Auctioned to Him 7: The Contract

by Charlotte Byrd

  “Sure,” I say, before I completely finish thinking the whole thing through. Oh shit, I say to myself right afterwards.

  “Excellent!” A big wide smile brightens his face. Even in the dark, his teeth sparkly white.

  I look out of the window as we turn left on one of the streets going up into the Hollywood Hills. I’ve been here before, numerous times. There’s a beautiful park called Runyon Canyon, where Lila and I often go hiking. There’s only one narrow path leading up to the top. It gets pretty crowded on weekends when almost everyone in LA seems to go there.

  “How far away is Runyon Canyon from your place?” I ask.

  “Like ten minutes or so, depending on traffic.” I smile. Distance between every place in LA various greatly depending on traffic.

  We drive through pitch darkness for a while. The Hollywood Hills are pretty rugged and wild. Even though there are multi-million dollar houses around every corner, it’s also not unusual to hear coyotes howling at night. Mountain lions are also known to haunt the place.

  “I just moved into this house not long ago,” Finn says as the gate to his house opens in front of us. “But honestly, I’m not so sure I’m going to stay long.”

  “Oh yeah? Why is that?”

  “I was sort of on the fence between here and Malibu. And the more I stay here, the more I want to move to Malibu.”

  “If you get a place on the water, you can go surfing every day.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” he says.

  Finn parks in the driveway and shows me inside. I walk into a contemporary masterpiece with sky-high ceilings, skylights and glass walls. The main level is the entertainment area with a formal dining room and living room, which open to a porch with a wet bar and an en suite bed. Every room in the place has a panoramic view of LA below. I follow him into the gourmet chef’s kitchen with stainless steel everything, a huge island and a casual breakfast nook.

  “Wow, your house…it’s breathtaking,” I say looking around. I realize that I haven’t uttered a word since he showed me inside, but that’s because I lost the ability to speak for a few minutes.

  “Thank you,” he says. “It is quite beautiful.”

  I try to hide exactly how impressed I am by the place, but I find it a little difficult to be dishonest around him. Finn seems to bring out everything within me that I try so hard to hide on a daily basis. I turn toward him. He’s standing next to the refrigerator. The only light that illuminates his beautiful face is coming from within the open fridge.

  “Can I offer you something to drink?” he asks. I’ve had enough to drink for one night, I decide.

  “I’d like a water, if you have one.”

  “Oh yes, of course,” he winks at me. He hands me a bottle of Perrier.

  “Can I ask you something?” I ask after gulping down half the bottle. My lips are still parched and my mouth is still dry, but I feel a little bit less dehydrated.

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “Anything?” I ask, jokingly.

  Finn takes off his jacket and loosens his tie. Then he pulls it over his head.

  “Hope you don’t mind,” he says pointing to what he had just done. I don’t mind one bit. Now that he’s only wearing a dress shirt, I can see the outline of his strong arms and wide shoulders. I start to feel hot again. I take another sip of the water.

  “I have plenty more if you’re thirsty.”

  He opens one and looks at me.

  “So?” he asks.

  “So what?”

  “What did you want to ask me?”

  “Oh, that’s right.” I take a deep breath. “I was just wondering…why you asked me here?”

  Finn puts the water down and takes a few steps closer to me. For some unknown reason, I take a step back.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he takes another step closer to me. Now, my back is all the way against the door of the pantry. He’s standing as close to me as we stood when we were dancing. I can feel him breathing with my body.

  “I like you, Chloe,” he says very slowly and deliberately. I bite my lower lip. He takes his hand and runs his fingers along my neck. I close my eyes. I feel his finger along my lower lip. As if it were possible, he pushes himself even closer to me. When I open my eyes, I see him closing his. His eyelashes are long and delicate and his face is completely relaxed.

  Ever so lightly, his lips touch mine. Almost without my consent, my mouth starts to move along with his. His lips are soft and powerful, pushing against mine. At first, he’s gentle. He takes his time. His tongue slowly makes his way and finds mine, but then our dance gains strength. He buries his hands in my hair, cradling my head, maneuvering as he sees fit. It’s as if he takes full possession of me, and I let him. I want him to. It feels good not to be in control for once. For a few moments, the rest of the world ceases to exist. There’s only Finn and me, and as long as our lips remain locked, nothing else matters.

  But then he pulls away. He looks into my eyes, and I remember that there’s a whole other world out there. Perhaps, what we have is fleeting and delicate and can disappear at any moment.

  “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Finn says.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Ever since I first saw you.”

  I smile. “I doubt that.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “The first time you saw me, I spilled orange juice all over you, and you freaked out. Remember?”

  His face flushes. Wait, what is that?

  “Are you blushing?” I ask. “I was just joking.”

  “That was not my finest moment. I’m sorry.”

  I shrug. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  For a moment, both of us seem at a loss as to what to do next. This isn’t like in a movie. People in movies start kissing, then fall into bed together. But to get to bed, you have to walk through 3,000 square foot of house, and the transition is a little bit less fluid. I look up at him. His eyes are twinkling again, and he’s smiling his crooked smile at me.

  “You’re a good kisser,” I say.

