"You hearing this, Jones?" the host says, turning to face Avery one last time, holding the microphone out for him to take. "I think they want you to choose." He smiles, childlike and mischievous, watching as Avery no doubt jabs his eyes out with his imaginary voodoo doll.
Avery snatches the microphone, gripping it so hard that his knuckles pale, while his hand trembles as he brings it to his mouth. "Thanks, Orlando." He clears his throat.
"Before I make my decision on which of these beautiful women I choose to take on this date…" He pauses, and I roll my eyes. "I just want to thank everybody for coming tonight. Your generosity toward the YBAGB hasn’t gone unnoticed, and I know my manager here appreciates it all." Now it’s his turn to squeeze his friend’s shoulder, and going by the way Orlando winces, I know he’s done it twice as hard.
"Why don’t we bring both women on stage?" Orlando chimes in, and I thinkthisis where I put my foot down. I’m already too exposed for my own liking, I couldn’t imagine anything worse than being forced on a stage while waiting for a man I barely know and cannot stand, tochooseme. "Or we could—"
"Her." He points at me, and even though I knew he would, I canfeelthe way the blood drains from my face. "Olivia Herring."
My eyebrows pinch together, while he raises a single brow to see if I’ll protest or correct him, but I don’t.
I can’t.
Damn you, Avery Jones.
"Sold to Olive Herring for three hundred thousand dollars," Orlando shouts into the microphone still in Avery’s hand, right as a man comes from the side to collect me from my seat and usher me backstage.
"Now?"I say to Josie and Akira, who remain seated while I feel like I’m drowning under a thousand pairs of eyes, doing my hardest to swim my way to the surface.
"Don’t be home too late," Akira says, lifting a hand and wiggling her fingers at me in farewell.
"See you tomorrow." Josie sends me off with a wink, as the two women I thought were my friends giggle side by side at my obvious discomfort.
I take a deep breath and make my way to the side of the stage.
"You." Avery glares at me as I stop in front of him, about five feet away. Orlando is both the reason the two of us have been forced into this situation and the person who stands between us.
"Me." My response is smug, my arms crossed over my chest while I hide the annoyance on my face with a forced smirk.
I don’t want to be here, nor do I care to be. But unfortunately, I’m at the point in my career where what my manager says goes. And my manager told me that being here was non-negotiable.
"Here, take this," Orlando says, the joy on his face palpable. He hands Avery a stack of envelopes, and I see the number‘one’ written in thick, black Sharpie on the top of the pile.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Avery asks, turned half away, his question directed at the man I now know to be his manager.
"Remember when I said I had an idea?" he asks, and Avery nods with reluctance. "Well, this is it." They both turn to face me, Avery’s face bright red with his eyebrows pinched together, and Orlando looking as though he’s having the best night of his life. "In this stack of cards, you’ll find addresses and instructions. Considering you bid on a date at an auction for charity—"
"Ididn’t bid on anything," I cut him off. "Just in case you thought I willingly used my own money to go on a date with you, I absolutely did not."
Avery rolls his eyes. "Anyway, you raised your paddle tosecurethe date with my client, and because it was a charity offered product, you must play by the rules. Every single venue must be attended; every activity participated in. Any questions?"
I don’t even think my own dad has spoken to me like this since I was a teenager, yet suddenly, this guy thinks he can boss me around.
"No." I shake my head. "I don’t agree to this."
"Too bad." Orlando presses the stack of cards against Avery’s chest. "There’s a car waiting for the two of you out front. Enjoy your night."
I find myself internally chanting the words ‘Call me, faking an emergency. Call me, faking an emergency. Call me, faking an emergency,’hoping that Lizzie can hear me.
But twin telepathy isn’t real, and I’m in this alone.
Chapter eleven
Avery
Silences,Icanhandle.
Hell, lately, silence is bliss. Having people actively avoid conversation with me? Perfect. Not having to force conversation with them? Even better.
