Chapter 7 #2
Skylar’s eyes flash. “Then go ask your friend.”
A laugh slips out of me, bitter and humorless. “Friend?”
“You know what I mean,” she says, exasperated. “Come on, Elodie. It’s freaking Dorian Vale. He’s a billionaire. And he told you to find him if you needed him.”
I shake my head before she can even finish. “Skylar, you know I can’t do that.”
“Why?” Skylar demands. “Why can’t you do that? Out of all your options, that’s the most viable one. The one that lets you keep your dignity.”
“Does it?” I snap back before I can stop myself.
Her brows knit. “Of course, it does.”
“No, it doesn’t.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to. “Because I’ll still owe him. It’s not like he’s offering to give me the money. And even if he did, I wouldn’t take it.”
Skylar opens her mouth, but I keep going, heat rising behind my eyes.
“This way, it’s my own money,” I point out. “It’s a job.”
Her expression hardens. “No, Elodie. That is not a job. Being auctioned is nothing like earning money.”
“But it is,” I insist, even as something inside me flinches at the words. “You offer yourself, and your bidder pays. It’s simple.”
Simple. Like I’m talking about serving coffee.
Like I’m not talking about my body.
“The money is mine,” I add, quieter now, the desperation slipping through no matter how hard I try to clamp down on it. “And I don’t have to spend every second looking over my shoulder, so scared I can’t breathe.”
The last word cracks something inside me. I blink fast, but it’s too late. Tears clog my throat like wet ash.
Skylar’s shoulders drop. Her anger softens into something else when she sees my face.
She crosses the room and sits beside me, careful, like I’m breakable.
“I’m sorry,” she says gently. “Elodie… I really wish I could help you.”
I lift a hand, cutting her off before she can start blaming herself. “No. It’s okay. I can’t expect you to fix this. You’re helping tonight just by letting me stay here.”
Her eyes shine. “You stay as long as you need,” she says firmly. “You hear me?”
I nod, because if I try to speak, I’ll fall apart.
Skylar outright hated Clara long before she had a reason to. But she saw things in my childhood best friend that I’d never been able to see.
I’ve only known Skylar for three years. We met during our final year of college, when we were both placed on Ashworth Academy’s teaching-assistant program. She was at Yale then on the art history program, and I was at Columbia studying English literature.
We bonded over our love for classical literature and everything European.
It was a friendship that felt real. Like she was the one I’d known all my life.
Skylar is exactly like me. Strong-minded and a real go-getter but also a dreamer.
She’s not the party girl like Clara, and she—like me—wants the dream of getting married and having a family.
Knowing all that, I made the mistake of inviting both her and Clara to dinner to celebrate my twenty-second birthday. I just wanted my two best friends to meet.
But it was a disaster, and it was all Clara’s fault.
She was rude to Skylar and obnoxious at dinner—because Skylar is way prettier than her.
Then she was doing drugs and got so drunk when we went out to a club that she passed out on the dance floor and threw up all over the bouncers when they moved her.
She sobered up enough to leave with some guy without even telling us where she was going.
When she saw us the next day, she laughed it off and called Skylar a stuck-up bitch when she tried to tell her she needed to be more careful.
Over the years, there were other instances like that. Although, I never got Clara and Skylar together again.
Everything culminated to the final blow. The money. The lies. The betrayal.
Now I’m sitting here like an idiot feeling so very foolish. Because I should have known.
Should have known damn better.
“You should report her to the police.” Skylar reaches for my hand. “What she did was fraud.”
I nod slowly. “Yes. I’m going to do it next week. I just need to live through the next few days first.”
“Good. I’m so glad you’re finally listening.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen before. I just… trusted her. I didn’t want to resort to such drastic actions when maybe there was a chance she’d turn up.”
“I totally understand.”
“Hopefully,” I whisper, forcing the word out, “if I do this auction… everything will be okay.”
Skylar goes still. Then she exhales slowly, like she’s choosing her next move.
“Okay… Tell me more,” she says at last. “When is it?”
A laugh escapes me—thin, bitter, all irony. “Monday.”
Her face drains. “What?”
“Monday night,” I add, noting just how much the universe clearly hates me. “And it goes until midnight.”
Skylar’s hand flies to her mouth. “Elodie… That’s literally the deadline,” she whispers.
“I know.”
I found out the details on the club’s website.
It’s called the Decadent Auction, and it’s exactly what that girl at the coffeehouse said.
Everything she explained to her friend was laid out on the website in the terms and conditions.
From the rules about boundaries to the expectation of how much you could make if you had no boundaries.
All sales are final and charged to the bidder’s account the moment a girl is sold. The money is then processed within a few hours, so it would be in my bank account before I woke the next day.
Minus the part about what I have to actually do for the money, it sounds like a dream. The solution to all my problems.
I saved the link for the application form so I wouldn’t need to search for it again. There’re no strict rules to apply. Once you send the form, you’re in. The closing date is tomorrow. Or when they have enough girls. Whichever comes first. There are currently five places left out of twenty.
My throat tightens again. “I’ll call Marcus. I’m hoping if I show up on Tuesday with money—real money—it’ll soften the blow. Depending on how much I make…”
I swallow hard, trying to sound logical when nothing about this is.
“Can you imagine if I pay something like twenty grand?” I say in a wistful tone. “Marcus can’t be upset about that, can he?”
“He would be foolish if he were. But it… still doesn’t sit well with me. I mean the auction.”
“I know.”
It doesn’t sit well with me, either. But the more I think about it, the better it starts to look.
I’m scared as hell. But I’d rather choose an auction block than to keep living the life I’ve been living.
God. If I make enough, I could even quit the coffeehouse. That alone feels like reason enough. No more working all day and sometimes all night, too. No more collapsing into three-hour scraps of sleep and pretending I’m fine.
I could live something that almost resembles a normal life.
My phone buzzes next to me with a text, and I jump so hard my heart slams against my ribs.
With my heart pounding in my throat, I pick up the phone. My stomach falls away the second I read the message. It’s from Marcus.
Tick tock. Time’s almost up. Can’t hide from me.
Skylar leans over before I can angle the screen away. Her eyes flick across the words, and the color drains from her face.
“Elodie…” she whispers, like saying my name might keep whatever comes next from happening.
I swallow, but it doesn’t push down the panic clawing up my throat.
That’s it. My decision is made.
I pull the phone back to my chest, then open the saved link and find the application for the auction.
I fill it out.
Skylar doesn’t stop me.
When I’m done, I press Send.