  “So are you.”

  I nod. He leans closer to me again. He was never more than a step away, but now we’re breathing the same air again. This time, I make the move. I want to shut the whole world out again. I reach up to him and run my fingers over his smooth lips. His breathing speeds up, catching me off guard. I thought he’d be such a natural at this (getting girls into bed), but he looks nervous. Is that really him or is it just my imagination?

  I run my fingers over his lips from one side to another. I pull his lower lip down, feeling the soft, moist flesh on the inside. I look up at him. His eyes meet mine and we each dare each other to look away first. I find a new source of courage, coming like a secret spring from somewhere deep inside of me.

  Unlike our first kiss, the passion of this moment is like a smoldering coal, glowing in the aftermath of a fire. Hot, but quiet.

  I run my fingers over the outline of his face. I push back the lose strands of hair that keep falling into his eyes. His hair is soft and welcoming to my touch. I linger around his ear and slowly make my way to his earlobe. Then it hits me. Touch is an amazing sense. The sensation is completely different depending on how hard I touch. Pressing too hard makes me feel the underlying strength of the thing that I’m pressing against, but touching something slowly and deliberately, produces a whole new sensation. The kind that sends goose bumps up my arms. I must’ve known this all along, but this is the first time I’m consciously experiencing it.

  I run my fingers along his neck. I’m sure that he shaved not long ago, but a few stubborn hairs are already making a resurgence.

  “You feel nice,” I say. He opens his eyes and meets mine.

  “I can’t stand your teasing anymore,” he says and presses his lips onto mine again. I’m swept away by his passion. I kiss him back, burying my hands in his hair. I feel his fingers running up and down my back. He s
queezes my shoulders over and over again. He pushes me against the pantry door again, and it makes a noise as our bodies slam into it over and over. My knees start to buckle. I feel myself going limp and slowly slide down to the floor. He follows me. Suddenly, we’re both on our knees. A moment later, I’m lying on the floor, and he’s on top of me. We’re moving as one. We’re dancing to the same silent rhythm. Then, something feels off. I’m not sure where it comes from, but suddenly, I feel queasy. Perhaps, it’s from the surge of adrenaline that rushes through my body.

  “Um, Finn,” I say, pushing him away from me. He sits up.

  “I feel sick,” I manage to say. And then I throw up. All over his tile floor.

  Chloe 17 - Chloe

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say and then barf again. Finn recoils away from me, but I can’t stop. I’m actually projectile vomiting. Everything within my stomach is going in all directions, all over the tile floor and splattering the kitchen island. Finally, I stop. I heave a couple more times, but nothing comes out. I wipe my mouth. I look up at Finn, but my eyes can’t meet his. I have never been so embarrassed in my whole life.

  “Are you okay?” Finn asks, as if it’s no big deal.

  Then he grabs a pair of yellow cleaning gloves and pulls them onto his hands.

  “Oh no, no, no. I’m going to do this. I’m so, so sorry,” I try to get up, but I feel unsteady. Like I’m going to fall down at any moment. But I cannot, not under any circumstances, let Finn Dalton clean up my vomit.

  “It’s really no big deal,” he says with a shrug. Despite how woozy I feel, I take the rag and the bucket out of his hand.

  “Please. Let me do this,” I say slowly. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  He smiles and gives in.

  “You might as well put these on then, I guess.”

  He hands me the yellow rubber gloves. I put them on and get to work. I work slowly, but deliberately. More slowly than deliberately, because I don’t really have the strength to move any faster. My head is pounding like crazy, and my ears are buzzing. Finn sits down at the kitchen table, watching me. It takes me three trips to the kitchen sink to soak up almost all of the vomit into the rag and to squeeze it out into the bucket.

  When I turn to Finn and ask silently where I should dump the contents of the bucket, he points me to the bathroom right behind me. I dump the bucket into the toilet, flush it and then look at myself in the mirror. What a mess!

  My hair is a complete disaster, sticking out in all directions. My eye makeup is a fright. To say I have raccoon eyes would be a big understatement. I’m wearing about a pound, thanks to Lila and all of her contouring and twelve layers of eye shadow. So, I don’t dare wash it with water. Instead, I simply rub underneath my eyes with my finger to get rid of the smudge. I then look down at my dress. Unfortunately, this is not something I can do much about. Nevertheless, I try. The majority of the vomit has settled unpleasantly around my bosom and my stomach area. I peel off the dried bits and rub the rest with water. The stains grow bigger, and I worry that I’m making it worse.

  “Are you okay in there?” Finn asks.

  “Fine.” I say automatically. I feel him waiting through the door. “Actually, I can’t get any of this off my dress.”

  “I’ll get you a change of clothes to wear. We can take it to the dry cleaner’s tomorrow.”

  We? I fixate on that word for a little too long.

  Finn knocks on the door.

  “I have the clothes for you,” he says.

  I open the door. He smiles at me again. There’s a mischievous quality to it.

  “I’m so, so sorry,” I say, looking down at my dress. “This is such a disaster.”

  “No worries. Here, put these on.”

