V-Card For Sale – A Billionaire/Virgin Second Chance Auction Romance

by Ana Sparks

  She glanced around the living room, any thought of starting up a con on one of the other guests abandoned in the need for revenge. Her trailing gaze landed on the realtor, now answering questions from one of the other prospective buyers. She thought about the conversation she’d overheard in the bedroom; the man was going to make an offer on the apartment.

  Eva sidled up to the realtor as unobtrusively as possible, sipping her water and looking around at the living room admiringly. The prospect wandered away and Eva took his place, smiling broadly.

  “This whole apartment is so charming,” she said, looking around. “I think it’s perfect for what I need.”

  “I’m so pleased to hear that!” the realtor said, stepping closer to her. “To tell the truth, there’s been a lot of interest—this is shaping up into a competitive listing. I just received an offer, in fact.”

  “Oh, I absolutely believe it,” Eva said, nodding with a conspiratorial raise of her eyebrows. “Between you and me, I think I would be comfortable going as high as, say, nine?”

  “The listing value is ten,” the realtor said gently, and Eva sighed, looking around again.

  “Hmm,” Eva said, pretending to consider. “I thought I heard you mention the appliances in the kitchen were recently replaced?”

  “Oh, yes,” the realtor said, nodding. “Restaurant-grade, brand new.”

  Eva pressed her lips together, nodding again as she saw the man emerge from the bedroom. “I think I could go for nine-five,” she told the realtor with a wheedling voice. “I mean, it’s a beautiful place but I will want to make a few adjustments of my own.”

  “Nine five?” The man from the bedroom moved closer to her and the realtor. “I thought the listed value was ten million.”

  “It is,” the realtor agreed. “Although of course, there have been more than one or two offers so far…” she gave the man a significant look.

  “I’m thinking that ten sounds reasonable indeed,” the man said, glancing at Eva.

  Eva frowned, remembering that he thought—rightly—that she was a fake. Prove him wrong, even if he is right, she thought.

  “Well, now that you mention it, that view is priceless,” Eva said, smiling tightly. “Thinking about it a little more, considering the demand, I’d say that eleven seems more appropriate for such a great place.”

  “Eleven?” The Greek looked wistfully at the fireplace, at the windows. “I could picture myself here, relaxing for once in my life.” He turned his attention back onto the agent, his face set in angry lines. “Twelve-five.”

  “Twelve million, five hundred thousand?”

  Before the realtor could say anything more, Eva spoke up again.

  “Really, I think I must have underestimated the value of this unit,” she said coolly. She scowled at the Greek for an instant. “Fifteen million wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility.”

  The Greek’s expression shifted from angry to amused. “Fifteen million,” he said, looking her up and down once again. “I’m surprised you’re not drinking champagne, a woman of your caliber.” He turned back to the realtor. “Seventeen million, I think.”

  “Seventeen million?” The realtor looked stunned and confused. She glanced from Eva, to the man, and back. “Is there—do the two of you know each other?”

  “Twenty million,” Eva said. She looked at the Greek and then gave the realtor a little grin. “And no, we don’t know each other, though I think under better circumstances we might get along well.”

  “I’d be inclined to agree,” the Greek said. “Twenty-five million—provided I could get a few alterations from the seller before I move in.”

  “Thirty million,” Eva countered. “I can fund my own alterations; one of my cousins can provide the best contractors for it.” She looked at the Greek man and raised an eyebrow challengingly. He sighed, shaking his head.

  “Forty million,” the man said. “Some things are worth the extra money.” He smirked at her, and Eva took a deep breath.

  “Sixty million,” she countered. “Since some things are worth it.” She finished her glass of water and set it aside.

  “Seventy-five million,” the Greek told the realtor, who continued to stare in shock.

  “This—this is beyond what I could have expected,” she said, smiling in a dazed way.

