Auctioned

by Lulu Pratt

  But then, to my surprise:

  “You’re right,” she said.

  Well, damn.

  I guess we were in a relationship.

  It was both shocking and long overdue, and in short, filled me with immense joy.

  “You know what else you taught me?” she asked, bundling the jacket closer around her lithe frame.

  “What?”

  “You taught me that I’m not responsible for my father’s misdeeds. Seeing how you got out from under Dazzlers and your father’s legacy, I realized I can’t keep blaming and punishing myself for my father’s gambling. His consequences shouldn’t be mine. I love him, and I still want him to get help, but I’ve tried as hard as I can. When he’s ready to ask for help, he knows where to find me.”

  I put a hand on her thigh and squeezed.

  “I’m so proud of you. Fathers are difficult things, and learning to grow from out under them is hard as fuck.”

  “Agreed.”

  She smiled at me, then a quizzical expression crossed her brow.

  “Wait, shit,” she said, realization dawning. “If Dazzlers is sold, I guess I can’t come back. I’m out of a job.”

  “Oh… crap. That hadn’t crossed my mind.”

  The gears in my head started turning, but Kiki cut me off.

  “Before you can suggest halting a billion-dollar sale to let me keep my waitressing job… don’t,” she joked.

  In truth, that was exactly where my mind had gone.

  I reddened. “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I can live with one hundred thousand getting wiped off the books, but this is one present I won’t accept.”

  Okay, so Plan A was off the table. What was my Plan B?

  A thought occurred to me. It was pretty bold, but hey, I was feeling bold lately.

  “This is crazy, but how would you feel about coming with me out to California? We could start our new lives, together. One new life, for the both of us.”

  Her lips twisted, and my heart thudded. Had I pushed too hard?

  “That sounds intriguing,” she admitted. “But I don’t have many skills besides, like, food service. I never even went to college. What if I can’t find a job out there?”

  “First of all, any employer would be lucky to have you.”

  “Because I sleep with my boss?”

  I snorted, laughter filling my chest. “Very funny. Because you’re a damned hard worker. But it’d be my honor to take care of you while you find a job, if you decide you want one at all. Supporting you would finally be a good use of all my fucking money. Consider it… reparations… for how Dazzlers impacted your family, and your life. Seriously, I’m asking for the privilege of watching out for you.”

  Kiki was so stubborn, there was no way this was gonna work. She was gonna insist on supporting herself, and say that my offer was an insult. I braced myself for the let-down, the fight, the end of it all. At least I’d shot for the moon, right?

  To my utter shock, she replied, “Yes. Yes, okay. It’s scary to be dependent on somebody else, but — and I can’t believe I’m saying this — I trust you.”

  A sound of pure joy emerged from my throat, and I pulled Kiki in close to me, hugging her so tightly to make sure this was real, that it wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

  “I love you,” I repeated for what felt like the millionth time.

  We kissed once more. Each kiss was more perfect than the last. In a week’s time, we’d be experts at kissing. After a lifetime? We’d be veritable gods.

  I slipped my hand behind my back without breaking the kiss and rolled down the driver’s window.

  I turned my head away from Kiki’s lips just enough to call out to the driver, “Take us straight to Palo Alto.”

  EPILOGUE

  Kiki

  One Year Later

  I STRODE ACROSS the white acrylic floor, my simple sneakers pounding the ground. There wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t thank my lucky stars that my job no longer required me to wear pinching heels or lingerie. Nobody in Silicon Valley, as it turned out, dressed in anything but sweatshirts and jeans. And for my part, I loved the new unspoken uniform.

  Veronica, my assistant, ran up to me with an iPad, tapping furiously on the screen.

  “You have a meeting with Tim at ten, then a focus group for the new updates at eleven. After that, it’s lunch with Giovanni.”

  “Perfect. Thanks, Veronica.”

  The girl bobbed and trotted back off.

  As I passed the main engineer room, another employee — a coder, Amy — flagged me down, and I went to her sleek white desk covered in empty Coke cans.

  “Amy?”

  “We’re set for the update rollout. Demos all work, haven’t caught any bugs yet, all scans completed.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.”

  “Thanks, boss,” she smiled.

  I moved away from her table and back to my office.

  For the first time in my life, I loved my job.

  With Tate’s help, I’d created a new app all of my own. It wasn’t something I’d ever dreamed of doing, but the moment he suggested I find a way to utilize our place in Silicon Valley, the idea had dawned on me — an app for event staff, like bussers, bartenders, and yes, waitresses, to accept gigs. My fantasy had always been the little cabin in Washington, but as soon as I’d started pulling a team together for the app, I realized that this is what I was meant to do — lead, innovate, and actually help people.

  The app — Giggr — was actually a huge hit in the service industry. We got messages from folks every day telling our team that we’d changed the way they got jobs. And we only charged the employers — not the service workers — for the use of our app, so the people making less money weren’t the ones paying our bills. As a former waitress, I knew that you couldn’t afford to lose any cash in overhead to get a job. In fact, I was able to bring loads of other knowledge to the table when starting the app. It made me different from the other Ivy Leaguers in the Valley, but also perhaps more effective.

