Null and Void

by Susan Copperfield

  The freedom to say what I wanted how I wanted would land me in hot water, but I’d enjoy every minute it lasted, right up until they tossed me in prison.

  “I make allowances for the intoxicated,” he replied, his tone solemn.

  I frowned. “Why would you? It’s not like you poured booze down her throat. She’s an adult, isn’t she? That’s like letting a kid trash a store because he didn’t get a piece of candy. Maybe I should apologize on behalf of the other women here; ladies don’t do such things.”

  While his mask hid most of his face, I caught a glimpse of a smile. “How interesting.”

  Red splotches marred the woman’s face, and she jerked away. Her nails, painted a bright, almost blinding red, caught on the button of his jacket, popping it off. It bounced to the floor, and spun.

  The tinkle of metal on stone halted the nearby conversations. I took the three steps necessary to reach the fallen button and scooped it up, offering it to its owner. “As I said, those things should be classified as weapons.”

  He accepted the button with a nod. “Thank you, Miss…?”

  “Little. Mackenzie Little.”

  “Are you aware your hand seems to be turning quite red?”

  Damn it, I hated my allergies. An inarticulate scream drowned out my attempt to explain my reaction to gold, although the speed of my reaction worried me; my fingers and palm already itched. The woman staggered in my direction and lifted her hand, fingers splayed to slap me into next week.

  “Worthless null! Who let a filthy thing like you in here anyway? Do us all a favor and die already.”

  How many times would I hear such words before I finally gave them what they wanted? As a child, I’d begun counting as soon as I’d learned basic math; multiplication had became necessary in short order.

  It still hurt hearing her hatred when I’d done nothing more than live without magic. If she behaved like the other bullies, she’d use her talents to knock me as low as she could in front of everyone.

  They’d laugh. They always did.

  She lifted her hand to smack me, and I tensed, waiting for the last second to dart out of her reach. “Can’t you come up with something a bit more creative? If I had a dollar for every time one of you talent-obsessed blowhards couldn’t handle breathing the same air as a null, I wouldn’t be here, that’s for sure. I’d spend the money I would’ve wasted on a dress like yours helping people—the very people you insult, the benefactors of the charities supported tonight. But you aren’t here for charity, are you? You’re probably hoping to get into some prince’s pants. Since you’re busy getting drunk, you’ve already figured out a pretty face isn’t going to get you far, not with men possessing a single functioning brain cell.”

  It took a moment for her to comprehend my words, and the instant she realized I had insulted her, rage twisted her expression. “You slut!”

  I took a risk turning away from my opponent, but I faced the man in the golden mask. “I didn’t mean to imply you’re here for any reason other to support your charities and enjoy a party, sir. If I’ve offended you, I apologize.”

  “You’re the one owed an apology, Miss Little. Sylvia had no right to make any comments about your bloodline.” Once again, I glimpsed a hint of a smile peeking out from behind his mask.

  “Timothy!” the woman gasped.

  I waved my hand. “She only spoke the truth.”

  I’d accepted that long ago.

  “It was still a cruel and unnecessary thing to say.”

  Lady Sylvia straightened and fisted her hands. “How could you side with that thing?”

  “I hope she didn’t damage your button, sir.” Ignoring the woman’s outburst would infuriate her further, but I didn’t care. What could she do to me? Stab me with her nails? Prevent me from getting a job?

  I’d already learned how poor my prospects were.

  “I’m not worried about it. Your hand, however, doesn’t seem to have emerged unscathed. Are you all right?”

  “I have a gold allergy. It’s nothing a few days won’t cure.” I stuffed my itching hand into my pocket. “Hopefully, she learns to keep her hands—”

  While I’d expected her to do something, the full body tackle surprised me. Over the years, I’d been bullied and attacked enough times I’d learned a few basic self-defense tricks to protect myself from assault. Lifting my leg, I drove my knee into her groin, and when she doubled over and fell against me, I sidestepped so she tumbled to the floor.

  I hopped out of her reach while she curled in the fetal position. “How stupid can you be?”

  Lady Sylvia groaned.

  Dylan joined me, shaking his head and holding out my flute. “You look like you could use a drink.”

  “I guess it’d be rude if I dumped it on her.”

  “It would be, I’m afraid.”

  I sighed, took my glass, and sipped, keeping my right hand in my pocket to avoid any more attention.

  Dylan chuckled and adjusted how he held my jacket draped over his arm. “I should be thanking you. I’ve wanted to see someone finally have enough of her shit for years.”

  “I’ll kill you,” Lady Sylvia groaned and, fighting the heavy fabric of her gown, she struggled to her knees. As though her position sent some silent signal to the other guests, several men hurried to help her to her feet. “I’ll ruin you.”

  “No, Lady Ambrose, you will not.” Dylan’s tone hardened, and he took my jacket and held it for me.

  He was lucky I realized he wanted to help me into it, and curious about his behavior, I cooperated. Once I had my arms in the sleeves, he straightened the leather over my shoulders.

