Chapter Two
Andrew
“Mr. Stone, my name is Ivan. Mikhail Balshov asked me to escort you to the lounge when you arrived. So, if you’ll just follow me please.”
I gesture for the man in the burgundy suit to lead the way and nod at the guard holding the door as I pass, doing my best not to let my annoyance show.
I hadn’t planned to go out at all tonight, and here, the renowned Russian-owned auction house, is the last place I want to be.
At least my business partner had the forethought to call ahead, saving me the hassle of arguing with the guard at the door to get inside.
I can barely contain my anger as I follow Ivan into the elevator.
Someone is getting fired tonight. Maybe several someones.
When I accepted my friend’s invitation to co-found a record label with him, it was with the understanding that I’d be the silent partner behind Flint and Stone Records, the money man pulling strings in the background.
My business partner, Mick Flint—a.k.a. Mikhail Balshov, but that’s a protected industry secret—is supposed to be the talent manager, the guy who finds the stars and keeps them out of trouble.
So why the fuck our newest sensation, a spoiled pop prince with an attitude that sets my teeth on edge, is here when he should be with Mick in LA is a mystery to me.
And Mick too apparently, since it was him who called me in a panic, asking me to intervene before our proverbial golden goose tanks his entire career in one night.
It was only by stroke of luck that Mick was even alerted to this idiot’s plans.
Zoltoy Dom, the firm that houses—among other things—the ostentatious gilded elevator that I’m currently in, happens to be owned by associates of Mick’s.
I’m not really sure what the connection is, if they’re friends, family, or something else, and I don’t want to know.
I’m well aware that my business partner is a member of a powerful bratva family.
But as long as our record label is at least mostly legal, I don’t give a fuck.
As pissed as I am, right now I’m also grateful for the connection that gave us a heads up.
If the press gets wind that America’s golden boy is spending his Friday night at a human auction, they’d have a field day.
Not only would Rory McVail’s career be over, the reputation of our entire company would be irreparably damaged.
The only saving grace, if it can even be called one, is that the auction itself is a closely guarded secret.
It isn’t even technically illegal. According to Mick, the women auctioning their virginity tonight have all volunteered and signed consents and NDAs.
It’s some kind of lonely-hearts auction for men seeking companionship of a discreet and specific variety before the holidays, and as Mick emphasized on the phone, all of the women are of legal age.
Given Zoltoy Dom’s elite clientele and the number of zeros in the auction buy-in, it’s easy to guess why a woman might be eager to offer herself up to the highest bidder, but consensual or not, there is no way to spin something like this for the press.
God only knows what possessed Rory to do something like this, but the boy isn’t famous for his intelligence.
As if I don’t have enough reasons already to hate this season, now I have to deal with this mess.
It’s all I can do to walk by the small Christmas tree in the corner without knocking it over as I exit the elevator.
Following Ivan down the wide hallway to a pair of oversized doors, I can barely contain an eyeroll when I notice that Ivan’s suit perfectly matches the drapery.
Everything about Zoltoy Dom is intentional down to the minutest detail, and the effect is a nearly suffocating feeling of affluence.
I can’t help but wonder how Rory managed to even learn of this auction, let alone gain an invite.
The kid is a pop sensation, but he hasn’t been famous for that long, and he comes from a small town in rural Tennessee.
If not for the internet, he never would have been discovered.
Something isn’t adding up, but I don’t have time to dwell on it.
I need to drag Rory’s ass out of here first, then I can question him after I tear him a new one for being so reckless.
We pass through the doors, ignoring the stone-faced guards on either side, and I glance quickly around the dimly lit lounge.
There’s a stage on one wall and a bar on the other.
The chairs are arranged in small semi-circles around low tables.
The lighting is too low for me to easily spot Rory, but Ivan points to a table to the right of the stage and motions for me to follow him.
We’re about halfway across the lounge when suddenly I’m stopped in my tracks, held captive by an ethereal voice unlike anything I’ve ever heard before.
My eyes swing to the stage, and I see a beautiful girl standing at the microphone, singing with her eyes closed and her hands lifted near her chest. She’s completely absorbed by the emotion of the song, one I’ve heard before but can’t name.
It’s a slow, sensual ballad about a lost love.
Her straight blonde hair falls loose over her shoulders in silky waves and her skin looks milky and soft in the stage lights.
But her dress is a startling contrast to the song and her expression as she sings.
It’s short—too short—and covered in gaudy sequins that catch the light.
It’s tight on her small body, like it’s a size too small, and her cleavage nearly spills out of the bust. The sight of her reignites the anger I’d all but forgotten, but it’s different now.
I’m no longer concerned with Rory, consumed instead with an irrational jealousy and rage that this room full of men is so much as looking at the beauty on stage.
Before I even register the intention, I’ve started walking toward the stage, but I stop before I get there as the song cuts out and a man steps forward, moving to stand next to the girl.
She looks as surprised as I feel, turning to the man with an uncertain expression, but he barely spares her a glance.
“Wow! Wasn’t that something, gentlemen? What set of pipes this one has.
I wonder what else that mouth can do…” he trails off with a lewd expression that has me clenching my fists.
“Alright, shall we start the bidding then? Lot number nine, fellas. Paddles ready? We’ll open with a starting bid of twenty thousand. ”
Fuck. The auction. The reason I’m here: to drag Rory out before he tanks his entire career and the record label with it.
Goddamit, she is lot number nine. She’s part of the auction, not merely the night’s entertainment.
The beautiful girl—the virgin—with the voice of a siren is going to be sold to the highest bidder.
