“Onehundredthousand!” Scott repeats. “Do we have a challenger?”
“One fifty!” Adam announces.
Heads snap in his direction.
“Wow.” Scott snorts in surprise. “Selene Walker seems to be the catch of the night here, folks, with the highest bids on record for our event.”
I worry my lip, tears building behind my eyes. I don’t want to cry. I can’t. Not when I’m on stage at the center of a bidding battle. But memories of pooled blood at my feet and the idea of love literally shattering in front of me has me in a chokehold. Memories of Adam’s accusations earlier, telling me I’m only playing a part digs at the shield I’ve held up for years. The thought of talking to Adam again has my stomach roiling.
The panic coursing through my veins is overwhelming, and then I lock my eyes with Holt. The options laid out before me are clear. I understand Julianna’s rules set to the auction bidders, but I know if Adam were to win, aside from his lack of ability to pay, he would expect more.
I stare at Holt and shake my head slightly, just enough for him to notice, then I mouth the word, “Please.”
“Two hundred thousand!” Holt shouts.
More gasps and whispers.
He’s moved closer to the stage now. The crowd parts, opening a path for him to make his way over. Adam still hasn’t moved from where he is, and his face falls with disappointment and defeat. Anger too.
He knows Holt is in our friend circle, and while I wouldn’t exactly consider us close friends, Holt is the poster boy for the type of people Adam was disparaging earlier.
Adam’s defeated expression shifts when he looks back up to me on the stage. Fire-fueled eyes coupled with the echo of his accusations become pin pricks to my heart. He doesn’t need touse his words to tell me what he’s thinking. He's proven a point with this bidding war with Holt.
Shaking his head, he firms his jaw and rakes his fingers through his freshly-washed hair, stamping his foot. He presses his lips tightly together. I swear, I see steam shooting out from his ears and flared nostrils.
“Two hundred thousand!” Scott cuts through the silence that’s descended across the packed ballroom. “Do we have another bid? Going once…”
Silence.
“Going twice…”
Hushed whispers.
“Sold!” Scott booms into the microphone. “Twohundredthousand for the gorgeous and talented Selene Walker of Long Island. Come up on stage, sir, and claim your date with a kiss.”
I look down at Holt, my pulse racing.
He pauses, trading glances between Scott and me, wearing an expression that suggests he’s only just realizing what he’s done in the past three minutes. Three minutes of bidding, placing the spotlight on himself.
He removes one of his hands from his pockets and adjusts his tie. Then he’s smiling.
Smiling.
A dimple presses into his cheek, and a sparkling glint flashes in his eyes as he moves to the side stage before bounding up the stairs. Smooth and assured, he stands beside me, meeting me center stage.
“Well,” Scott says, addressing the crowd, then us. “I’d ask your name, but I’m almost certain all of us here know who you are. Congratulations, Holt Capuleti, CEO and owner of Scribe Magazine.”
Holt’s grin doesn’t slip even a fraction. He’s treating this moment as if his life isn’t under intense scrutiny. I can’t say I’mdisappointed. He did just save me from interacting with Adam and prevented the humiliation he would have endured if he’d won and never been able to actually pledge the money to charity.
“Now that you’re here with Selene, you may kiss your date,” Scott says, grabbing my hand and placing it in Holt’s, the same way he did the other couples.
All eyes are on us as Holt holds my hand. It’s large yet tender as his thumb rests over the tops of my fingers.
I turn to face the crowd, leaning a bit to my side to offer my cheek to Holt, but my breath is yanked from my lungs when Holt tugs on my hand and pulls me toward him. My body slams against his, and then I’m staring at his chest. His fingers hook under my chin, lifting my gaze effortlessly with his touch. The same scent of cedarwood surrounds me, bringing me back to our moment in the hallway.
He’s so handsome.
It’s the only thought wandering around in my brain. I must be disoriented from the whiplash of tonight. The past twenty-four hours have been more dramatic than anything I’ve experienced in the past ten years. Well, except for the night I witnessed my sister’s ex-husband get squashed like a bug by a barreling New York City tourist bus.
