The amounts climb higher and higher, but I barely hear the numbers anymore. My attention remains fixed on the tall man in the back. His head remains turned toward me, steady, certain, possessive. It never waivers. Never turns toward Victor or anyone else in the audience.
And then Victor swears out loud as he lowers his paddle.
The auctioneer repeats the bid Max just offered, an amount so high my mind can’t process the number, but Victor shakes his head.
A heartbeat later, the gavel falls. It’s over.
I should be scared, or at least disturbed, but instead heat floods my body as something deep inside me responds to being bought by Max. A dangerous reaction, and one I don't fully understand.
Silence fills the room for a fraction of a moment, and then applause erupts.
I barely hear it, because Max’s head is still turned my way. The reality of what I've done crashes over me. The auction is over. Someone chose me.
Someone bought me. The thought should terrify me.
Instead, as Max walks toward the stage and I finally see him more clearly, what I feel is something infinitely more dangerous.
Relief.
CHAPTER 4
MAXIM
I've made a catastrophic mistake. The realization follows me all the way from the auction to the underground parking garage. Not because of the money.
The money is irrelevant.
The amount I paid for Sydney Noble tonight barely registers. I've spent more on information and on security. On making problems disappear. But money can’t make this problem disappear.
This problem is standing three feet away from me in a midnight-blue dress, watching me with wary blue eyes.
I came to the auction to get access to Mercer’s accountant. That’s the problem I was supposed to solve tonight. To set things in motion for the investigation, for Rurik. I was supposed to leave before the auction started.
Instead, I left with Sydney. I fucking purchased Ben Noble’s little sister.
I unlock the passenger door of my Aston Martin.
Sydney hesitates.
The parking garage lights cast pale shadows across her face. She looks exhausted. The deep tired that comes from carrying too much for too long. "Thank you," she says quietly.
I frown. "For what?"
"The auction."
The answer surprises me. I expected suspicion, or at least questions. Not gratitude.
Her gaze drops briefly. "Victor Lang was going to win."
The simple statement tightens something unpleasant in my chest because she's right. If I had followed the original plan and left before the auction, Lang probably would have won. She’d be setting up an arrangement with him tonight. And I know exactly how horrible that situation would have become. I open the car door. "Get in."
A tiny smile tugs at her mouth. "Very polite."
I close the distance between us. Not enough to touch, but enough to make her tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. "I'm not polite."
Her breath catches, and then she slips into the passenger seat.
I shut the door and walk around to the driver’s side, telling myself to ignore how turned on I am from just that flash of skin she exposed as she swung her legs into the car.