  And Tate hadn’t even really given me the money to start Giggr. I’d used the cash I’d won at our sexy little poker game. Okay, sure, he’d orchestrated that whole thing just to help me out, but still. My reasoning was I had to sit down and know how to play to get the money — it wasn’t totally a gift. All right, maybe it was, but I’m still working on my pridefulness, and this was how I avoided feeling guilty for taking his cash. At least I’d gotten to the point where I could accept his assistance when it was offered. That was progress.

  I was a new Kiki. For the first time in my life, I’d learned that not every day had to be a challenge, that you were allowed to wake up and take it easy. Yes, Tate’s money helped by giving me a safety net, but the actual lessons, and my newfound confidence, had come from Tate. That was something money couldn’t buy.

  The rest of my work day flew by, as my days tended to do now. I was packed with meetings from morning ‘til night, but I made sure to always leave by six and to get my employees home by then too. There’s no point working hard for a job if you can’t spend time with your loved ones. I know it’s Valley and startup culture to labor through the wee hours, but that just wasn’t my style. And apparently, based on Giggr’s success, it didn’t take only getting five hours of sleep to have a successful launch.

  By six, as usual, I was in my Porsche and driving out of the office’s parking lot. The Porsche had been an indulgence, I grant you, but it was purchased entirely with my own money. Tate bought the house, and took on most of the expenses — even though I was now earning plenty of cash — so I’d insisted on buying my own car. You know how some women buy designer purses with their first paychecks? Well, this was like that, only… bigger. And way more expensive. But life’s too short to drive slow.

  On the ride home, I called my father as we hadn’t spoken that week. He had agreed to go to Gamblers Anonymous after he learned that his debts at Dazzlers had been written off. The program seemed to be
working and I half wondered if my father realized that he’d dodged a bullet and that he had only so much luck.

  He’d actually been a huge help with the sale of Dazzlers as we moved to California before everything was settled. Tate had agreed to my request that all Dazzlers staff were to keep their jobs with the new owners as a condition of sale so no one lost their job. Despite Mac’s revenge, the story had died a quick death as the story fell apart within days. It also had been forgotten in the wake of a scandal at RES, where several people had been caught card counting by other players. It turned out that RES had not only known this, but was taking a share of the winnings from the cheats.

  Tate had sold his Vegas home in one day as one of his neighbors had been eyeing the house for years and had been waiting for it to go on the market.

  My father answered on the third ring. “Hey honey, how are ya?”

  “Fine, Dad. Just wanted to check in and see how you are doing.”

  “Great, haven’t felt this good in years.”

  “Anyway, I just wanted to see if you are around tomorrow evening as I am running a bit late and I wanted to see if we could catch up then? Will you be home?”

  “Of course. I have nowhere else to be and a friend might be popping by.”

  “Is this Caroline?” I asked.

  “How about I don’t tell you so you don’t forget to call tomorrow to get the details.”

  I laughed and let him get back to his TV.

  I turned off the highway and pulled into our secluded street. It was home to some of the biggest names in the Valley, but there was no gate around the community, and I preferred it that way. I drove down the elm-lined boulevard, my arm dangling out the window as I felt the air on my lightly tanned skin.

  Finally, I was home.

  Tate and I compromised our tastes when we bought the house. He loved ultra-modern architecture, while I leaned more to rustic and homey. We’d ended up with a perfect combination of the two — it was a kind of seventies futuristic model made entirely of dark wood, with perfect nooks for reading or cuddling. We’d gone mid-century modern with much of the furniture, but had covered every surface in soft, comfy fabrics and textures. The backyard was planted with as many trees as I could fit, which was quite a few. I planned on starting a garden soon.

  How had I gotten so lucky?

  Tate’s car was already in the garage, so I knew he’d gotten home before me. I smiled, excited to greet him. Even though we now lived together and I saw him every day, the little thrill of reconvening and discussing our day always put an extra bounce in my step.

  The day after we’d moved to the Valley, he’d set up a venture capital firm. He knew so much about the organization of such companies that I wondered if he hadn’t been researching it for quite some time. Perhaps he’d been thinking about it for longer than I knew, and he just needed my little push to take him all the way. Tate’s work was far more money-oriented than my own, but it suited him perfectly. He had a head for numbers and business relations, and had soon become one of the most respected investors around. He was known for investing in cutting-edge technology, the kind too risky for most firms. In other words, he was a brazen swashbuckler.

  My little pirate, I thought with a goofy grin.

  “Tate!” I called out as I entered the house, dropping my keys on the front table.

  Even with our open floor plan, he was nowhere in sight. Weird.

  “Tate?” I repeated.

  A voice replied, “I’m in the back yard.”

  I shook my head. I should’ve figured — he loved the back yard, and had installed an enormous fireplace, at which we often sat with our friends drinking wine, playing music, and telling stories.

  “I’m gonna getcha!” I laughed back, following the sound of his voice to the back door.

  I heard a sound of a violin bow striking a string. What a romantic. He often turned on some music for us. His favorite was the old stuff, like what Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers used to dance to. Tate was so much softer than I’d thought on first glance.

