Bart sighs, and for a second he looks as tired as I feel. “All right. I’ll figure out what those numbers would look like and then check with her.”
“Keep me updated.”
Bart nods, turns on his heel, and walks away. I watch him until he’s rounded a corner and disappeared out of sight; only then do I allow myself to slouch.
It’s a slow day after that, and I can’t decide whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing—the work is easy, but I’m bored.
A brief smile flits across my face when my mind turns to Roman’s grandmother’s house and the work I’m doing next. There’s a linen closet calling my name, and a pantry, too, full of spice racks and flour and sugar and all the things used for proper cooking and baking.
Who would have guessed Roman liked to cook? Not me. I guess he’s not such a frat boy after all, is he? I’d begun to suspect as much, but he keeps confirming that suspicion, usually when I least expect it.
I freeze suddenly, sitting up straight when I realize that my small smile has widened into something laughing and…fond? Grateful?Affectionate?
“Cut it out,” I snap at myself, which draws raised eyebrows from the girl who works nearest to me. I give her an apologetic wave and try to play it off—I talk to myself all the time! This is normal!
But when her eyes have gone back to her computer, my lips curl into a grimace.
I felt it. That was affection blooming inside of me—affection and gratitude. ForRoman Drake.I definitely felt it.
I might even…misshim?
Absurd. I must be more tired than I realized. Sure, he’s been good to me; in fact, I know perfectly well he’s gone out of his way to help me. He gave me the job cleaning, he came with me to visit Tyler, he even let me attack his spare bedroom when I was about to explode into screams or tears or both. He’s paying me a ridiculous amount of money, and he seems delighted to be doing so.
So the gratitude I understand. Butaffection?
“Ridiculous,” I breathe faintly. “He’s five years younger than you. You’re being ridiculous.” I shake my head, hoping that willclear out the cobwebs. Then I return to my work with only half of my brain functioning.
It’s at the end of the day that Bart interrupts me again. He looks more nervous when he approaches my desk this time, and his bowtie has skewed further to the right. I resist the urge to straighten it myself.
“What is it?” I say briskly. “I’m heading out soon.”
He clears his throat. “I talked to Bonnie.”
“Already?” It’s probably not flattering, how surprised I sound. “That was fast.”
He straightens up to his full, very average height. “Yeah, well,” he says, his voice faintly petulant. “Anyway. She wants us to do ten percent off the next subscription for anyone who signs up to be in the auction, but she also wants some of us to step in. She asked me for thoughts on anyone who might want to help, and I said that anyone without a significant other would be good.”
Oh, no.
Bart keeps yammering, but his words reach my ears in slow motion. “She asked if I had any thoughts?—”
Oh, no, no, no.
“And naturally your name came up, since you’re not currently seeing anyone.” Bart reaches up and straightens his bowtie, while I picture it tightening further and further until his whole head just pops off. “So congratulations!” He puts on a hearty smile that’s just the tiniest bit smug. “As of today, you are officially a participant in Soul2Soul’s first ever date auction.”
“Oooh,”Juliet says later that evening, her eyes sparkling as they widen. “That sounds like so much fun!”
“Then you do it,” I grumble, and her nose wrinkles.
“You’re grumpy.”
I sigh, burying my head in the couch cushion. “Sorry,” I say. The word is muffled, but she understands.
“That’s okay,” she says primly. “Now give me more details, please.”
At the beginning of this conversation, I was sitting normally on the couch while Juliet sat on the floor eating a bowl of cereal. Somehow the situation has devolved, because I’m now lying face-down, my body stretched the full length of the sofa, my head pressed into a cushion that has been sat on by who knows how many butts. Juliet has put her cereal aside and now rubs my back soothingly.
“It’s going to be fine,” she says, because she’s a liar. “It’s going to be totally fine, Ror! You have like a week and a half to prepare mentally, and it’s not like you have to actually go out with the person who bids on you, do you? How does that work?”
