Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Olive
Josie holds the paddle with my number printed on the front.
Mine. Not hers.
"What are you doing?" I hiss, shooting a look at my manager who is too focused on the task at hand. Akira sits beside her, looking way too entertained.
Both are up to no good. "Something that needs to be done," Josie says, flat and final, before turning back to the stage.
When Akira invited me to this charity event as her plus one, I told myself, Why not?
I could do with a distraction. Something good.
After how last night ended, I needed one.
I was mad. At myself for letting my guard down, and at him for assuming I needed saving.
I don’t.
Obviously.
The man on stage calls out bids, his gaze flicking between the crowd and Josie.
Behind us, someone keeps raising the stakes. Again, and again, and again.
Who spends this kind of money...on a date?
And not just any date.
A date with him.
The most arrogant, egotistical, infuriating man alive.
I mean...yeah, he’s hot.
It's too bad he ruined that when he opened his mouth the other night.
"And what is it that needs to be done, exactly?" I ask through gritted teeth, forcing a smile as a camera pans to us.
Josie shoves the bidding paddle in my hand. Before I can stop her, she raises it in the air.
Another donation.
A huge one.
I blink at the screen, the number flashing like it’s mocking me.
How am I supposed to pay for that?
Seriously, how is it even legal to bid on people?
"And how do you expect me to pay for this?" My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline, my nostrils flaring as I glance at Josie, then at the woman a few tables back, practically vibrating in her seat for a night with Avery.
"We’re not paying for any of it. That guy is." Josie tips her chin at the man on stage. "He’s given us a shit-ton of money to bid on a date with his client, so you—" she says, waving her own paddle in my face, "and him," with a nod over her shoulder, "can look loved up."
I scowl at her. "What the hell for? We’ve interacted a total of one time, and he was an absolute ass about it. The less I have to do with him, the better."
It’s as if the man on stage heard me, because the moment we make eye contact, a smile forms on his lips.
‘No,’ I silently mouth towards him with a firm shake of my head, to which he replies to the crowd, "Oh, yes." Nobody seems to notice that he’s talking to me and not them, so he continues. "If I had known auctioning a date with Avery would’ve caused this much chaos and raised so much money, I would’ve started the tradition years ago. "
The audience laughs, but I sink back into my seat, hoping to go undetected.
If I sneak away to the bathroom, Josie will continue raising my paddle. But given that stupid man has rigged this whole thing, I don’t think I even have a choice.
"Act like you want it, Olive. Get rowdy with the old lady trying to take your man. And most of all, do not. Back. Down."
Even if I wanted to, the look in Josie’s eyes tells me I can’t.
"This is your chance to show the label that you are not—"
"Boring?" I cross my arms over my chest. "I know." If I were a man on stage with just my guitar and nothing else, people would view me as talented and unique. But apparently, they just want me to shake my ass on stage to get people’s attention, and do it all again night after night.
Sighing, I scrape the paddle off of my lap and rise to my feet, right as Josie whispers just loud enough for me to hear, "Remember, he’s paying for it."
Like I can forget.
But before I can get a word out, the host turns to me, lifting the mic with a grin. "Avery Jones, join me on stage to find out who made the winning bid on your date."
God damnit.
Silence floats around the room, whispers coming to a halt, while pure fear captures me as I hear the legs of Avery’s chair scrape against the ground.
My eyes remain locked on the front of the stage, waiting with bated breath for him to appear.
I want to run my clammy hands down my dress, but I fear it’ll leave obvious sweat stains, so instead, I clamp the paddle with both hands.
The sound of his shoes tap against the steps of the stage before the spotlight shines on him, his forearm used to shield his eyes.
He stands there, his feet a shoulder width apart, with his hands clenched in fists by his sides.
He shakes his head at the host. I see his mouth move, but I’m not a lip reader.
Whatever it is, I know he’s just as pissed as I am.
And when the host says something back, Avery’s eyes find mine.
Only then do I remember I’ve been standing this whole time, while everyone else has remained seated.
Well, me and the woman whose voice I’d now be able to pick anywhere.
"Well?" she says loudly, and I find the courage to look over my shoulder at her. She’s older—mid-fifties if I had to guess—but there’s no mistaking her beauty. Her blonde hair is shoulder-length and wavy, but the distance between us makes it hard to determine her eye color.
The enormous ruby necklace sitting on her collarbone tells me she has more money than I’ll ever see in this lifetime.
Going by the gentleman at her side tugging her arm to force her to sit back down, I assume she’s willing to drain his bank account dry.
She shakes herself from his grip, crossing her arms over her chest.
"It seems we have a tie." The host beams, and I swear Avery’s eye twitches. I can’t help the smile that curves at the corners of my lips.
How can you have a tie at an auction, where the purpose is to raise money for a charity?
"Though that seems a bit ridiculous. I have a feeling if we don’t settle this, these women will be at it all night." His laughter into the microphone drowns out the crowd doing the same.