  “One hundred million,” Eva suggested. “I’m sure this place will only meet and exceed that value—and it’s important to know the value of things.” She looked at the Greek man significantly.

  “Well, if you want it so badly, I will have to do the gentlemanly thing and back off,” he said, nodding towards her. He set his champagne flute down on the mantel and inclined his head at the realtor. “You’ve had a lucky night this evening.”

  Eva’s heart raced and then stuttered in her chest as she watched the man leave. Oh God. Oh God. The enormity of what had just happened filtered through her brain; she had just offered one hundred million dollars that she didn’t have. The temptation to call out to the man as he made his way out of the living room rose up in her and Eva swallowed against the tight, dry feeling in her throat. You can fix this. You can get out of this. You’ve gotten out of worse.

  Chapter Three

  The other guests had begun to filter out of the apartment during the bidding war with the Greek, and Eva’s panic deepened as the realtor’s attention came back to her again. The caterers and bartender began to pack up.

  “I’m so glad you love this apartment as much as I do,” the woman said, smiling broadly. “That was an exciting bit of play between you and Mr. Christodoulou.”

  “It was exciting, all right,” Eva agreed, running the possibilities in her mind. “It’s truly been an eventful night for me.”

  “I’m sure you’ll want to get back to wherever you’re staying, so if you’ll just bear with me through a few formalities, you’ll be the proud future owner of this beautiful home,” the realtor told her.

  “You know—you’re right, I do want to get back to the hotel I’m staying in,” Eva said, swallowing down the fear that rose up in her throat. “If you’d like to give me your details, I can pass them on to my accountant and financial manager, and we can arrange everything within the next few days.”

  “No time like the present,” the realtor insisted. “A good-faith deposit won’t take long to take care of, and then you can rest easy tonight, knowing that no one will try to snatch this place out from under you.”

  “Do you really think that someone would want to offer more than a hundred million? The initial asking price was only ten. I’m pretty confident of my chances.”

  The realtor’s face hardened slightly.

  “A ten percent deposit on your bid amount is, of course, only standard,” the realtor said, smiling tightly. “And that ten percent would cover the original listing value of the unit; you’d be in the clear, no matter who came along after.”

  “I’d really rather get home,” Eva said, trying to look tired and confident all at once. “Besides—if I make large withdrawals without notifying my accountant, he gets angry with me.”

  “If you can afford one hundred million, then I’m sure your accountant would expect a ten-million-dollar check,” the realtor insisted.

  Eva looked around; they were utterly alone in the apartment.

  “Look,” Eva said, sighing. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have a hundred million dollars to spend on this place, and I don’t have ten million to give you on a deposit. I was—I was just trying to…” she shook her head. “It’s not important. Will you let me leave now?”

  “Absolutely not!” The realtor glared at her, reaching into her pocket and quickly taking out her phone. “You’ve cost my firm tens of millions of dollars with your little prank.”

  “I’m sure someone will be happy to buy the unit,” Eva said, her heart beating faster in her chest. “I mean, obviously it was good enough that someone was willing to wager tens of millions.”

  “Come in,” the realtor said
into her phone. In an instant, one of the guards from the corridor came through the door to the apartment.

  The realtor ended the call and dialed another number. “Yes? I need the police to come and arrest a thief.”

  “A thief?” Eva’s sense of pride stirred up. “I am not a thief.”

  The realtor provided the address and ended the call. She continued to glare at Eva, all of her pleasant, chirpy demeanor gone.

  “You’re going to stay right here and we’re going to wait for the police to arrive. Alex?” The guard poked his head out through the door and made some comment to the other guards. He came deeper into the room and herded Eva towards the couch, looking broader and more muscular than he had in the hallway.

  The minutes passed in an agony of expectation as the realtor made another call, reporting to some superior about the open house and saying that there had been a situation, but she had it under control. After what felt like an eternity, Eva heard the knock at the door. A few seconds later, a pair of police officers came into the living room, looking stern.