  Lady Ambrose lifted her chin. “But—”

  “You’ve disgraced yourself, you’ve insulted the hospitality of our hosts, and you’ve lowered yourself to threats in addition to your rather rude impositions. The good news is you’ve made it very simple for proper gentlemen to know who not to bid on. For that, Lady Ambrose, thank you.” Dylan held out his arm to me while still glaring at the source of his ire.

  Convinced my ex-boss had lost his mind, I played along. I worried about people in the crowd photographing us, but he showed no sign of caring.

  Unfortunately, linking arms with him meant I couldn’t hide my hand in my pocket. Pale splotches promised blisters later, with the worst of the damage on my palm and fingertips, which had suffered from the longest exposure.

  Dylan guided me away from the crowd towards the Ferrari. “Why the hell did you pick up that button knowing you’re allergic to gold?”

  Pulling free of his hold, I regarded my palm and fingers with a wrinkled nose and a scowl. “It was only polite. That drunk girl wasn’t going to do it, and I’ve met enough elites to understand he wasn’t going to, either. Why waste a perfectly good button?”

  “One word, Mackenzie Little: blisters.”

  “So?”

  “Won’t your hand scar?”

  I gaped at him, struggling to understand why he would care about something as insignificant as a few extra scars on my hand. “The more the merrier. It’s not like I have pristine hands.”

  “You shouldn’t scar yourself for no good reason.”

  Why did Dylan have to be so damned pushy? “I thought it was a perfectly good reason. Why do you even care? It’s not like my well-being is of any importance to you. Worry about yourself. You’ll need to, if Abigail is taking care of you.”

  Dylan snorted. “Abigail is no longer employed at Riverway Enterprises. When a certain employee ceased contributing to a certain department within the company, she was unable to complete her work to my standards. A little investigation discovered a paper trail of neglect among some employees. As a result, there’s been a substantial amount of turnover in said department.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I’m hiring, and I can offer you a very lucrative package.”

  “I’m not returning to Riverway enterprises. Not happening. Sorry, Dylan.”

  �
�Then it’s fortunate I’m not looking for you to return there. My position was never meant to be permanent, and the turnover made it an ideal time to shift the management to someone new.”

  “I’m pretty sure three years at one place counts as permanent.”

  “It was a good job, an educational experience, and important enough, but I never intended to stay with the company. The board knew it when they hired me.”

  “Have you forgotten I’m a null?”

  “I’m of the opinion this fact belongs in the pro column.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” I blurted.

  “No.”

  “Believe it or not, I didn’t come here to think about the hell that’s my professional life.”

  “Why are you here, really?”

  “Coercion by a meddling mother. Why else?”

  He chuckled and smiled. “You really let your mother bully you into coming to a charity auction?”

  “She cleverly bought the ticket before asking me.”

  My answer only made him laugh harder. “Your own mother put you up on auction.”

  “At least it’s for charity.”

  “Such a philanthropist.”

  “Hey, I competitively priced myself to ensure no sane man would even consider bidding on me. Give me some credit here! I carefully selected exclusivity, so even if there is some lunatic in the crowd with more money than sense, there’ll be a very happy charity as a result.”

  Still laughing in soft, breathy chuckles, Dylan pulled out his phone and tapped at the screen. “Currently, there are six active bidders vying for the pleasure of your company. You’re popular, Mackenzie Little. Ten cheap bastards have already dropped out.”

  Sixteen people had bid on me? My eyes widened. With my minimum bid set for the maximum price, it meant someone was willing to pay far more than I was worth. “You’re bullshitting me.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “You’re Dylan Mason, that’s why. You find it funny when you sneak up on people and breathe down their necks while they’re working. You enjoy playing pranks, and you’re known to say absurd things so you can watch for interesting reactions.”

  Dylan toyed with his phone, chuckling every now and then while I waited. After years of working with him, I understood he’d answer only when he wanted and not a moment sooner. Annoying him or displaying impatience wouldn’t end well; in the worst-case scenario, he wouldn’t answer me at all. Then again, hell would probably freeze over the day Dylan confessed he had a flaw.

  “Aren’t you even the slight bit curious who’s bid for your time?”

  I shrugged. “Not particularly, unless I need to make the phone calls to enroll them for a psychologist.”

  “How charming. Why not?”

  If I lied to Dylan, he’d know; he always knew, no matter how hard I tried to hide it. I lifted my chin, took the offensive, and hoped the pentagram platinum elite wouldn’t wipe the floor with me when I finished whining over what I couldn’t change. “You could tell me who, and I’d have no idea who you’re talking about. I can name New York’s king, but you’d be pushing your luck if you wanted the names of his children. It’s just not relevant to me. After I finish humiliating myself tonight, life goes back to normal. I’ll look for a new job, I’ll stay off the radar, and I’ll live day to day hoping no one remembers I’m a null.”

  “You’re relevant now. Everything you say and do tonight is relevant. You’ve been noticed by everyone in this room, and nothing you do will change that.”

