Chapter 8
eight
VANESSA
“Auction?! What auction?” I had been to every single annual foundation fundraiser since its inception, and there had never—ever—been an auction.
The poor intern immediately started stuttering, tripping over his words. His eyes were so wide I half-expected him to pass out. He fumbled, listening hard to the voice buzzing in his earpiece.
“It’s something new we’re doing for charity, Miss Miranda.”
He wouldn’t even make eye contact. He was hiding something, clearly uncomfortable. Maybe even coerced. And just like that, I knew.
“I don’t remember signing up for that,” I said, watching him wait for more instructions through the earpiece.
“They’re serving dinner now,” he blurted. “If you’d like, I can show you to your table.”
Food. He had changed the subject to food. I snatched the earpiece from his ear and held it up to mine.
“Tell her they’re serving the best lemon-butter garlic salmon she’s ever had. Food always distracts her.”
A laugh burst out of me at the sheer audacity.
Of course. I shoved the earpiece back at the kid without another word and stalked off the stage toward the seating area to confront him.
We spotted each other at the same time. He was at a table near the front with Richard and Morgan, and there was a woman next to him that I assumed was his date.
He braced himself almost imperceptibly, crossing his arms like he was gearing up for impact.
Before I could talk myself down, I was already at his chair. “You bastard. You really told him to talk about food to distract me. You must think I’m an animal.”
He looked up with that devil’s grin and a glint in his eyes. “Ness, this is Emma Grant, my date. Emma, this is Vanessa Miranda.” He said it smoothly, a reminder that we were in public and I shouldn't cause a scene.
Half a second later, I realized I didn’t care.
I glanced at his date. She was so gorgeous it was unfair.
She bit her glossy lip, fighting a smile.
“Hi. Sorry to interrupt. You’re stunning, by the way.
You can do way better than this cad. I hope you don’t go home with him.
” I leaned closer, just enough that only the table could hear. “Syphilis is very real.” Then I winked.
Richard nearly choked on his wine. Morgan teetered between laughing and cringing.
That was when Elliott finally jumped up, grabbed my elbow, and steered me away before the whole gala became my audience. He shoved us into the nearest door, which turned out to be a supply closet barely big enough for one person, let alone two. We were practically pressed together.
We stared each other down like it was a contest.
“Listen, you little hellion,” he said, his voice low and even.
“As much fun as it is watching you turn pissing me off into an Olympic sport, you’re doing the damn auction.
Yes, it’s the first year. So what? This is a perfect way to get rich, bored people to donate more money.
” He raked a hand through his hair and sighed.
“Don’t you want that? Don’t you want the foundation to help more people? ”
I deflated, knowing he was right. My irritation with him had blurred the bigger picture. “Fine.”
He leaned in closer, whispering in my ear. “See? What did I tell you? Cornered. Animal.”
That insufferable smirk made me want to claw his eyes out.
Before I could react, he slipped out of the closet, leaving me stomping like a toddler mid-tantrum.
When I opened the door, the intern was already waiting.
He had ditched the earpiece—smart kid. Elliott was back at his table, sending me a singular wink.
“The auction starts soon, if you’d like to eat first,” the intern said. For the first time, I knew the words were actually his.
“What’s your name, kid? You work for him?” I jerked my chin toward Elliott’s table.
“Tanner. Just helping with the event.”
I flashed my first genuine smile all night. “Okay, Tanner, take me to the salmon. I’ll need protein if I’m going to strangle that man and bury his body somewhere in Los Angeles where they’ll never find him.”
Tanner stared at me like he wasn't sure if he should call the LAPD.
“No need to worry, Tanner. I’m only half-joking. I’d let them find part of his body, so the family would have closure. I’m not that evil.”
He huffed out a laugh and took a small step back.
Since the auction was already underway, I asked Tanner to take me somewhere private to inhale my food.
He led me to a small side room off the stage, and when he set down a plate of salmon on risotto and a brownie crowned with ice cream, I almost cried.
The salmon practically dissolved on my tongue. A moan escaped me before I could stop it. Damn it—Satan was right. It was the best salmon I’d had in ages.
By the time they called me to the auction block, my plates were spotless. I wiped my mouth, checked with Tanner for stray crumbs, and walked out onto the stage.
The announcer beamed, his voice booming: “Our final auction of the evening—a wish granted by tonight’s guest speaker, Vanessa Miranda!”
I almost choked on my own spit. A wish? This had to be the most half-baked idea in history.
“We’ll start the bidding at five thousand dollars,” he said.
I tapped his shoulder. “Excuse me—”
“Five thousand!” someone shouted from what sounded like the back of the room. The voice was familiar, but before I could dwell on it, the announcer cut back in.
“Do I hear fifty-five hundred?”
