It’s Ted in there. Ted Polanksy. Of the Marlins. What the hell? Did Dad negotiate a trade for him while we were on vacation and not even mention it to me? Is that why Ted was always hanging around? Was his interest in me some kind of political maneuver to get my dad to make a better offer?
I haven’t spoken to Ted since our platonic dinner date. He walked me back to the hotel but didn’t see me to my room before heading back to the bar. I felt like we parted on good, if platonic, terms, but if he was planning to join the Rockets, he could have said something, or at least hinted at it.
“So are you saying you’re out?” Dad asks. “You can still walk away.”
“I don’t want to walk away from her,” Ted says.
Her? Who is he talking about? I thought this was about the team.
“Then don’t,” Dad says.
“But look who I’m up against!” Ted rails. “Mason Sharp? That British lord? Just think how many millions they’re going to be bidding for Blair, just so they can flaunt her like a trophy. IknowI’m the right match for her. Why can’t you and I just work something out before the auction? A pre-empt.”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
The floor drops out from under my feet as my mind reels with the words I can’t quite process.
Bidding for me? The auction? A pre-empt?
“That’s not the way it works, Ted,” my dad says, sounding rueful. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’m rooting for you to be the high bidder. I know you’ll take good care of her, and she deserves only the best.”
My jaw drops, and my body starts to tremble, but I’m frozen in place. Frozen in horror, in disbelief.
“Those other guys are on the Forbes list,” Ted says. “I can’t compete with that.”
“Nobody is saying they’ll bid their entire fortunes on this auction,” Dad says. “They’ve got their spending limits, too. Look, you need to think of this as more of an investment in your future.”
“I do, but?—”
“How many good seasons do you have left in you? How long until your stats start to drop? And then what? You retire? Listen. Once you two are married and settled, I’ll step down and you can take over. You won’t just be bidding for my daughter’s hand,Ted, you’ll be bidding on ownership of an MLB team. So don’t make any choices you’ll regret.”
A sob sticks in my throat and threatens to spill out, but all I can do is gasp for air. My chest is constricting. I can’t breathe. But one thing is certain—someone is going to catch me eavesdropping if I don’t get the hell out of here.
27
BLAIR
I hurry to the lobby,unsteady on my feet, ignoring Miriam as she passes me with a concerned look on her face. I don’t give her a second glance as I bolt for the women’s restroom. Once I’m inside, I lock the door and sink onto the padded bench to bury my head in my hands.
This is a nightmare. My entire future is crumbling. My body feels ice cold, my heart still pounding as the ugliest pieces of the conversation I just heard echo in my mind.
Think how many millions they’re going to be bidding for Blair…so they can flaunt her like a trophy… You won’t just be bidding for her hand…you’ll be bidding on ownership of an MLB team.
That island vacation wasn’t my graduation gift, after all. The “gift,” apparently, was being sold off to the highest bidder in some kind of sick marriage auction. No wonder my dad hasn’t wanted to discuss my job at the company. I don’t have one. I probably never did if the plan was to marry me off all along.
And there’s no way my father acted alone. Mom has a hand in this, too. I’d bet my life on it.
Why would my parents do this to me? How could they possibly think this is ethical? And why the hell would theythink that auctioning me off like a piece of antique furniture would even be successful in the end? I’m a living, thinking, independent human being and I didnotagree to this. I’m not marrying some rich, entitled asshole just because he paid for me.
Maybe the worst part of all is that my parents never saw me as a real person with my own hopes and dreams, nor as a businesswoman with the brains, ambition, and potential to take my place working for the Tisdale Corporation. As far as they’re concerned, I’m not worthy of making choices about my own life. I’m nothing more than a commodity to them. A product to be bought and sold. It brings a horrible new meaning to the cliché about “being a team player.”
Except that the players on the Rockets who get traded to other teams are afforded a lot more respect than I’ve been granted. In fact, MLB rules say a player can refuse a trade if they’ve been playing for the same team for five consecutive years. I’ve been my parents’ daughter for twenty-two, and they didn’t even tell me what they were planning. I had no say in this, no right to refuse. If I had, I sure as hell wouldn’t have agreed to this auction.
Is this my punishment for being the daughter who lived? Is this their deranged way of protecting me? By selling me to someone who will keep me locked away in a tower?
I think I’m going to be sick.
Forcing myself to take slow, calming breaths, I go to the sink and use wet paper towels to cool the back of my neck. Once the nausea passes, I grab a handful of tissues to dry my tears and go back to the bench, still trying to make sense of it all.
