Auctioned to the Biker

by Mia Ford

  That particular lack of encouragement stuck with me, making me hope that there was something I was good at, that would make me a presentable wife.

  And they wonder why I rebel? I thought before shaking my head out of the memory, realizing now that I had spent far too much time looking at a plate of fried chicken.

  "Lord, girl, are you that hungry? You keep that up, Mr. Shields is going to think we don't feed you," my mother insisted, and I turned with a forced grin.

  "Sorry, momma...I was thinking about...nothing. Just lost in thought," I admitted, though wouldn't dare explain what thoughts I was having.

  "Well, you had better snap out of it because tonight is extremely important to your father."

  "Yes, ma'am," I replied as she handed me a heavy casserole dish.

  "Go put this on the table, will you?"

  "What is this?" My father demanded as he walked through the kitchen door.

  My mother and I stopped to stare at him, equally confused by his comment.

  "Mr. Shields is a northerner, Kat," my father explained, "He ain't gonna wanna eat this..."

  "Oh yeah?" My mother huffed, jabbing her hands into her hips and narrowing her eyes at him, "Well, why don't you tell me? What do Northerners eat? They don't have chicken up north? They don't have potatoes? What? Did you want to take him out for a pizza?"

  "No," my father replied, somewhat contritely, "It's just the way its fixed..."

  "It's fixed deliciously, just the way you like it and he will like it too," she retorted, "He'll like it, or he'll starve."

  My father groaned and rolled his eyes, realizing that he had upset my mother, "Look, I'm sorry. I'm just nervous."

  "I know you're nervous," my mother replied, slightly relenting in her anger. "But you need to let us help you. Let me help you."

  I tried to ignore my mother's obvious implication that my help was useless and continued to the table, again wishing I had some kind of escape.

  When I placed the dish on the table, my eyes wandered over to the place-setting reserved for our latest dinner guest.

  There were only four place-settings, indicating that the man was expected to come alone.

  He's probably been widowed since before I was born. I thought, keeping in mind all the disgustingly old men my parents had recently brought to the house recently.

  Even though they wouldn’t come right out and say it, I knew they wanted me to marry one of their business associates and the thought made me feel physically ill.

  I tried to comfort myself by thinking that since he was from the north, maybe his wife was at home, but it didn't do much good.

  The bottom line was that my parents wanted me to help them smooth over their business endeavors and I didn't want any part of it.

  Although, as rebellious as I was, a voice inside my head continued to tell me that I needed to mind my parents; insisting that they were doing what they thought was best for me.

  It was that voice that kept me from doing anything particularly rash and I resented it wholeheartedly.

  The doorbell rang, pulling me out of my thoughts and I waited for instructions.

  My father was in a mood and if I didn't do what he wanted, I was going to pay for it, in one way or another for the remainder of the evening and so, it was better simply to appease him.

  "What are you waiting for, girl? Go answer the damn door!" My father insisted as he walked up behind me.

  After a quick shake of the head, I walked over to the door with my father at my heels.

  When I opened the door, I was surprised to see a man who was well-dressed but not overly showy. The first thing I noticed about him was that his dark eyes matched his hair and his smile was mesmerizing.

  “Hello, Mr. Shields,” I grinned, hoping to God no one else would notice that my heart had immediately started to pound unmercifully in my chest.

  “Hi,” he replied in a confident manner, “Is this the Daniels residence?”

  “Yes,” my father answered for me, practically shoving me out of the way and extending his hand in the process. “I am Raymond Daniels and that was my daughter, Sahara.”

  “Ray, nice to meet you,” he insisted, shaking my father’s hand briskly before walking inside with a confident stride and turning toward me, “And a pleasure to meet you as well.”

  I tried to stifle a giggle but I’m not entirely sure I succeeded as I offered my hand. Watching my father stammer around as Mr. Shields grasped my hand and slowly drew it up to his lips. I felt my stomach drop and my breath cease with excitement when his kiss landed softly and lingeringly on my skin.

  I was certain that when he pulled away and looked into my eyes, I was red as an overripe plum tomato, but my mind was swirling so fast, I couldn’t begin to care about anything other than his touch.

  “Please,” he replied with a thick northern accent, “Call me Anthony. Mr. Shields was my father.”

  Again, I giggled but knew that it was apparent this time.

  “I’m Sahara,” I replied, “it’s a pleasure to meet you too.”

  “And this,” my father interjected, nearly pushing himself between us, “Is my lovely wife, Kat.”

  “It is very nice to meet you, as well,” Anthony replied, kissing my mother’s hand as well but without nearly as much enthusiasm as he had chosen to shower over me.

  Still, my mother beamed and although she pulled her hand back rather quickly, I was sure my father was displeased with the way Anthony handled himself.

