Page 2 of Tell Me It’s Forever

“Fifteen thousand!”

“Twenty thousand from the gentleman in the front.” Gennie’s smile wavers, and her hands clasp nervously at her sides. She looks overwhelmed by the attention. Her eyes dart across the sea of faces, unaware that the real danger isn’t in the crowd. It’s standing at the back of the room, watching her like a hawk.

Never in my forty-four years of life have I ever bid on a human being. I find the entire concept archaic. I’m Gavin Rhodes. If I’ve wanted a woman, I pursued her or she came to me. I don’t participate in public spectacles.

“Thirty thousand!” someone calls from the right side of the room.

“Thirty-five,” some tech executive type says next.

“Gavin?” Nolan glances over at me, catching the lethal stillness that’s settled over my frame. I don’t answer him. Instead, I set my empty glass of scotch whisky down with a deliberate, heavy thunk. Then I raise my paddle straight into the air.

“One hundred thousand dollars.” My voice cuts through the chatter of the room, carrying authority of a man who is used to buying whatever the hell he wants. The entire ballroom goes dead silent. Gasps echo off the high ceilings, and heads snap in my direction.

Vik lets out a low whistle, and Nolan chuckles under his breath, raising a glass in my direction. Up on the stage, Gennie is frozen. Her wide, brilliant eyes sweep across the crowd until they land directly on me.

“One… one hundred thousand dollars to Mr. Gavin Rhodes!” the auctioneer fumbles, his mouth opening and closing. “Going once, going twice.” I never break eye contact with her. I let my gaze slowly drag down the length of her body, lingering on the slit of her dress, letting her see the possessive promise written across my face. I want her to know there’s no denying it now—she’s coming home with me. “Sold!” The gavel bangs down, echoing like a gunshot.

The room erupts into polite applause, but I don’t hear a single second of it. I slowly lower my paddle, a dangerous smile curving at the corner of my lips as Gennie takes a trembling breath.

Game on, beautiful, you’re mine now.

CHAPTER ONE

gennie

The harsh glow of my phone screen feels like a spotlight of my fears. It’s after two o’clock in the morning. My apartment is shrouded in silence except for the steady hum of the refrigerator and the frenzied beat of my heart racing inside my chest. I lie sprawled on my living room sofa, staring down at an email I have drafted. I’ve opened it three separate times over the course of the night.

To: [email protected]

Subject: Urgent- Date Auction Cancellation

To Whom It May Concern,

An unexpected family emergency has emerged that requires me to travel out of town. As much as I hate to cancel, it’s something that I can’t postpone.

Please know this wasn’t an easy decision. I feel terrible for any inconvenience or disappoint this will cause.

All my best,

Genevieve Merchant

All I have to is press Send, one quick tap of my thumb, a polite, profuse apology, with a lie the size of Texas, and I’ll be off the hook.

“Don’t be a weenie, Gennie,” I mutter out lout to the empty room, squeezing my eyes shut.

Who am I kidding? I’m a total weenie. The charity auction seemed like a harmless idea when Ana’s mom mentioned it, a date to raise funds for my childhood best friend. Ana’s research for cancer specifically in children is a good cause. I assumed some local business owner of a friend or acquaintance would bid a couple of hundred dollars of out courtesy, we’d grab a friendly dinner at a restaurant, and everyone would go home happy.

I didn’t account for him.

The memory hits me with a sudden force, a physical impact, making my chest tighten all over again.

“Ugh.” I give up on the email draft, send it to the trash folder, and swipe over to my contacts. It’s way too late here on the West Coast, but that also means it’s just after five in New York. And if there is one person in the entire world who is guaranteed to be wide awake, sipping espresso and pounding away on her laptop, it’s Jett. I hit her contact and bring the phone up to me ear. It rings twice before the line clicks open.

“Tell me someone’s dead or you’re about to tell me something so juicy I won’t care what time in the morning it is.” Jett’s crisp, wide-awake voice cuts through the receiver.

“I’m having a full-blown existential crisis, Jett. I’m seconds away from fleeing the country.” I let out a jagged breath.

“Ah,” Jess says. The faint sound of typing rustles in the background. “The charity date is tomorrow night.”