  But when I came outside, I discovered that the sound wasn’t from our speakers but from an actual string quartet.

  Tate was seated at a white linen-covered table right next to the small pond in our backyard, dozens of candles and flower petals surrounding him. He was wearing a white T-shirt and the jeans he knew I liked, and no shoes. Damn, I loved him.

  “What gives?” I said, gesturing to the setup.

  “You like?”

  He rose from the table as I moved forward, pulling out the chair opposite him so that I could take a seat. I lowered myself, gazing around in awe as the string quartet picked up their melody.

  “Of course I like it, you crazy man. What’s the occasion?”

  Tate reached into an ice bucket and poured me a glass of Champagne, fresh and cold.

  “It’s the unofficial one-year anniversary of our relationship.”

  “Nu-uh! That’s like ten days from now, the day I was—”

  “Kidnapped by Mac?”

  “Yeah.”

  He shook his head. “That’s our official one. But I count our real anniversary as the moment I laid eyes on you, when I knew you were the girl for me.”

  “You’re a cornball.”

  “Yeah, but you love it.”

  I winked. “That I do. That I do.”

  With that, a server swooped in to give us our first course.

  “You hired servers?” I whispered.

  “Don’t worry, I used Giggr.”

  I laughed and raised my glass in a toast.

  “To us.”

  Tate met my glass with a clink and we locked eyes. I could look at his baby blues forever.

  The meal was, in short, spectacular. Tate had hired one of the most famous chefs in California, who’d flown to Napa just to prepare the meal for us. I fought my feeling of being totally unworthy of this gorgeous meal, and focused just on enjoying myself and the wonderful company. When Tate did romance, he leaned in hard. What the hell was I going to get him for our official anniversary?!

  After several hours — we had so many courses, I lost count — the sun had gone down, and the backyard was illuminated just by the candles.

  Tate and I leaned back in our chairs, totally stuffed, as a server emerged with our final course.

  “A slice of chocolate cake,” he explained, setting the plates down on the table.

  I groaned as the man disappeared. “I can’t eat another bite.”

  “Just try it,” Tate insisted. “I’m sure you’re gonna love it.”

  Seeing the hopeful expression on his face, the one he wore when he was waiting for my reaction, I sighed with a smile and put my fork into the fluffy folds.

  That’s when I felt the metal of my tines hit another, different kind of metal. Something definitively circular.

  I looked up from the cake and found Tate on one knee.

  ***

  Thank you for reading Auctioned. I hope you enjoyed it.

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  Rough & Ready

  Accidentally saved by the single dad

  You know those towns with the dirty names like Spread Eagle or Horneytown? Well, with my dirty mind I decided to spend my college break visiting them on an epic road trip with my best friend.

  Until my entrance to a sleepy town starts with a bang as my car crashes straight into the Welcome to Rough and Ready sign.

  Local mechanic Carter turns up to save me. He’s as rough as the town’s name and immediately has me feeling ready. He’s eye candy from head to toe but his arms stand out the most. Firm biceps, taut forearms and I have an overwhelming urge to run into them.

  It’ll take days to fix the car and there’s no motel in town. Luckily, he lets us stay in the trailer parked outside his house. I couldn’t be farther from my life at college.
/>   When his six-year-old son’s around a softer side of Carter shows and I struggle to keep my cool with all the heat he creates inside me. Before long it’s obvious the feeling is mutual.

  But there’s danger all around him. Danger I have to avoid from a secret I’m determined to learn. And more accidents waiting to happen.

  *** A steamy STANDALONE contemporary romance with a smoking hot hero. No cliffhanger, no cheating and a guaranteed happily-ever-after.***

  CHAPTER 1

  Phoebe

  “HOLD ME closer, Tony Danza!”

  Jo-Beth and I dissolved into giggles, our singing breaking off as laughter filled my car. I leaned my forehead against the fur-covered wheel of the old rustbucket, tears rolling down my face.

  “Keep your eyes on the road!” Jo-Beth shrieked, lifting my head off the wheel and facing it forward. “We may be in the middle of nowhere but there are still, like, coyotes and shit.”

  “You’re a terrible singer,” I informed my best friend, still tittering over our deliberate misquote of Elton John’s classic.

  “And you’re a terrible driver and you refuse to sing the right words,” she shot back, and we laughed again because we both knew she was right. We’d been on the trip for almost three weeks, and now in the home stretch, somehow, Jo-Beth’s voice had only gotten worse with the miles.

  “How far now?”

  Jo-Beth looked at our map. “Since the last time you asked? About five minutes less.”

  Ugh. Driving with her was awesome, but driving, period, is tedious in the extreme. You always have to pee, or you need food, or your back hurts and you need to have a walk. It’s like this never-ending confrontation with your corporeal dependencies.

  But if I had to slog across the country with anyone, it’d be Jo-Beth. She’d been my best friend since the first year of college, and now, going into our fourth year, it felt like I’d known her a lifetime. Jo-Beth had coaxed me out of my shell, showing me how to navigate adult social interactions with a twinkle and a wink. She was just like that. She fit in everywhere, like putty in the cracks. Which is not to say that I’m shy. I need time to warm up, that’s all.