  My father ushered us to the dinner table and as we were sitting down, my father spoke up, “So, Anthony…I remember your father talking about you when you were just a boy. You’ll have to forgive me, it's strange to see you in your Daddy’s seat.”

  “I assure you, it’s kind of strange to be here,” Anthony admitted, “But life goes on, I suppose.” He insisted, which I knew didn’t sit right with my parents.

  “Your father was a great businessman,” my father insisted.

  “Indeed, he was and I’m trying my best to take up the mantel.”

  “That’s good to hear,” my father replied, almost in a challenging, authoritative manner.

  I watched Anthony’s expression shift slightly as though he understood my father’s implication.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know exactly how my father did business but I’m not one for beating around the bush, so to speak, so is there something you would like to discuss with me before we get started?”

  My father seemed genuinely insulted by Anthony’s remark and his condescending expression made my stomach churn.

  While my father wasn’t physically abusive, his anger made him belligerent, which usually escalated quickly into loud shouting matches.

  He knew that he wasn’t going to be able to yell at this man, but he was sure as hell going to let it all out as soon as he left.

  “Listen, Anthony, I know that,” he answered with a strained calmness, “So, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Your father and I had something of an understanding and I hope that the two of us can continue that understanding.”

  I turned quickly toward Anthony, to see what he would say.

  “Well, Ray, I’m not my father and with going over your file, we have a lot to discuss.”

  “Don’t you understand the concept of loyalty? They have that up in the north, don’t ya? If you don’t want to think of it that way, you can say I’m grandfathered in. That works too.”

  “In all fairness,” Anthony retorted with an intriguing, genuine calmness about him, “I came down here to make a deal with you and renew your contract with my father’s company. I didn’t make a ten-hour trip to be threatened.”

  “And I didn’t let you in my house to boss me around,” my father hissed.

  “That’s not what I’m doing. I’m being honest, and you know it. There are some stipulations in your current contract that I want to talk about. If I was just going to rubber stamp it, I wouldn’t have come down here.”

  “This ain’t yo
ur father’s company anymore, boy. It’s yours and you’re fixin’ to run it into the ground if you don’t wise up!”

  “Sure, I’m bound to make some mistakes,” Anthony answered with a sly grin, “But thankfully, I have the capital to smooth over a few rough patches.”

  My heart was racing. I didn’t know this man, but I certainly admired him. He was saying things I only wished I could say to my father.

  My father was a man who seemed to think he knew everything, when his view was actually abundantly single minded, and Anthony Shields was successfully putting him in his place.

  This man was unlike anyone I had ever met. While most men try to lay the southern gentleman stick on thick, hoping for something to happen, Anthony seemed to simply be himself.

  “I think you need to leave,” my father finally stammered, getting to his feet in another attempt to loom authoritatively over Anthony.

  However, without so much as a moment’s hesitation, Anthony stood up, matching my father’s glower.

  “If you would like me to leave your home, I will be happy to do so. I have allotted a week for this negotiation, but I can’t spare a second more. So, my advice would be to figure out whether or not you are willing to talk and get back to me,” with that, Anthony tossed a business card on the table, nodded to both my mother and I before turning to leave.

  “Get the hell out of my house!” My father exclaimed, calling after him as though he was still listening.

  Anthony carefully closed the door behind him without turning around.

  “Son of a bitch,” my father grumbled angrily before flopping down at the table to eat his dinner, “Can you believe him?” He motioned to my mother, who was stunned to silence.

  “May I be excused?” I asked, wanting to catch up with Anthony far more than I wanted to hear my father grumble about something he had no real control over.

  “You haven’t even touched your food.”

  “I’m sorry,” I answered honestly, “I’m just not hungry.”

  Before waiting for anyone to comment, I stood up from the table and walked in the direction of my room. However, when I heard my father start ranting and raving to my mother about their dinner guest, I knew they were too distracted to worry about what I was doing. So, this enabled me to slip outside without being detected.

  Chapter 2

  Anthony was walking to his car, which he had parked at the end of my long, gravel driveway. After spotting his car, I noticed why he had parked all the way out there; someone had forgotten to open the gate.

  That wasn’t very welcoming… I thought to myself as I broke into a jog, trying to catch up to his pace.

  “Mr. Shields!” I called when I was closing in on him.

  He spun around almost immediately and simpered as his eyes passed over me.

  “Please, call me Anthony,” he replied.

  “Well, Anthony, you’re quite the badass,” I replied in a flirtatious tone.

  “Yeah, I know,” he responded easily, turning back around, and continuing toward his car.

  “No one around here would dare speak to my father that way,” I added, increasing my pace so that I could catch up to him.

  “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m not from around here,” he replied without looking at me, so I grasped his arm and turned him towards me.

  A flash of surprise glazed over his expression, but it dissipated quickly.

  “Hey,” I insisted, trying to express the allure I felt for him in my voice, “Do you want to, take a walk with me?”