  I clenched my teeth, hating he was right—for the moment—but unwilling to change my course despite knowing he was correct. I had, by picking up a golden button and rebuking a woman for treating a man like garbage, reminded everyone nulls were people, too.

  Few appreciated the reminder.

  I could only hope my next words wouldn’t be a lie come morning. “After tonight, I’ll become just another nameless face, one who gave them a little amusement at a charity gala. That’s all right, too. I’ve got nothing people like you want, nothing to offer them.”

  Dylan’s mask hid most of his expression, but I suspected he smiled. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

  Chapter Four

  It didn’t take long for Dylan to tire of my company and wander off, and I found it intriguing the other attendees gave him a wide berth. I also found it annoying more people noticed me. A few of the braver ones came close enough to say hello, and one even brought me a glass of Champagne, thus sparing me from braving the crowd.

  He hadn’t said more than a hello before handing me the glass and making his escape, but I appreciated the effort all the same.

  Half an hour until midnight, my chance to escape came; the butlers guarding the exits left their posts and converged on the Ferrari and other prizes. I almost made my break for freedom, but within a few feet of my goal, Dylan stepped into my path.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Freedom,” I announced, sidestepping to dodge the man. He blocked me again, and I halted, glaring at him. “Come on, Dylan. Don’t be an ass. This Cinderella doesn’t have glass slippers to lose, and the mice never figured out how to become horses. Whatever you do, don’t ask about the carriage.”

  “For once in my life, I assure you, I’m not being an ass. I’m just helpfully preventing you from making a social error you might regret later. You don’t have to worry; the prizes are a private enough affair. Everything’s already been drawn, so you just need to go to the back and collect your winnings. You stand in line, and they’ll give you a bag or a tracking slip for delivery. It’s bad form to leave early, and they’ll notice and get snooty about it.”

  I lifted up my purse, which still contained my door prize. “But they already gave me a bag.”

  “How tragic. You have to suffer through more gifts. The door prizes are tokens of appreciation from us gentlemen. The gifts they’re giving out now are from the various sponsors supporting the charities, thanking us for our participation.”

  I twisted to glare across the room at the crowd gathering around the Ferrari. “Why isn’t there more fanfare?”

  “Everyone’s tired and easily provoked this time of night. With so many strong talents in the same room, it’s best to keep things low key. It also prevents fits of jealousy. Trust me when I say jealousy runs rampant in this crowd. The real show is the auction app for the men and the socialization for the ladies.”

  “Is socialization a euphemism for torture?”

  Dylan laughed. “Quite possibly.”

  I considered abandoning the gala without the gift, to hell with the repercussions. “You’re sure all I need to do is fetch this bag? I’d like to finish running away before people remember I’m here.”

  “You wouldn’t escape for long. Have you forgotten you have men bidding on you? If you thwart the winner now, he might follow you home. Men of our caliber tend to do annoying things like that.”

  Damn it. “The six active bidders haven’t come to their senses?”

  “You’re up to fourteen now. I expect there are some lurkers waiting to snipe the bid at midnight. It’ll be entertaining to watch.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “It’s your fault for being interesting and different.”

  “Those bidders are spending too much money. At least I can go home saying I’m not a cheap whore. A girl has to have some standards, right?”

  “You’re the only woman attending who went for a preference for the maximum bid and claimed the exclusivity clause.”

  I struggled to believe any of the women in their beautiful gowns would undercut themselves at all. “They’re all pretty, wealthy, and from good bloodlines, aren’t they? Why wouldn’t they go for maximum bid and exclusivity?”

  “At the minimum bid, they’re virtually guaranteed to be chosen by someone. It’s considered poor taste for someone to leave the auction without having been bid on at least once.”

  I almost pitied Little Miss Drunk. “
And Lady Sylvia?”

  “She’ll have a very disappointing evening with only one minimum bid—it’s also in poor taste to completely snub someone and hurt a charity in the process. That said, she might get snubbed regardless. She made a rather lousy error in judgment. I’m certainly not bidding on her.”

  I would never understand elite society. “I’m amazed I haven’t been brought up on assault charges yet, honestly.”

  “She attacked first, and there were plenty of witnesses, myself included. If she’s wise, she’ll let it go. There are quite a few individuals who would side with you even in an elite court. She acted foolishly, and despite appearances, even us elite have the ability to distinguish between right and wrong.”

  I had my doubts, but instead of voicing them, I faked a smile.

  It took over an hour to claim my bag, which wasn’t a bag at all; it was a box. While I gaped at it, torn between bristling over having the lug the thing to my room and interest over what was inside, Dylan took it from the butler. “I’ll carry it to your room. When you leave tomorrow, one of the bellboys will take it to your car.”

  Dylan’s presence unsettled me, but since I didn’t want to carry the box and he’d offered without my asking, I went with the flow and headed for the elevator. Falling into step with me, he followed along like a lost puppy determined to stick close.

  “Thanks for carrying it for me,” I mumbled, wondering how I’d evict him from my room once we arrived.