Ceinlys waves at me, mouthing,It’s all good.
It…is?
“Two million,” Nicholas says, his eyes flashing with a hint of impatience.
My head spins. I must be more drunk than I thought.
“Oh my! Two—million—dollars!” the emcee squeals.
So I didn’t mishear. What is Nicholas doing? There are a lot of increments between one-point-three and two! My heart races so hard and fast, my ribs feel bruised. A mixture of excitement and trepidation beat in my head. This doesn’t feel like reality.
“Two point five,” Arturo shouts. “Time’s valuable, ol’ man! Let’s get it going!”
Nicholas shoots a contemptuous look in Arturo’s direction. “Five.”
The smile on Arturo’s face falters.
The emcee scents blood in the water. She’s shouting something, and I can’t make it out. My entire focus is on Nicholas and his coolly determined expression.
Keeping my gaze on him, I shake my head. Can he take back the final bid?
“Five million bid, do I hear five-point-one? Now five-point-one. Will you give me five-point-one?”
NO!
Please…?
Thankfully, nobody says five point one, despite the emcee’s excited encouragement.
“Going once… Going twice…! Sold! A dinner with the lovely and talented Molly Greene for five—million—dollars!”
Even as she smiles, what just happened doesn’t sink in. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. This sort of thing simplydoes not happen to me. I’m never the center of something this lavish and incredible. I watch others star in those movies.
I manage to step down from the stage without stumbling. Nicholas gets up and hugs me. “Hey, hot date.” His voice is teasing, like he knows I’m overwhelmed and need to reorient myself.
His arms stay wrapped around me as he helps me take my seat. I search his face. He doesn’t look dazed. No, his eyes are absolutely clear. And glimmering with satisfaction.
“You didn’t really bid five million, did you?” I ask faintly.
He gives a short laugh. “Of course I did.”
“A dinner with me isn’t worth that kind of money, Nicholas! I eat dinner with you for free all the time!”
“Not the point. The point is, nobodyelsegets to eat with you.”
He sounds possessive.But we’re fake-dating.I feel weirdly guilty about his spending so much money on me. “You should’ve bid on somebody who’s more…”
“More what?”
“You know… The kind of woman you’re used to being seen with.”
The good humor on his face fades. “You don’t care if I go out with another woman?”
Hot acidic sensations stir in my belly, but I pretend otherwise. If this were a novel, I might think he wants me to act possessive, but this is reality. “Well…”
“You don’t care if I give another woman flowers, treat her to a gorgeous meal, hold her hand? Dance with her on a beach under the stars?” he demands, his eyes intense.
Images of him and the mystery woman unfold like a movie in my mind. Instead of the woman, I’m focused on him. How he’d smile. How he’d press an affectionate kiss on her cheek as he picked her up. How attentive he’d be—oh God, do I know how he is. How he’d hold her under the night sky, warm, silky sand underneath their feet, their bodies pressed together and swaying to the sound of waves…
