by Lee, Nadia
“Ten thousand five hundred,” the redhead in front of me says. Clearly, Georgette isn’t my only competition.
“Eleven!” Georgette cries triumphantly.
Nate scans the crowd, an anxious frown on his face. He’s probably looking for me but not having much luck since I’m in the back, nicely blending in in my pink. Since the redhead isn’t stepping up, it’s my turn.
“Eleven five,” I say.
“Did somebody say something?” the MC says from the stage.
I wince. Do I have to yell too? A quick clearing of throat. “Eleven five!” I say more loudly.
“Twelve!” Georgette says.
“Twelve five!” says the redhead.
“Thirteen!” I won’t let you down, Nate.
“I know that voice!” Georgette hops on an empty chair, then sees me in the back. “You? The hired help doesn’t belong here!”
The insult barely registers as everyone’s gaze swings toward me. Each one pierces like a lance, and my mouth goes dry as my heart palpitates. I do not like attention. I don’t like people staring. And I certainly don’t like public assessment and judgment.
The bit of food I ate at Jun’s boutique spins in my belly. Acid floods my mouth. Don’t throw up! That would definitely get me all kinds of attention, staring and judgment.
“Fifty!” Georgette says, her nose in the air, an ugly sneer on her lips.
The MC repeats the amount with a breathless excitement I can’t decide is faked or not, while the crowd starts to buzz. The redhead in front of me leans back in her chair, clearly done with the bidding.
Georgette laughs like a villain twirling his mustache and whips out her phone.
“Do we have fifty and five?” the MC asks.
My phone alerts me to an email. I glance at it, needing something—anything—to make me forget I’m being examined like an acne pimple when I’m supposed to be blending in like industrial carpet.
This is us tonight.
A picture pops up, and I almost yelp and drop my phone. It’s Georgette, naked, and the position of her legs leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. She definitely did the prep work that Jun recommended for me, and she’s pouring white syrup all over her face and a hairless travesty nobody should have to un-see.
I’m definitely going to get sick.
A text pops up. Nate. Don’t lose or embarrass me. Bid big!
So much palpable desperation and will in that single text.
I lift my head. The MC is ready to close the bidding. “Going once. Going twice—”
I take another nanosecond glance at the picture Georgette sent. I can’t let Nate costar in that show. And I really don’t want to have a bidding war with Georgette either and drag this out. That woman’s unhinged, and I hate the way the people are all looking at me.
Screw it. “Five hundred thousand dollars!” I yell out.
A stunned silence falls for a moment. I squeeze my eyes shut to block out everyone’s shocked gaze, because I just can’t deal right now.
Georgette is the first to recover. “You don’t have that kind of money!” she screams.
The MC fans herself. “Half a million dollars! Oh my goodness. Going once…”
Georgette points at me. “She’s an assistant! She doesn’t have that kind of money! It’s illegal for her to bid when she can’t pay!”
The MC looks at Georgette coolly. “If she doesn’t pay, then you win by default.”
“Make her show you her bank account now!” Georgette screams, spittle flying.
Nate leans over so he can speak into the MC’s mic. “Let’s not be crude. This isn’t that sort of event.” His tone is jovial enough, but I can sense the barest hint of steel underneath.
“No! I refuse! She has no business being here! She’s just a working girl!”
God, I hate her so much that I want to rip her fake lashes off and stab her eyeballs with them. Not because she’s being true to her condescending self, but because she’s putting a spotlight on me, and people are staring. My skin crawls, and I swear if she doesn’t stop, I’m going to run up there and puke on her!
Elizabeth’s assistant appears and taps Georgette’s shoulder, murmuring something. She turns around, then screams, “You can’t shut me up! I have the right to speak my mind—”
He hoists her over his shoulder like a sack of flour and carries her out of the ballroom. He looks bored, while she screams a single high note the entire time. It’s amazing that her vocal cords don’t snap.
“Well.” The MC smiles. “Now that the interruption’s over… Going twice…”
The floor stays quiet.