  “We got a report of a theft?”

  “Yes!” The realtor advanced on the officers; if Eva had thought for a moment that the woman had lost some of her righteous fury in the wait, she had been mistaken. “This woman is a thief—she’s stolen millions of dollars from my company.”

  “I haven’t stolen anything!” Eva stood, ignoring the portentous look from the guard at her side. “She was holding an open house; I got into a bidding war with another guest here, but…” Eva swallowed. “I don’t actually…have the money that I bid on this property.”

  The cops looked at each other, and Eva considered the possibility of flirting with one or both of them. Too risky. The one on the left has a wedding band; if he’s happy with his wife he won’t even respond—might even get offended.

  “Identification, please.” The non-married officer stepped forward. Eva reached into her purse and took her wallet out, finding the pocket with her ID in it. She slid the plastic card out and handed it over to the man.

  “Eva Johansen,” the man read. “Write that down on the incident report, Jason.”

  “Got it,” Jason—the married officer—said.

  “I swear,” Eva told them, ignoring the realtor for the moment, “I never presented any kind of fraudulent credentials; I got into the open house on my own and looked around, and somehow got into a bidding war. I didn’t expect the guy to back off.”

  “Is this what happened?” The officers looked at the realtor.

  “Yes, but that doesn’t make it any less of a theft,” the woman said angrily. “I’ve lost out on a contract because I took her bids at face value!”

  “Did she sign a contract?” the married officer glanced from the realtor to Eva.

  “Well—no,” the realtor admitted. “But she presented herself fraudulently!”

  “She played a game with you,” the non-married cop said with a shrug. “Technically, what she did wasn’t a crime; she didn’t actually steal anything.”

  “But—but…” The realtor looked as though she might throw herself at the cops, or maybe at Eva, and Eva stood as steadily as possible, almost hoping the woman would assault her; if the woman struck a blow, the cops would cart her off instead. “But she committed fraud!”

  “Did you ask her for identification?” the realtor shook her head. “Did she present credentials of any kind? Or write some check with a fake name?”

  The realtor shook her head again.

  The married cop sighed. “It sucks, but she’s technically not guilty of any crime that we can charge her with,” he said. “You should have vetted her more carefully.”

  “This is bullshit!” The realtor turned away from the police and looked at Eva, her eyes glittering with anger. “You can be absolutely sure that my people will track you down and you will be in the hole for as much money as I can make you pay.” She shook her head. “You’ll be hearing from a process server.”

  Eva’s heart pounded in her chest, and her blood roared in her ears. The realtor began gathering up her things and speaking with the police officers, demanding the report that they were writing, demanding Eva’s contact information from her ID. Eva took her license back from the officer and shoved it into her wallet and then into her purse, looking around the room. She had to get out of the apartment; she couldn’t risk the possibility of the woman finding something to accuse her of that the police would be able to charge her with.

  She spotted a business card on the mantelpiece. Ari Christodoulou. Her eyes widened and she looked to make sure that the realtor was still occupied in her tirade. She reached up and snatched the card off of the mantelpiece, slipping it into her purse next to her wallet.

  “If that’s all, officers?”

  The two cops nodded curtly, and the married officer held the realtor back as Eva darted past the group, opening the door with fumbling hands. She plunged into the hallway and followed the corridor to the elevator, shaking her head at the bizarre turn the evening had taken. Not only had she been fired, now she had narrowly escaped arrest, and might not escape a lawsuit. God, my stupid, big mouth, she thought as she waited for the elevator to arrive.

  The elevator pinged and Eva stepped through the opening doors, pounding the button for the bottom floor. How am I going to get out of this? What am I going to do? she knew that she would figure something out—she always seemed to, when the situation came down to the brass tacks—but for the moment she could only curse herself for having gotten in over her head once more, and for the fact that she’d become so wrapped up in the flirtatious revenge.

