Whatnow?
My gaze snapped in that direction, and sure enough, some dude had his paddle in the air.
Huh. Gay dude?
Or maybe a fan? Someone in the music industry? A friend of Trey’s looking to drive up the bid, for the kids…?
I didn’t recognize him. He had on an expensive suit and that dignified,I’m filthy fucking richair about him. He smirked at me, and his entirely male table applauded.
“Twenty-five!” called out a woman in front. One of the ladies at table three. The blonde in the red dress was holding up her paddle again.
“Fab-u-lous! We have a bid of twenty-five-thousand dollars from the lady in red. Do I see thirty-thousand out there anywhere? Ah, thirty-thousand dollars from theadorablesweetheart in the white dress, at table seven.”
Shit.Jessa wasn’t wearing a white dress.
My gaze snapped back that way.
Courteney was holding a paddle in the air. She was staring at me, but she wasn’t smiling.
Thirty-thousand dollars?
No way did Courteney Clarke have thirty-thousand dollars kicking around. Unless she planned to hock her kidneys on the internet before the end of the night or something.
“Do I see thirty-five…?”
“Forty!” shouted the woman in front, on behalf of her friend in the red dress. The whole table of women was twittering and ogling me. The lady in red just smiled and sipped her champagne, paddle in the air.
Okay. So maybe I’d have to play this up?
No way could I let Courteney win this thing. She didn’t have the money for it, and even if she did, I wasn’t letting her throw it away. Sure, it was for charity, but let the rich people donate to the charity.
She could have a dinner date with me for free.
I smiled at the woman in the red dress. Then I winked at her—and her friends clapped in pleasure. She was laser-locked on me with a determined, though possibly drunk smile on her face, and she was all iced to hell in diamond jewelry.
Yeah. She was winning this thing.
Had to.
“Forty-five,” a female voice called out, somewhere to my left. I squinted into the lights at the far end of the stage. At a table tucked off to the side, a woman in a silver dress was holding up a paddle.
“Forty-five,” the MC purred. “We have a bid of forty-five-thousand dollars from thesmokingsilver fox at table sixteen—”
“Fifty-thousand,” boomed a voice farther back, and heads turned. The dude at table twelve was bidding on me again.
Damn. So he was seriously in this thing.
Were men even allowed to bid…?
Apparently. A dude in a pink dress was standing next to me, so I supposed anything was possible at this event.
“Oh! We have a fight on our hands!” She sauntered over to the edge of the stage, stood right over table three and asked the woman in the red dress, “Do I see fifty-five, or—”
“Fifty-five!”
Jesus, Courteney. What thefuckwas she doing?
She sat there with her paddle thrust in the air and her eyes blazing fire at me.
