Chapter 12 #2
The one time I don’t read a contract from top to bottom, this is what I get.
“I thought it was just, like, normal stuff! You didn’t warn me!”
Taylor cracks a smile, and I can’t help following suit, her easy confidence a soothing balm on my overworked nerves.
I just don’t have the energy to stay freaked out right now, and Taylor’s probably right.
She knows more about this kind of thing than I do, considering she has an actual social life and isn’t painfully shy about everything.
Besides, maybe my masked man will actually show up.
Excitement consumes me as I glance around.
He hasn’t texted me back, but I allow myself to hope anyway.
Getting to spend some time with him again would definitely be a good way to relax, even if we don’t do anything but talk.
I didn’t think it was possible to miss someone whose face I don’t even know, especially when I talk to him every day, but it’s just not the same as standing next to him.
Before I have a chance to ream Taylor out any further, the man who was taking tickets at the door steps up on stage, a spotlight falling on him.
It casts his olive skin in a perfect glow, highlighting the casual grace with which he moves as he makes his way behind the podium at the other end of the stage. His smile is wide and energetic, the gold and black mask on his face eye-catching under the lights.
He adjusts the microphone on the podium before spreading his arms in welcome.
“Thank you all for coming out to The Echelon tonight,” he says, scanning the crowd and letting his eyes linger on Taylor for a moment before going back to his speech.
“We have a few very special guests of honor with us from the Angel Foundation, and all proceeds from the auction will be going straight to their amazing organization. We’ve also got a tip booth in the back if you want to donate or find ways to get involved.
They’re wonderful folks who truly care about the community they support.
If you can spare a few bucks—and I know you all can—spread the wealth to a good cause. ”
Polite laughs and a smattering of applause meet his brief speech, and he claps his hands together in excitement.
“Now, let’s get this show on the road! Our first contestant is,” he draws out the word, ruffling around dramatically in a glass bowl full of tickets, “ticket holder 40625! Please make your way up to the stage if you’d like to participate in the auction.”
The first person to be called up is an Asian woman with willowy limbs in a skin-tight white dress and heels all the way up to the sky. She receives a few claps and a low whistle of interest, glancing out at the audience with a smirk on her painted lips as she takes her spot on the stage.
The next few all look vastly different, a mix of shapes and sizes, different races, and different genders.
Two of the people whose numbers get called decline to go up, and no one bats an eye.
I guess Taylor’s comment about being able to back out is to be trusted.
I start to relax as numbers keep getting called, a truly random mix of people lining the stage as the man behind the podium reads off tickets.
Maybe this will be fun to watch. Everyone up there certainly looks excited, and it’s not like I’ve ever seen anything like this before.
“And for our final contestant!” He reaches straight into the bowl and pulls out a ticket without a moment’s hesitation, sharp blue eyes fixing on someone behind me and sending them a wink before he reads off the number. “Ticket holder 41137! Please make your way up if you’d like to participate.”
I glance down at my ticket out of habit, sure that the number will be different than the one called. My heart sinks as I read over it once, twice, and a third time.
It’s the same.
Taylor snatches the ticket up when she catches sight of the look on my face, nearly squealing in excitement.
“Holy shit, that’s you!” Taylor whispers, waving my ticket in front of my face. “Go, oh my God, this is so cool!”
I shake my head, panic flooding my veins as I realize this is actually happening.
This was fun when I was just supposed to be watching, but now I’m terrified.
I can’t go up there and watch people ogle me just to decide I’m not worth their money.
I’ll pass out. Fuck, I feel like I’m going to pass out right now.
“Taylor, no! Seriously, I can’t. This is insane,” I hiss under my breath. “I can’t do this!”
“Let me live vicariously through you!” Taylor urges, unwilling to be swayed. “You’re going to have fun! I’ll start a bidding war, just go!”
She tugs me up out of my seat and practically pushes me up toward the stage, ignoring my awkward attempts to avoid drawing any attention. Everyone’s eyes are already on us, and I can’t bring myself to say no.