  She rode the elevator down, reviewing the previous hour in her mind. She sighed, realizing that she’d done the same thing that had always gotten her into trouble in the past. The image of the Greek man’s face flitted through her mind; he had been so handsome, so striking, and so infuriating that she hadn’t been able to help herself. One of her friends—or someone had passed for a friend when she’d been in the game—had told her more than once, “Eva, your temper is going to get you in trouble one of these days. You can’t let it stick to you—you have to let it slide off your back.”

  She had gotten better at it over the past year; the call center work had helped her, at least a little bit, in keeping her tongue still when it felt sharpest. But something about the man’s only-too-true assessment of her had rankled. Eva had known full well that he was right; she should have just left, and salvaged the opportunity she’d snatched at by looking into scamming one or two of the prospects the realtor had attracted. Instead, she’d let her temper get the better of her.

  Eva stepped off of the elevator on the ground floor. Unlike her first attempt to leave the building, she put one foot in front of the other, and continued straight to the exit, unwilling to dawdle lest she somehow run into the realtor or the police on their way out of the building. She knew she had to do something.

  Chapter Four

  The following afternoon, Eva sat down at her coffee table, reaching into her purse for the business card she had snagged from the mantel at the open house. She opened up her laptop and waited for it to load. She glanced around the living room, sighing as she compared it with the penthouse she’d seen the night before; she almost wished that she hadn’t even gone to the open house. All it seemed to have done was start trouble for her.

  Turning her attention back onto her computer, she unlocked the laptop and opened a browser window. Eva typed the Greek man’s name into her search engine, checking the business card twice to make sure she was spelling it correctly. Now, let’s see where I’ve seen him before.

  Results came up quickly: a Wikipedia article, along with a long list of headlines. “Well apparently he’s at least somebody,” Eva said to herself, opening results in new tabs. A picture of Ari Christodoulou confirmed at least that the Greek had been who he said he was—something that Eva had, in the back of her mind, doubted.

  She began to read, starting with the Wikipedia page. Ari C
hristodoulou was apparently a very wealthy man indeed; he was worth billions. The son of wealthy parents, he had come to America and expanded on the fortune they had given him. Most of the man’s money had come from an international shipping concern that he’d built up in his twenties. That answers why he would be able to bid tens of millions of dollars without batting an eye, but not why he looked so damn familiar. Eva turned away from the Wikipedia information and pulled up the news items about the man.

  A quick look at the headlines informed Eva that “news” about the man mostly centered on his social life; Ari Christodoulou was a person of interest to at least half a dozen tabloids, and as Eva read bits and pieces of the articles on him, it was easy to see why. Billionaire Shipping Magnate Spotted Leaving Exclusive NY Club. Ari Christodoulou Seen with Rising Supermodel. Christodoulou Takes Out Fourth Girl in Two Months.

  Eva grinned to herself; the headlines finally put the issue of the man’s familiarity into context. She had heard of him before, seen him in the gossip rags at the supermarket. He was a well-known womanizer, rarely seen with the same date twice, often spotted at clubs, bars, and the most important parties in the city.

  She delved deeper into her research, trying to think of a way to get in touch with the man. Eva skimmed articles about Christodoulou’s tumultuous, party-driven life, filing away names and references. She noticed that the most recent gossip stories about him had been a few months before, and wondered what had changed in the man’s life to make him decide to take a break. Addiction? Heartbreak? It was impossible not to wonder.

  Eva scribbled a few references down on the pad she kept on her desk, thinking hard about the best way to go about what she wanted to do. She needed to talk to Christodoulou; that much was clear. He had wanted the apartment—and he might, possibly, be able to help her get out of trouble by buying it up, if she put it to him the right way. But the difficulty would be getting him to meet with her at all; not only had Eva not given her real name at the open house until the police had come, but even if she gave the name that Christodoulou would recognize, she didn’t doubt that he’d dismiss her and refuse to meet.