“… Sold!”
The MC raises her free arm with a flourish. Nate beams. Everyone else in the room is clapping, but they’re also staring at me.
Every drop of saliva in my mouth dries. Somehow I’m getting the feeling that maybe I shouldn’t have bid so high, even if it is Nate’s money.
Chapter Ten
Evie
Since I’ve done my duty, I start to sneak out, shoulders rounded to make myself as small as possible. People are murmuring, their eyes on my retreating figure.
I. Must. Leave. Now. Nate will take care of the payment, since he knows I don’t have that kind of money. But he was the final bachelor, so the crowd’s milling around, talking and staring and pointing. Now I wish I’d worn a scarf around my face or something. This is just too much, because the people don’t have anything—or anyone—on the stage to distract them.
When I walk past the doors to the ballroom, relief starts to unfurl. The scrutiny sucked, but I did my job. I bailed Nate out of his horrible situation. Kim should be proud of me. Hell, I’m proud of me.
Flashes go off, putting spots in front of my eyes. My vision seems to swim, and I raise my hand as more cameras flash around me.
What the…? Is there a celeb behind me?
I turn around, and through the spots I see Nate. Huh. Doesn’t he have other things to do? Maybe toast to his victory over Georgette?
“Hello, Mr. Sterling,” I say, since I can’t think of anything else.
“Good evening, Ms. Parker,” he says with the grin that never fails to make him look ten times hotter.
“I should get out of the way. I think they want to take your picture.” Which makes more sense than them taking pictures of me. He’s an important man.
As I start to move away, Nate’s arm snakes around my waist. He pulls me to his side until we’re flush against each other. “They’re here to take pictures of the winners and their prizes.”
“Uh… They are?” My belly flutters. Nate feels warm and solid against my bare arm, but I don’t think that’s the reason for the vibrating sensation in my stomach as more flashes go off. I really shouldn’t have eaten anything at Jun’s. I look up at him. “It wasn’t in the program.”
Nate frowns as though he can’t believe I didn’t know. “Photo ops are a given.”
“Maybe for you.” I sniff, then smell stale alcohol. Where is it coming from? There’s nobody around us.
He beams, pulling me closer. “You won me. So you’re part of the package now.”
Oh. My. God. “You never told me that!”
The blinding smile on his face loses a few watts. “I thought you knew.”
“No, because it wasn’t in the fine—” I stop as the stale alcohol smell hits me again. “Were you drinking before the auction?”
“Yeah, last night.” He winces. “Not that much, though,” he adds. “Only, like, fifteen or twenty.”
“Fifteen or twenty?” The words are entirely too loud, and I cover my mouth. “Nate, shouldn’t you be in the hospital?” We can leave here immediately. I’ll even hold your hand.
He looks at me, then looks at himself, then back at me. “What for?”
“For alcohol poisoning,” I hiss at him. “You can barely have three drinks without falling flat on your face.” It was a pain to drag him to his mansion when he was all but passed out. And he to
ld me things he shouldn’t have, things I shall not recall because he was drunk and had no idea what he was saying.
Understanding dawns on his face, although I’m not sure what kind of understanding is required for this. Doesn’t he know his limits?
Actually, never mind. He’s a man. Of course he doesn’t know.
“You should’ve called me last night,” I say.
“It’s okay. Court was there to…er…take care of me.” He coughs into a fist.
“Speaking of which, I didn’t see his girlfriend bidding on you.” The redhead with the blonde friend definitely wasn’t Court’s girl. “I guess he still hasn’t made up with her?”
“You missed it. She bought him for fifty bucks.” Nate shakes his head.
Holy shit. “Fifty bucks? Like five-zero?” No wonder she’s not part of this photo op. What’s that girl’s secret?
“Fifty. Only one zero behind the five.”
“Ouch.” I wince on Court’s behalf. “Wasn’t he in high demand?” Although Court isn’t as loaded as Nate, he’s still an extremely rich bachelor.
