“Victoria Ciccone. Are you out there?”
The spotlight shines into the crowd, searching…looking forme.
“Oh, shit,” I mutter under my breath as I quickly slink into the shadows in the back of the room. My father must have signed me up for the auction, unbeknownst to me and without any sort of warning. No wonder he was talking about eligible bachelors being here tonight.
Well, if he thinks I’m stepping foot on that stage, he’s dead wrong. They can send out a search party for all I care.
A drunken giggle escapes me as I curse again and run out of the room like my ass is on fire. As I round the corner of the hallway, I run smackdab into something hard that throws me backwards and down onto my ass.
“Ouch,” I complain as I collide with the hardwood floor. The plastic champagne flute that had been in my hand moments earlier bounces onto the floor beside me. And when I look up to see exactly what I ran into, my breath catches in the back of my throat when I seewhoI ran into. "Oh, shit," I whimper.
The man that was in the coffee shop the other day, Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome, is standing there with champagne dripping all over the front of his tailored suit.
"Fuck," he hisses while staring down at the mess I made. "Why don't you watch where you're going?!" he asks, raising his deep, gravelly voice and causing a shiver to run through me. When his dark green eyes finally meet mine, his thick, dark brows shoot up to his hairline. "You," he says, the anger quickly melting away as he clearly remembers me from the bookstore.
"I-I'm so sorry. I'll p-pay for your dry cleaning," I stammer, still not believing what an idiotic move I just made.
He glances down at his suit again and shakes his head. "It's fine." Then, he extends his hand down to mine. "Are you all right? That was some fall."
I take his hand and allow him to help me up. "Well, itwaslike hitting a brick wall," I say awkwardly. "Not that you're built like a brick wall…or a brick house or anything like that." I stand there gawking at him with my mouth open like a fish as the songBrick Houseby the Commodoresruns through my mind.Oh my god, what am I even saying?! "I mean, I'm not saying youaren'tbuilt. Youarevery built, but…" I clasp my palm over my mouth to put a stop to my sudden verbal diarrhea.
Glancing around, I grab a pile of napkins next to a fancy appetizer tray resting on a nearby table. With napkins in hand, I begin to dab at the wet spots on the handsome stranger’s suit, going lower and lower until I realize I’m reaching dangerous territory and accidentally brush against his…
“Whoa, whoa!” he calls out before taking a step back. “At least let me take you to dinner first,” he jokes darkly with a chuckle.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” I whisper, completely and utterly mortified and wishing I wouldn’t have drunk all that champagne. I ball the napkins into my fists as I feel the blush of what I can only imagine is the deepest shade of red creeping up my neck and face.
“I think they’re calling your name,” the man says.
I turn towards the ballroom, and sure enough, the guy at the podium is still calling for me. “Damn it,” I mutter in anger. Then, turning to the stranger, I ask, “How did you know my name?”
He gives me a cunning smile but doesn’t say a word.
Glancing into the other room, I can see my father coming towards us. He looks angry. I’m sure he’s upset that I’m making him look bad right now by not showing up for the auction.
“I…I better go,” I tell the handsome man quickly before heading back into the ballroom and towards the small stage. I feel all eyes on me as I walk, and I can feel the anxiety rising up inside of me. By the time I make it to the stage, I’m ready to puke.
The man at the podium smiles widely. “We thought you left, but your father assured us you were still here,” he whispers while covering the microphone.
“I was in the little girls’ room,” I offer as an excuse.
“Ah,” he says with a nod. Speaking into the mic once again, he says, “Well, now that we’ve found our next…victim.” He stops talking to let out a hearty laugh. “Let’s start the bidding for a date night with Victoria Ciccone at the trendy, exclusive restaurant,La Petite Chaumière. And remember, gentlemen, this is for charity. So, why don’t we start the bidding off at —”
“Twenty thousand dollars,” a man with an Irish accent blurts out before the announcer can even finish.
I stare out into the crowd as Nolan Farrell’s oldest son, Brody, steps closer to the stage. He’s handsome with reddish-brown hair and hazel eyes, but my father would definitely not approve.
My eyes dart over to Papa on the side of the stage, and he’s glaring daggers at Brody. If looks could kill, Brody would drop dead on the spot.
“Twenty-two thousand,” a man in the crowd counterbids. He’s tall and thin with glasses and a thick head of brown hair. I know my father introduced me to him before. He sells real estate, I think. He’s thirty years my senior, however, and the same age as my own father. Even though it’s just a date and it is for charity, I’m hoping someone else outbids him.
“Twenty-five,” Brody says, raising the stakes quickly.
The two men battle it out until the bid is over fifty grand, way higher than all the other women who went before me.
While the men continue to argue, I notice the handsome stranger from the coffee shop walk to the side of the stage in the shadows. He looks like he’s getting enjoyment from watching the two men fight over me.
He flashes me a smirk when he catches me staring. Then, he yawns and checks his watch like he’s bored, and it makes me laugh. I have to cover up my laughter with a cough, and then my eyes grow wide. He’s going to get me in trouble. This is supposed to be taken seriously…even though the whole thingisridiculous.