"Spit it out, Davis!" Somebody shouts from a table behind me, and a sneaky look over my shoulder tells me it was the man with Avery at my show last night.
The host laughs again. "I cannot, in good conscience, take more than what the two of you are bidding for a single date with this guy right here. Not that he isn't worth it." He grips Avery’s shoulder. I can tell it’s taking every ounce of willpower for Avery not to leave the room and sulk.
"So what will it be?" The woman behind me asks.
My feet remain firmly planted on the floor, aching in the heels I was told I had to wear. I realize I haven’t said a single word since Avery took the stage.
"He needs to choose," the words leap out of my throat like I’ve cast them into the ocean, waiting for so much as a bite from the biggest fish in the sea. "It’s her, or me."
God, why did I just say that?
I swallow what feels like a boulder, hard and fast, squaring my shoulders to make it look like I meant every word. When in reality, I could—and would— walk out of this room and never think about it again.
If I didn’t have Thing 1 and Thing 2 beside me, forcing my hand for the sake of my career, I probably would have.
"Make him choose! Make him choose! Make him choose!" The crowd chants, fists banging against tables, cutlery colliding with glassware, and I swear I hear one shatter.
"You hearing this, Jones?" the host says, turning to face Avery one last time, holding the microphone out for him to take. "I think they want you to choose." He smiles, childlike and mischievous, watching as Avery no doubt jabs his eyes out with his imaginary voodoo doll.
Avery snatches the microphone, gripping it so hard that his knuckles pale, while his hand trembles as he brings it to his mouth. "Thanks, Orlando." He clears his throat.
"Before I make my decision on which of these beautiful women I choose to take on this date…" He pauses, and I roll my eyes. "I just want to thank everybody for coming tonight. Your generosity toward the YBAGB hasn’t gone unnoticed, and I know my manager here appreciates it all." Now it’s his turn to squeeze his friend’s shoulder, and going by the way Orlando winces, I know he’s done it twice as hard.
"Why don’t we bring both women on stage?" Orlando chimes in, and I think this is where I put my foot down. I’m already too exposed for my own liking, I couldn’t imagine anything worse than being forced on a stage while waiting for a man I barely know and cannot stand, to choose me. "Or we could—"
"Her." He points at me, and even though I knew he would, I can feel the way the blood drains from my face. "Olivia Herring."
My eyebrows pinch together, while he raises a single brow to see if I’ll protest or correct him, but I don’t.
I can’t.
Damn you, Avery Jones.
"Sold to Olive Herring for three hundred thousand dollars," Orlando shouts into the microphone still in Avery’s hand, right as a man comes from the side to collect me from my seat and usher me backstage.
"Now?" I say to Josie and Akira, who remain seated while I feel like I’m drowning under a thousand pairs of eyes, doing my hardest to swim my way to the surface.
"Don’t be home too late," Akira says, lifting a hand and wiggling her fingers at me in farewell.
"See you tomorrow." Josie sends me off with a wink, as the two women I thought were my friends giggle side by side at my obvious discomfort.
I take a deep breath and make my way to the side of the stage.
"You." Avery glares at me as I stop in front of him, about five feet away. Orlando is both the reason the two of us have been forced into this situation and the person who stands between us.
"Me." My response is smug, my arms crossed over my chest while I hide the annoyance on my face with a forced smirk.
I don’t want to be here, nor do I care to be. But unfortunately, I’m at the point in my career where what my manager says goes. And my manager told me that being here was non-negotiable.
"Here, take this," Orlando says, the joy on his face palpable. He hands Avery a stack of envelopes, and I see the number ‘one’ written in thick, black Sharpie on the top of the pile.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Avery asks, turned half away, his question directed at the man I now know to be his manager.
"Remember when I said I had an idea?" he asks, and Avery nods with reluctance.
"Well, this is it." They both turn to face me, Avery’s face bright red with his eyebrows pinched together, and Orlando looking as though he’s having the best night of his life.
"In this stack of cards, you’ll find addresses and instructions.
Considering you bid on a date at an auction for charity—"
"I didn’t bid on anything," I cut him off. "Just in case you thought I willingly used my own money to go on a date with you, I absolutely did not."
Avery rolls his eyes. "Anyway, you raised your paddle to secure the date with my client, and because it was a charity offered product, you must play by the rules. Every single venue must be attended; every activity participated in. Any questions?"
I don’t even think my own dad has spoken to me like this since I was a teenager, yet suddenly, this guy thinks he can boss me around.
"No." I shake my head. "I don’t agree to this."
"Too bad." Orlando presses the stack of cards against Avery’s chest. "There’s a car waiting for the two of you out front. Enjoy your night."
I find myself internally chanting the words ‘Call me, faking an emergency. Call me, faking an emergency. Call me, faking an emergency,’ hoping that Lizzie can hear me.
But twin telepathy isn’t real, and I’m in this alone.