I turn over my shoulder and look at my workplace that’s now all closed up for the night. “I don’t know about that. There’s one hundred and fifty-two aisles inside, all of which have a width of about six feet.”
“You’re beautiful.”
Are we looking at the same person here? Eight hours ago, I threw my hair up into a bun without even looking in the mirror. God knows what state it’s in now.
Also, I might understand this gentleman’s comment if any cleavage was on show.
But it’s not.
And hasn’t been for two years.
“Here.” The man digs into his pocket and produces a card. “Take this.”
I do as he says. At the end of the day, the more annoyed I get, the longer I draw this out. And I can’t afford to argue when the nanny who’s watching over Otis charges what feels like a hundred bucks a minute.
I shove the card into my pocket and retry my escape.
“Wait.”
Wasting time isn’t a luxury that single moms have.
“I’ll look at it later. I promise.”
“It’s an auction.”
“Antiques aren’t really my kinda thing.”
“Not that kind of auction.” The Irishman grabs me by the wrist and steers me back toward him. “Let’s just say it’s the kind of auction where you could go for a lot of money…”
“And who gets to keep the money? Assholes like you who make women drop their iced lattes in the dead of night?”
“No. You keep the money. Every last cent of it.” He extends his gaze to the grocery store behind me. “You could quit next week.”
“I’ll consider it.”
A lie.
“You’ll never need to work a day in your life again.”
I let out an exasperated sigh and let the man give me his marketing pitch, so he can end it and let me get out of here. “What are you talking about?”
“The auction connects beautiful women like you to men with money. Men with lots of money. The majority of my patrons are millionaires.”
I stopped wasting my time with millionaires two years ago when one rudely walked out of my apartment the next morning and never said goodbye. Everything that came out Carter Trescott’s mouth was curated to get him laid.
And it worked.
To be honest, he didn’t even need to use his words for me to sleep with him. That man must be one of the hottest millionaires in history. I was on the Vegas strip when I met him. He blinked and I was soaked.
“I’ll think about it.”
Another lie.
“Make sure you do. One night with the right man could change your life.”
Haven’t I heard all of that before?
But I suppose thiscouldactually change my life. Since he’s talking mostly about money—not sex.