I grit my teeth and glare at Taylor.
“You so owe me for this,” I bite out before turning and pasting an uncomfortable smile on my face as I make my way up to the stage.
It’ll be fun, I tell myself, no matter how much I don’t believe it.
Everyone else on stage looks to be enjoying themselves; they’ve probably been to something like this before. No one would do it if it wasn’t fun. It’s just a silly little game.
And, hey, I’m sure as hell distracted from everything that happened with Sloane today.
The bidding starts with the first woman who was called up, my mind whirling as absolutely staggering amounts of money are called out, tossed around like nothing. Who the hell offers ten grand for a date?
I feel out of place with all of the other people up here, so obviously confident and enjoying themselves as bids are placed and won.
I’m not used to having this many eyes on me, especially not when I’m dressed like this.
My heart is beating in my throat every time I make eye contact with someone.
I’m sure everyone out there can tell just how out of place I am here, how much I don’t belong.
Then again, maybe some weirdo out there actually likes that sort of thing. A girl like me who has no idea what the hell she’s doing.
I scan the room over and over, hoping to catch sight of my mystery man somewhere. He wouldn’t tell me I might see him if he wasn’t actually planning to show up, would he?
Sure, I don’t technically know what he looks like, but this is a masked event. Surely I’d have to recognize him in this crowd—the only time I’ve ever seen him was with a mask over his face. Besides, it’s not like men who are so obviously gorgeous even behind a mask and built like that are common.
My nerves triple in the time it takes for me to scan the room again, once again finding Taylor as the only familiar face.
Familiar mask.
Whatever.
The line ahead of me dwindles far faster than I’d like it to, and before I know it, I’m the only one left, standing in the center of the stage as the man behind the podium holds an arm out to me.
“And, for our final date auction of the night, give it up for this lovely lady in blue,” he announces, smiling broadly. “Let’s start at a thousand dollars!”
Taylor starts the bidding, as promised, and people start jumping to bid after her.
“I hear one thousand; do I hear two?”
Voices ring out across the club floor, some old, some young, a mix of genders, all causing panic and bile to rise in my throat. The price creeps steadily higher, each increase making me feel a little more faint.
I’m about two seconds from backing out entirely when a deep, self-assured voice cuts through the rabble.
My focus narrows down on a small table in the back corner that I’m sure was empty just a few minutes ago, now hosting a familiar muscular frame and smirking lips.
An intricately designed black mask covers half of his face, but I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.
My mystery man.
“Fifty thousand,” he calls, almost sounding bored.
His eyes never waver from mine.
“Fifty thousand!” the auctioneer cheers. “Do I hear fifty-five?”
Wait.
What?
Fifty thousand? Dollars?
That’s insane! He’s seriously going to bid fifty grand for a date with me when all he’d have to do is send a text? Either he’s batshit crazy or has more money than God.
“Fifty-five!” a voice from my left rings out.
What the fuck is happening?
“Sixty,” my mystery man counters without hesitation, his eyes glued to mine as he slowly wanders his way up between the tables.
He’s so certain of himself, not pausing for a moment as whoever is attempting to outbid him racks the price up. They go back and forth several more times before a smirk tugs at those lips, and he puts an end to the auction with three words.
“One hundred thousand.”
A heavy silence settles over the entire room, even the man behind the podium stumbling for words. My mystery man looks unbearably smug, not stopping until he reaches the stairs at the edge of the stage.
“One hundred thousand!” the auctioneer calls. “Going once, twice… she’s all yours.”
My mystery man grins in a way that makes it obvious to everyone I was always his, and it sends a shiver down my spine. He holds one hand out, patient but expectant, and I can do nothing but close the distance between us, making my way down the stairs to slide my hand in his.
The whole room feels electrified when I look up at him, my thoughts of fairy tales from earlier paling in the reality of calloused fingers against my palm and glittering blue eyes looking down at me.
“Miss Morgan, what a pleasure to see you.”