  I take the stack and close the door behind me. Quickly, but carefully, I get out of my disgusting dress. Only an hour ago, it was the most beautiful thing that I’ve ever worn, and now, it looks like it has been through war, as if it’s being held hostage.

  I pick up the shirt and press it against my body. It’s a simple white t-shirt, but it’s a bit long and big. This isn’t a girls’ shirt that Finn has laying around for his dates to change into (Lila told me that some guys do that). No, this is actually his shirt. I take a moment to inhale his aroma. It smells like lavender and his special musk. I then pull on the pair of sweats, which are also too big for me, and come outside.

  Finn’s head is buried in his phone. For a second, he doesn’t notice me.

  “Thank you for the clothes,” I say.

  “Sure, of course.”

  “I’m not really sure what to say. Except that I’m horribly embarrassed by this whole thing. I don’t even know how this happened. I didn’t think I drank so much.”

  “Did you eat anything?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Well, that’s it then.”

  Finn’s eyes twinkle with understanding.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Most guys would be really grossed out by what just happened. But you… you didn’t seem to be.”

  He shrugs.

  “No, seriously. I’d like to know.”

  “Seriously? It’s not a big deal to me.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I have a lot of experience with bodily fluids.”

  I stare at him. What could that possibly mean? He stands up, takes my disgusting dress out of my hands and folds into a plastic bag.

  “My dry cleaner will get this out for you,” he says and walks over to the teapot on the counter. “I’m going to make some tea. Would you like some?”

  I nod. Neither of us speaks for a moment. I wait for him to explain, but no explanation comes. Just as I’m about to give up, he brings over the cups of tea and sits across from me.

  “I’ve seen much worse than what just happened. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. When I was fifteen, my aunt got sick with brain cancer. She didn’t have insurance, and my mom started working overtime to try to help her with the bills. She moved in with us, and I took care of her. We couldn’t afford hospice care or a nurse or anything like that.”

  Finn astonishes me. He speaks of this whole thing in the same plain and matter of fact voice that he would if I were to ask him about doing construction on his house. I’m pretty certain that most people would complain more about doing construction than he just did about taking care of his aunt.

  “How long was she sick?” I ask.

  “Two years. My mom was hardly around. She couldn’t do anything for herself in her last few months of life. It was so sad to see. But the experience taught me a lot about being humble and grateful for all of life’s opportunities.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “It was during those two years that I really decided to become an actor. It made me so happy to pretend to be someone else for just an hour or a day. It felt like this huge burden was lifted off me. It’s a little hard to explain, but acting was my escape.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.”

  “And it may make me sound like a horrible person, but after she died, the first feeling that I felt was relief. I was relieved that my beautiful, vibrant aunt was no longer suffering. That she was at peace. Finally. She deserved so much more out of life. But that’s the thing about life, it never promises to be fair. And you never know what kind of hand you’ll be dealt.”

  “It seems like you’ve been seizing the day with your life, though.”

  “Yeah, I try. But I’ve also been incredibly lucky. Some of those early parts I got. I should’ve never gotten them. I was horrible. And those directors are really the ones who deserve the credit for getting those performances out of me.”

  “Maybe it’s karma.”

  “Karma?”

  “You took care of your aunt, selflessly. When most 15-year-old boys wouldn’t. Or couldn’t. And maybe all the luck you have had in your career is karma. You’re getting rewarded for all the good that you’ve done.”

&
nbsp; “Maybe,” Finn smiles.

  “I’m not a religious person, Finn, but maybe your aunt is looking down at you and sending you some good vibes. Or maybe she’s just watching over you.”

  Finn shrugs and takes a deep breath.

  “I’m not a religious person, either. But that would be nice.”

  We sit together for a while in silence, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence like the ones we’ve shared before. No, this one is quite different. I feel like I understand something about him, and suddenly, it’s okay to just be together and not say a word.

  “So, tell me something about you,” Finn says. “Something personal.”

  I look up at him. My mind wanders.

  “I’ve never thrown up in a movie star’s Hollywood Hills home before,” I say. “So this whole thing is a bit new.”

  “Well, I should hope not. This would be an odd habit. And most movie stars are quite queasy. I’m not sure that they would let you get away with it as easily as I had.”

  I laugh.

  “I never felt like my parents supported me,” I say after a moment. I never vocalized these thoughts out loud before. Not even to my old, long-term boyfriends. But something about Finn makes me feel safe. Comfortable. Unafraid.

  “What do you mean?”

  “My older sister wanted to be an actress forever, and they always went to all of her high school plays. And they were really happy when she said that she will be moving to LA and that she’s going to major in acting in college. But they were never like that with me. I’ve loved fashion for a long time, but because I didn’t have a clear idea of what it was that I could do with fashion, or how I could make a living, they always thought of it as a hobby. It’s largely because of them that I majored in economics in college and got a job on Wall Street after I graduated. I was trying to please them. I was trying to show them how successful I could be.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “It didn’t work out. I hated the job, and I quit after a year and moved back home. I was really lost after that. I couldn’t figure out what to do with my life. And it was then that Lila invited me to move in with her out here and pursue fashion. Or wardrobe and costume design, really.”