"One seventy-five." Some idiot on the other side of the room who didn't know when to quit.
I didn't hesitate. "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Even the auctioneer looked shocked.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand! That's—ladies and gentlemen, that's a new record for this event." He scanned the crowd eagerly. "Do I hear two sixty?"
Silence. No one was stupid enough to challenge that bid.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand going once." Pause. "Going twice." Longer pause. "Sold! To bidder number nineteen!"
The applause was deafening, but I barely heard it. All I could see was her, still standing on that stage, her chest rising andfalling rapidly, her eyes locked on mine with a mixture of shock and anticipation and something that looked like relief.
I'd found her. Claimed my prize. And now she was mine. She'd better be ready, because as promised, I wasn't going to take it easy on her.
Angelina
The applause was still ringing in my ears as I stumbled backstage on shaking legs. He'd paid two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for one night with me.
Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
The coordinator appeared at my elbow, her professional smile bright enough to rival the stage lights I'd just escaped. "Congratulations! That was incredible. Seventy-five thousand for you, one seventy-five to the hospital. You just made history tonight, sweetheart."
She pressed a small envelope into my hands. "Your paperwork. His preferences, his limits, safe words, and the address where you'll meet him. A car will pick you up tomorrow at noon. That gives you plenty of time to go home, rest, and prepare."
Tomorrow. Noon. Twelve hours from now. The delay felt like both a relief and a torture.
"Wait," I said, catching her before she could disappear to handle the next participant. "The man who won me. Bidder number nineteen. Who is he?"
Her smile turned knowing. "That's Dez Moretti. Gianna's brother—she's the one who organized all this. He never comes to these events. Never participates. But apparently, something about you caught his attention."
Moretti. I'd suspected from the VIP section, from the way people had given him space, but hearing it confirmed made my stomach flip.
"What's he like?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
She considered the question, her expression turning thoughtful. "Ruthless," she said finally. "In business, in life, in everything he does. He's not cruel for cruelty's sake, but he doesn't hesitate when he knows what he wants. And he always gets what he wants."
A shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with fear.
Ruthless.
The word should have scared me. Should have made me reconsider this entire thing. Instead, it made heat pool low in my belly.
"How old is he?" I asked.
"Twenty-eight, I think? Twenty-nine?" She squeezed my arm. "Dez Moretti has been running parts of his family's business since he was twenty. He knows exactly what he's doing. And if you’re worried about the age difference, it’s only one night, right?"
Twenty-eight. Ten years younger than me.
The revelation threw me completely off balance. I'd assumed he was older—mid-thirties at least, based on the confidence, the command in his voice, the way he'd looked at me like he could see straight through to my bones.
But twenty-eight?
What could a twenty-eight-year-old possibly know about dominance? About control? He was barely old enough to know what he wanted, let alone how to read what someone else needed.
The coordinator must have seen something in my expression because she laughed. "Don't underestimate him because of his age. Trust me, that man knows exactly how to get what he wants. And right now, he wants you."
She disappeared into the chaos of backstage, leaving me standing there with the envelope clutched in my hands and doubt creeping in at the edges of my anticipation.
