“All set then? Good. Here’s how this works. Holly, you’ll wait in the wing until the emcee introduces you.” Ivan pauses and glances at Craig before continuing, “Um, you’ll sing your song, and then the bidding will start. As long as bids are coming in, we’ll keep going. Once it starts to slow down, we’ll wrap it up pretty quickly. We don’t like to draw out the final bids; it’s better to keep things moving. When the winning bid is announced, I’ll meet you off stage to escort you to the private room where you’ll meet your buyer.” Ivan smiles at me, but he might as well have two heads for all the sense I can make of his words.
“Buyer? Bidding? I don’t understand. Is the audience bidding on who will win the competition?” I ask, knowing even that doesn’t make sense. I look at my stepfather and notice his usually pasty face has taken on a ruddy hue. He rushes forward and grabs me by the arm in a tight hold, though not enough to bruise. Heseems to always know just how harsh he can be without leaving a mark. Craig isn’t a tall man, but he’s stout, and his thick, stubby fingers dig into my skin as he leans in close.
“Ivan, give us a moment, will you? The girl’s just a bit confused. I told you, she can sing like an angel, but she’s dumber than dirt.” My cheeks heat, equally embarrassed at being humiliated in front of a stranger and angry at the insult. But I know better than to talk back to Craig.
Ivan narrows his eyes as he looks between us then at his watch. “I can give you thirty seconds. After that, she either goes on or we move to the next one.” Then he’s gone, leaving me alone with my increasingly irate stepfather.
Craig’s voice is low and dangerous as he says, “Look here, brat. You’re going to go on that stage and sing your little song, then do exactly whatever they tell you to do. You’ve been leaching off me for eight fucking years, but you’re an adult now, and it’s time you pay your dues. You’ll do whatever you’re told, exactly as you’re told until they send you home, or there will be hell to pay. You understand?”
I don’t understand, not at all. But I know from experience that when my stepfather is this angry, it’s best to just do as he says, so I nod and follow him out to the hall where Ivan is waiting. He gives me a questioning look, and I force a smile to my lips. With a shrug, he turns and guides us through a door on the opposite side of the hall, then down a small, dark corridor that spills into what I recognize as a backstage area. I can hear someone speaking on the other side of the heavy curtain as Ivan leads me to a spot just to the left of the stage and instructs me to stand on a white X as I wait for my cue. From this vantage point, I can see beyond the stage to what looks like a vintage cigar lounge, the kind I’ve only ever seen in the black-and-white movies my mother loved to watch.
The room is large, but has a cozy feel. It’s dominated by the stage on one wall and a massive bar on the one opposite. Oversized leather chairs are set in groups around low tables throughout the room. The space is dimly lit, with the spotlight on the stage and the backlit bar being the main light sources. Each table has a small lantern in the center, but they don’t offer enough light for me to see more than the silhouettes of the people seated around them.
“Up next is lot number nine, and wow, are you all in for a treat with her. I’m told she has the voice of an angel, but I’ll let you judge for yourselves. Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Holly.” A sense of foreboding spreads through my veins like ice, but with a quick look back at my stepfather, I push it aside and step out onto the stage.
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 inone 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.
GivenZoltoy Dom’selite 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 aboutZoltoy Domis 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’dall 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,sheis 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 beme.
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?”
