn mind.
Cheers. Wolf whistles. Applause crashes through the room like a tidal wave.
“Five thousand!” a woman near the front shouts.
Brian’s voice wobbles as he asks, “Do I hear six?”
“Six!”
“Seven!”
A bidding war. Really?
“Ten thousand!” a different woman shrieks.
The auctioneer raises his voice. “Ten thousand dollars! Do I hear eleven?”
Ten. Thousand. Dollars. For a date? Apparently, when women lose their minds, this is where they come.
“Eleven!”
“Twelve!”
Phones tilt higher.
From the wings, Zac mouths, “Flex for the crowd.”
I mouth back, “No.”
He motions for me to smile.
Not on your fucking life.
Then, without warning, he flicks his tongue and tweaks his nipple.
I laugh out loud. Moron.
“Fourteen thousand!”
“Fifteen!”
What exactly do these women think they’re getting for that kind of money?
I shake my head. I don’t want to know.
“Sixteen thousand dollars,” one of the attendants calls out. Those must be for the anonymous bidders currently licking their screens.
I’ve had enough. I give Pix the cue. A slight tilt of my head. The one we agreed on.
Nothing.
No reaction at all.
I do it again.
She shifts, and just when I think she’s about to bid, she—
Did she yawn?
My jaw clenches so tight I’d hear a molar crack if the catcalls weren’t so damn loud.
I try the cue again. Harder. Sharper.
Her head dips lower.
What is she doing? Checking her email? Ordering groceries? Filing her taxes?
Christ. This woman.
Finally, she looks up and sees me.
Relief washes over me before she lifts her phone to her ear and slips toward the exit like she can’t get away fast enough.
She’s leaving? I swear, if she walks out that door—
Which she does.
Un-fucking-believable.
This woman is testing every limit I have.
Heat coils in my blood, a slow simmer building in my chest as I glare at the door she vanished through, the bidding climbing higher around me.
“Twenty thousand.”
Dollars? Oh, come on.
Brian grins like he’s struck gold. “Twenty thousand dollars. Going once. Going twice…”
I swallow hard, forcing a smile as the high bidder waves.
I remind myself that she and her extensive facial hair are supporting a worthy cause.
Then an attendant leans in and whispers something in Brian’s ear.
Please, God, let this be a Level 3 gas leak. Nothing catastrophic. But a full evacuation of the building would be nice.
He stiffens. Then, wide-eyed, Brian clears his throat. “We have a new bid,” he announces. “Anonymous bidder. Fifty thousand dollars.”
A collective gasp ripples through the ballroom.
I blink.
What.
The.
Fuck.
Fifty thousand dollars?
For a date?
Brian slams the gavel. “Sold to anonymous bidder seven-fifteen.”
The room erupts. Applause. Whistles. Someone actually cheers like they’ve won something.
I stand there, shirtless and furious, staring at the empty doorway where Pix disappeared.
No bid.
No sticking around.
No… goodbye.
I’d like to believe she had a very good reason for ditching me in my time of need. Something serious. And urgent.
Like a kidney transplant.