“Long story, but he was happy with the outcome. And that’s all that matters.”
A reporter shoves her way toward us, somehow bypassing security. I see Tolyan’s missing, which explains why.
“Tell me what it’s like to bid on one of the world’s most eligible bachelors!” she demands, almost knocking my teeth out with a recorder. “Did you know you’d win?”
My stomach turns to ice. There’s no way I’m going to give her an interview or comment. Nate pulls me closer, and thankfully her attention switches to my boss, like a high-strung Chihuahua on four shots of espresso. “What does it feel like to be the most expensive bachelor of the night?”
Nate gives her a charming smile. “Well, what can I say? The ladies love me.”
And I love you too, for taking her focus off me.
I practice deep breathing as she throws a few more questions at him. In fact, I pretend I’m not here. I’m in my room. In my pajamas. Surfing the net. This is a scene from a very badly scripted Netflix show, not a slice of my evening…
“And you?” The reporter swivels, jamming the black thing back in my direction. “What does it feel like to win one of the most eligible bachelors in the world?”
The question shatters my calm-inducing imagery. The cheese from earlier pushes upward, and my feet tilt sideways as my knees turn to butter.
Nate tightens his arm around me. “Ms. Parker?”
Oh thank God. I guess I won’t end up on my butt with him holding me up.
“I only need one quote!” the reporter says, obviously not getting the hint that her need for that quote is the problem here.
“Gonna be sick,” I say weakly, and then throw up on her shoes.
Chapter Eleven
Evie
My defiling of the reporter’s shoes makes the front page of numerous gossip rags and tabloids. Along with photos of me and Nate together that were taken before all the hurlage. What happened at the Aylster Hotel even becomes a topic on commute-time radio talk shows for a day or two. I can’t listen without feeling shivers run up my spine, so I have to click away or turn off the radio every time it comes up.
Talk about embarrassing. At least radio doesn’t have pictures, just a bunch of snarky commentary, which I unfortunately sometimes catch when I’m late switching the station.
Some claim I was nervous. How overwhelmingly astute, I think. Some say I became sick over the prospect of having to pay half a million bucks for Nate, which of course is totally off the mark. Nate himself seemed to think the puking was okay as long as it wasn’t on his shoes.
I thought he might become a little upset after he managed to flush all the alcohol out of his system. But no. The man actually preens reading headlines declaring him the most sought-after bachelor of the auction. Pettily enough, I wish I’d spent more money at Jun’s boutique. And maybe gotten two facials.
I text Mom to let her know I’m fine and ask her to ignore the articles. She asks me if any of them are true, and I tell her most of those papers are writing fiction. Lying without lying. I hate this, but I don’t want to worry her. She’s going to have a heart attack if she thinks I’m repeating the same mistake I made back home by actually dating Nate.
For a brief moment, I wonder if anyone in Dillington saw the articles and recognized me. I can’t decide how I feel about that. Are they going to feel a twinge of guilt they drove me away? Or are they going to whisper, “Oh, look, that girl’s latching on to another boss. Guess she’ll never learn”?
At least Nate is ten billion times hotter than my ex, Chadwick.
And a trillion times the gentleman.
After laying out several outfits for the day and the weekend for Nate, I walk downstairs to the kitchen to make his shake. It’s been three weeks since the auction, but the hideous Georgette-violating-Nate statue is still in the living room. Does he really want this reminder of a nightmare that never happened? Maybe I should be more proactive and ask him how he wants to dispose of the postmodern monstrosity.
When I put the blender into the kitchen sink for the housekeeper to clean later, Nate comes down the steps. He’s in a light charcoal suit, no tie. I hand him the day’s healthy green concoction, and he takes it with a smile.
“So. What do you want to do with that…um…statue? I can have it removed today if you’d like.” Then I frown as it occurs to me that somebody might pay good money for it. Art collectors have the weirdest taste. “Or maybe it could be auctioned off to raise money for something?”