Hell, bidders are already in action. I notice Ivan typing the paddle numbers into his iPad, and the screen next to the stage updates every few seconds with the number and the amount of the current winning bid.
In less than a minute, it flies past thirty grand and continues its steady climb.
No. This girl won’t be won by any of the sleazes in the audience tonight.
She’s mine. Something about her tugs at my gut, and if there is one thing I’ve learned in my thirty-five years, it’s to always trust that feeling.
This girl is special, and she’s meant to be mine.
If anyone is going to have her, is going to take her virginity, it will be me.
I spin away from the stage and stalk toward Rory.
He hasn’t bid yet, apparently having too good a time drinking and laughing with the men around him.
That’s about to change. I step up behind him and put my hand on his shoulder, squeezing just tight enough for him to get the message that the touch isn’t friendly.
He looks over his shoulder and his eyes go wide as recognition dawns.
“M-Mr. Stone! What…what are you doing here?” he sputters.
“I could ask you the same thing, but I don’t actually care.
” I glance up at the screen and notice that the bids have started to slow down.
I’m running out of time. “Give me your paddle,” I demand of Rory, but I don’t wait for him to offer it to me, reaching over his shoulder and snatching it from his hand instead.
I raise it in Ivan’s direction as I shout, “One hundred thousand!”
My bid is met with a few beats of silence before low murmurs erupt around me.
Ivan walks over briskly and stops at my side.
“Mr. Stone, you aren’t a registered bidder this evening.
You were allowed in as a favor to Mr. Bal—” He cuts himself off as he glances at Rory, who’s watching us wide-eyed and silent, before he corrects, “Mr. Flint. You cannot use another bidder’s paddle to place a bid. ”
I look down at Rory, letting him see clearly how sincere I am when I say, “If you hope to have any career in the music industry after tonight, you’ll confirm my bid.”
Rory starts nodding before I’ve even finished speaking. He turns to Ivan, but before he can say anything, the emcee cuts in.
“Gentlemen, the last accepted bid stands at sixty-five thousand. Ivan, do we have another bid?”
Rory nods his head again, and Ivan sighs heavily before tapping something on his iPad. A moment later, the screen lights up with Rory’s number and the amount of the bid, one hundred thousand dollars.
The emcee quickly ends the bidding after that, confirming Rory as the winner and instructing him to see Ivan to collect his “winnings.” I watch as the girl, who was only ever introduced as lot number nine, is escorted from the stage.
She keeps looking over her shoulder, her expression a mixture of shock and confusion, but it’s clear she can’t make out any faces beyond the stage lights.
She’s barely stepped into the wing when another woman is escorted out and the emcee introduces the next “lot.”
“Gentlemen,” Ivan says, recalling my attention.
“If you’ll follow me please.” It’s clear from his tone that he is less than thrilled at this turn of events, but I don’t give a fuck.
The moment the girl left my sight, an itch spread under my skin.
I am not one to ever feel out of control or anxious, but I’m feeling both.
I need to see her again. Right now. So I grab Rory by the collar and haul the young man out of his seat, then shove him in front of me to follow Ivan out of the lounge.
He looks back at me as he walks, trepidation and uncertainty clear in his features, but I don’t have time for him.
At this point, he’s a means to an end. I know Mick will have something to say about what just happened, but that’s a problem for future Andrew.
The three of us step out into the hall, and Ivan leads the way around a corner into another corridor lined with doors on either side. He stops at one and passes his iPad to Rory.
“Mr. McVail, you’ll need to sign here to confirm your bid and transfer your deposit to the auction house. Half due now, the rest within forty-eight hours. Failure to pay within the allotted time will result in a permanent ban from all future auctions and referral to our in-house collections team.”
Rory glances at me as he accepts the device from Ivan.
He’s in so far over his head, he doesn’t even know it.
“In-house collections team” is badly disguised code for knock-around guys.
I wonder if Rory is even aware who owns this place.
Jesus, this kid. He’s not just going to tank his career, he’s going to get himself killed.
“Sign it and transfer the deposit,” I tell him. “I know you have it. I’ll cover the second installment. As far as I’m concerned, we can consider your fifty K a fine for being so fucking stupid and violating the morality clause in your contract with the label.”
Rory gulps audibly, but finally shows some signs of intelligence by keeping quiet and doing as he’s told. When he’s finished, he passes the iPad back to Ivan.
“Thank you,” the man says. “Now before you meet your new…companion, there are few things to be aware of. Despite the circumstances of your meeting, consent must be honored at all times. Should abuse be reported by either party, Zoltoy Dom is not to be held liable, though we will investigate. Should you be found to have violated any of the policies you agreed to at the start of the evening, your bid will be entirely forfeit. You have twenty-four hours to express any dissatisfaction with your companion. If she is found to have misrepresented herself to you or us, you may let us know, and we will make appropriate reparations if warranted. Finally, remember that the NDA you signed when you arrived covers all aspects of the auction before, during, and after your time here. Any questions?”
Rory opens his mouth to respond to Ivan, but I interrupt, “No, you don’t have any questions. Now get the fuck out of here. Be on the first flight back to LA in the morning and expect Mick to be waiting for you at the airport. I’ll let him deal with your dumb ass.”
“But I—”
“I don’t give a shit what excuses you think will make any of this acceptable. Go before I change my mind and cancel your contract entirely. And be discreet.” Rory hangs his head as he shuffles off like a scolded puppy, and I turn back to Ivan. “Where is she?” I demand.
Ivan raises one imperious brow at me, then steps back and waves a hand at the closed door behind him. “She’s just through here, waiting for you.”