  I gave his shirt a little tug and turned my back to him as I moved toward the gardens; a place on the old plantation that was still professionally maintained and exceedingly beautiful.

  “Sure, I guess I’ve got some time.”

  My heart leapt excitedly in my chest when I felt him brush up next to me. His warmth radiated through my body as though lightning struck me.

  “Sorry about my Daddy,” I answered, trying to suppress a childish giggle, “He can be a real horse’s ass…Stubborn as all get-out and used to getting his way.”

  “You don’t say?” Anthony laughed, “I’m sorry that it went down like that too. I was looking forward to your mother’s fried chicken.”

  “It is the best,” I agreed.

  By now, we reached the entrance to the garden and Anthony followed me inside, wordlessly.

  “The way you handed yourself in there was pretty amazing, by the way,” I offered when I felt the silence was becoming a nuisance.

  “Oh? I thought it was a shit show.”

  “Sure, but it wasn’t because of you.”

  “Is your dad like that with everyone?”

  “Not unless he feels disrespected.”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  “I know that. You stood up for yourself…A rarity around here.” I sighed, "Growing up in the south, I have learned that there has always been a set standard as to who was wealthy and why," I replied, leaning up against the colander that was erected, Lord knows when and heaved my chest out with the intention of prompting a visceral response from the mysterious northerner.

  After all, if I was forced to wine and dine these businessmen, I might as well have a little bit of fun with it. Especially when a man like Anthony Shields came to town.

  While Anthony was older than me, it wasn't by much; probably less than a decade. Yet, those years had allowed him the time to develop into something that even the most toned eighteen and nineteen-year-old blue-collar workers could never compete with.

  I could see the rippling muscles straining the button-up shirt he wore under his azure overcoat and at the distance I stood from him, I managed to take in the musky scent of his cologne.

  Despite his clean-shaven face and overall professional appearance, he had wild eyes and a wicked grin that suited him much better.

  Anyone could adorn a suit and comb their hair, so they looked presentable but even some of the most accomplished businessmen were inept at garnering the allure that he naturally emitted.

  As he spoke, I found myself focusing more on the curvature of his lips and the lustrous sound of his voice than what he was saying.

  "Are you kidding? The north is full of gimme morons who think their shit don't stink because they’ve got their head so far up their father's ass, you don't know where one ends, and the other begins. At least people know where they stand here."

  "And it's okay that everyone is content with the way things are?" I retorted once his words finally sank in through the dense ambrosia that emanated through his pores, "The sons of farmers become farmers, like their daddy was and the old bureaucratic types leave their legacy to their sons."

  "It doesn't look like you're missing any meals from that system," Anthony retorted, his eyebrow raising in a challenging motion that revealed a small scar below his brow.

  Right there, I wanted to change the subject and ask him about it, but I decided against it and continued our bantering, "It be easier if I wasn't. If you want to get away from this God-fearing, Bible thumping corner of Hell when you're poor, you're looking for something better but if you're one of the elite, you're just an ungrateful bitch." I turned to him, narrowing my eyes in the same provoking manner and laughed, "And don't look at me like you worked your way up from the bottom."

  "I didn't. You're right," he replied, allowing his expression to ease, causing the scar to disappear. "The only thing that bastard left me was his company. I resented it, but it was better than starving, so I was just happy he was dead."

  Anthony's candor took me back slightly but when he laughed, I found myself being drawn into his mystery.

  In that moment, I didn't want to know whether he had a sick sense of humor or a truly dark past. It didn't matter to me more than my willingness to continue feeling the mounting attraction I had for him.

  "Yeah, well my folks came from old plantation money. There fortune was at the expense of everyone else's freedom and yet, they're still given the respect that they definitely don
't deserve," I expressed, not giving a damn whether there would be repercussions to me speaking to a potential business partner this way.

  What I didn’t tell him was that in addition to the blood money my family has lived on for the better part of a century now, my parents married more for social appearances. They, along with my grandparents were far more concerned with keeping in the natural order of wealth throughout the town and now, they expect their only child to do the same.

  "At least they've kept their money," he offered, though I wasn't quite sure why he insisted on talking about monetary distractions, or my parents, when I was clearly offering him something else; something I felt we both needed.

  So, I in an effort to lead him in the right direction, I turned towards him, trying to heave myself and his attention to assets I possessed besides riveting conversation.

  I watched his eyes drop down to my cleavage before hastily returning to meet my gaze.

  “What is it that you want, Sahara?” Anthony asked, tilting his head to the side and easing himself toward me. “I take it that having a conversation about your parents is not why you followed me out here.”

  “Right now, my parents are the last thing on my mind,” I responded, ushering myself closer to him.

  He snickered, moving closer to me as well, with that wild look in his eye becoming more apparent, “Is that right?”