I tried again, but he ignored me. The lights were blinding; I couldn't even see the lunatics bidding on this nonsense. And then—through the noise—came a voice I recognized in my marrow.
“Fifteen thousand.”
The room froze. The last bid hadn’t been anywhere near that. My mouth fell open as the announcer slammed his gavel and the ballroom erupted in cheers.
Of course. Elliott James walked onstage, a feline grin plastered across his insufferable face.
“Mr. James, what will your one wish be?” the announcer asked.
Elliott glanced at me, then leaned into the microphone. “The next thirty days with Miss Miranda. That’s all I want.”
The crowd exploded, chanting, “Dance! Dance! Dance!”
Hell. Actual hell. He guided me offstage while the crowd ooh-ed and aah-ed like they were watching some grand love story instead of a prelude to homicide.
A slow song began, and Elliott pulled me flush against him.
My head barely reached his shoulder; I could feel his chin brushing the top of my hair.
Flashes burst from cameras. I could already see tomorrow’s headlines. When the cheers finally faded, I tried to step back, but he held me tighter.
“I know you’re picturing my untimely demise,” he murmured, “but whatever you’re about to say, save it for the drive home. No need to cause a scene. Especially when your speech earned us more money than we’ve ever raised.”
“Are you sure it was my speech,” I shot back, “and not the fifteen grand you just spent to coerce me into this nightmare? This feels like a true-crime version of Pretty Woman. Except in mine, Vivian murders Edward in his sleep.”
I slipped my arms inside his jacket and trailed my hands up and down his back. He stiffened instantly. His breath was hot against my ear. I slid my hands carefully down his sides, then up again—until I reached his armpit. I grabbed a fistful of skin through his shirt and twisted. Hard.
He barely flinched. Instead, he caught my fist and pressed it against his chest. “If I didn’t know you, you’d be terrifying, you little psychopath.”
“You don’t know me.” I yanked, but he just tightened his grip. “You don’t know me,” I repeated through gritted teeth.
“Try me,” he growled. He finally loosened enough for me to meet his eyes. “You’re the most infuriatingly stubborn person I know.”
The way he said it, I actually felt… scolded.
Then he kept going. “You doodle on everything. Whenever you’re stuck too long, you scribble.
Romance novels make you smile like an idiot, and you can fall asleep anywhere.
The only thing you love more than food is your family.
And the only other person who loved my mom more than me and Morgan… was you.”
The words knocked the breath out of me.
“And you touch people when you talk. Constantly. I don’t even think you realize it,” he continued, his voice dropping. “Normally, you don’t mind being touched. Just… not by me.”
The last part slipped out like an afterthought. He had noticed. He knew I avoided his touch—and it bothered him. The realization warmed me in a way I wished it didn’t.
“Nothing to say?” he murmured. “Gotta admit, this might be my favorite look on you.”
The song ended. We were still frozen, waists locked, eyes locked, my tongue tied into knots.
“Wait at the exit,” he said, his voice suddenly tight. “I’ll take you home.”
And just like that, a switch flipped. He admitted all that, and now it was like the weight of it hit him. His jaw ticked. He was angry.
We finally broke apart, but didn’t make it far. Javi was standing in our path. Everyone in the ballroom was staring. My stomach sank. That’s when it hit me that the voice I’d recognized earlier during the auction—it had been Javi.
“Van,” he said carefully, “I was hoping we could talk.”
Morgan saw the disaster coming. She cut through the crowd and ushered the three of us into a side room. Elliott lingered, his eyes fixed on Javi. His glare was murderous, we finally had something in common.
“I regret what happened,” Javi started. “She had a deadline, and I thought if I let her see your designs, she’d just be inspired. I never thought she’d pass them off as her own.”
I smoothed an invisible speck of lint from my pantsuit, then looked up at him with a smile as sharp as glass. “What makes you think I even care about that?” I asked softly.
“I’ll do whatever it takes for you to forgive me. What’s it going to take?”
“Whatever it takes?” I asked, sugar-sweet.
“Whatever it takes, baby.”
That last word was the match. My blood was kerosene.
I lunged, fisting his lapels. “Okay, baby. For starters, forget I exist. Lose my number. Forget you’ve ever seen me naked.
You want to make this work? Move. Another town, another state, another country—I don’t care, as long as I never see your face again. ”
His eyes went wide. I didn’t even realize I’d let go until Elliott dragged me back, holding me against his chest. Javi stared at me one last time and walked out without a word. My body sagged, spent, but Elliott’s grip only tightened.
The walk to the car was a blur. I felt Elliott’s eyes on me during the ride, but I didn't look back. I leaned my forehead against the window, watching the city lights smear. I don’t remember getting to the house or getting out of the car.
When I reached my room, I collapsed on my bed. And for the first time in a long time, I sobbed—sobs laced with a rage that had nowhere left to go.