Page 7 of Auctioned to the Billionaire Stalker

I would never go out with a good-looking guy known to be a player again. Myers had convinced me I was the girl who would change his ways, the girl he’d marry. Either he’d lied from the start and had never intended to change, or he was just going to be a cheater no matter what. Who knew? It wouldn’t be me he cheated on. Not anymore.

We had reached the Lancaster building, and I felt butterflies in my stomach. “God, I’m nervous. I don’t think I can do it.”

“Can we talk about how you’re the only woman in America who’s not nervous to meet Jack Lancaster because he’s hot as fuck, but because you want an internship with his gaming company?”

I laughed. “Jack Lancaster is the kind of handsome who wouldn’t even notice us.” I looked at her out of the corner of my eye. “Well, me at least.” Nia was the second generation of her family to be born in America, but they were Eritrean originally. She, and her whole family, were completely fucking gorgeous. “We all know…”

“Eritrean women are the most beautiful women on Earth,” she finished, giggling. She’d told me that several times, only half-joking.

“And the guys aren’t so bad, either,” I said, thinking of her incredibly handsome, but very happily married, older brother.

“Ew. Don’t even say that.” We came to a stop at the same time. It was time for me to deliver Jack Lancaster’s lunch.

“I probably won’t even see him,” I said looking up at one of the tallest buildings in West Bay.

“But you might. And if you do, you have to ask. Or lay the groundwork,at least.”

My stomach turned a flip. Yeah, that wasn’t happening. I couldn’t go up to Jack Lancaster, one of the most famous video game developers in the world and just ask for an internship as I delivered his tomato soup.

“Oh God.” I smacked my forehead. “I can’t ask him for anything.”

Nia gave me a look, the breeze coming up from the ocean blowing her voluminous, dark curls around her face. She looked like a mermaid, escaped from the sea. Except for the Chuck’s and skimpy waitress uniform. “Why the hell not?”

“Because Ivan burned the damn cheddar croutons.”

She winced. “Oh.” All of us knew about Jack Lancaster’s need to have the exact same order every day. And he had flipped his shit when Old Man Dinardo changed the crouton recipe a couple of years ago. “Yeah, girl. Maybe wait for a better time.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn’t good at asking for things, anyway. “Thanks for walking me over.” I started to walk inside, but Nia grabbed my arm.

“Do you think I could get a job at Sugar?”

My eyes widened. “What in the world would you tell your family?” They were super traditional, and as far as I knew they paid for her tuition. She lived at home, too, so she didn’t have to worry about room and board. I thought she worked at Dinardo’s just so she could have some spending money.

I frowned. Maybe I’d been wrong.

“And what about Cinnamon House?”

My eyes widened. “Are you for real right now?”

She nodded.

Cinnamon House was a beautiful mansion I lived in rent-free with several other girls, all of whom worked at Salazar clubs or restaurants, mostly Sugar. It was the type of home I’d never thought I’d live in—elegant, the kind that would be featured on the cover of a magazine. A maid came in twice a week, we had a chef, our groceries were delivered each week, I didn’t pay utilities, I didn’t have to share a room. It was amazing. But there was a price for living there.

To live there, each woman had to agree to enter the Cinnamon Auction within two years. It had taken me a long time to decide that I would do it, and it was taking me even longer to get up the nerve to actually go through with it. But my two years were almost up, and I desperately needed the money.

The auction was… complicated. “Why would you need to do all that?”

“I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “I just… Oh my God, Daze! It’s almost eleven fucking thirty.”

I gasped. I couldn’t be both lateandmissing the croutons! “We’ll talk about it later,” I assured her.

“Go! Run!” she gestured wildly.

I did. I clutched the bag close to me and took off running through the fancy lobby of one of the tallest, most luxurious buildings in West Bay. I was really pushing being late. To save a little time, I was about to slide on the waxed tiles and jab the elevator’s up button. But then the doors opened.

“Yes,” I hissed to myself, picking up speed. I ran straight into the elevator, not even looking to see if anyone was inside.

And that’s when it happened.