Nate doesn’t answer. Instead he chugs the entire glass of vitamins and other goodness down. I immediately hand him his coffee, knowing he needs the caffeine to think.
After a couple of sips, he says, “Definitely not.”
“Why not? To remind you never to let down your guard?” There’s no way Georgette’s the only crazy ex in Nate’s closet.
“Remind me to what?”
“I know Georgette surprised you, but you don’t have to keep something that continues to remind you of the trauma.”
He looks at the statue, then back at me. “What about the piece makes you think it’s about her?”
The angular predation with which the female is devouring that cock? The look of absolute insanity on her face? “Isn’t it?”
He raises both eyebrows. “No. It’s a ‘gift’ from Barron. He couldn’t keep it in his house because his girlfriend objected to it, what with grandkids visiting and all.”
Well, at least the girlfriend’s sensible. “No kidding. That thing’s a horror.”
“You think so?” The corner of Nate’s lips twitches. “I didn’t know you were into art.”
“You don’t have to be into anything. That woman looks like a damn succubus.”
“A what?”
“You know.” I clear my throat, unwilling to discuss specifics.
He looks over at the statue for a moment. “I…really don’t.”
I tilt my head and stare at him. Is he just messing with me? Or does he honestly not see it? Sure, the statue is sort of modern and slightly abstract, but I thought people who grew up buying stuff like this would know at a glance. “She’s sucking his essence out through the…um…sausage.”
Nate chokes on his coffee. I quickly hand him a napkin before he soils his shirt.
He places it over his mouth, then laughs into the white square. “Sucking his essence…” He stops, chokes, then starts laughing again. “Through the…”
“I really don’t see what’s so amusing.” Maybe I should’ve just said “cock” like a mature adult, but that would have been totally inappropriate with my male boss, who is hot and has starred in a few of my more feverish dreams.
“I’m trying to imagine what Barron would say if he were to hear that. Or Catherine, who curates his stuff.” Nate gestures at the hunk of bronze. “Oh man…” He wipes his eyes.
I scowl. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sterling. My taste is p
robably a bit plebian.”
“Nothing wrong with plebian, Ms. Parker. Just makes you human and adorable.”
He looks at me with a small smile, and my cheeks heat. His dark eyes are gorgeous in the morning, especially when he’s in a good mood. And that mouth is positively inviting, like it wants me to lay my lips over it.
Get a hold of yourself, Evie! He doesn’t mean “adorable” the way you think he does. He was probably trying to say “funny,” but chose the wrong word because he hasn’t finished his coffee yet.
I force a smile of my own. “I’m glad you find it acceptable.” I have no clue what I’m trying to say. But I feel like I have to say something to break the effect he has on me.
Something flickers in his eyes, and he straightens. I let out a soft sigh of relief that he’s back in boss mode.
We walk out together. I take another glance at the hideous hunk of metal. If the statue is from Barron, there’s no way we can get rid of it. Nate’s great-uncle has a certain reputation. The office keeps a fresh stock of Earl Grey tea and sugar cookies even though nobody really drinks it or eats them much—we’re more chocolate chippers—because he likes them, and it’s impossible to predict when he’s going to visit. I think it’s a waste, personally. He hasn’t come to the office in the nine months I’ve been working there, but my thoughts on the matter are probably unwanted. All the older employees whisper his name with awe, respect and a tinge of fear. Sometimes I wonder if we’re expected to kneel and prostrate ourselves before him.
We take Nate’s car, which is a crimson Ferrari today. Apparently, Miguel is off again—and for the indefinite future. Nate told him to take as much time as necessary, and HR is going to pay his salary as usual. Nate’s attitude is that all parents deserve to take care of their infant child together without having to worry about money.
Sometimes I wish my boss were just a little bit of a dick so I could safely put him in a “hot, but such a douche” box, which would make him less attractive. Of course, there are times when he acts slightly spoiled and too used to getting his way. But moments like this remind me he’s a good person inside.
