Bidding For Her Curves: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 208)

by Flora Ferrari

  I don’t oversee every detail of my organization. But from this moment on, I decide to get out and about more often, talk to people, talk to my companies so-called leaders.

  “Tell me about Jules,” I ask again, changing the subject. Trying to get rid of the bad taste that’s suddenly appeared in my mouth.

  “You sure you’re not a cop?” she asks, and I shake my head. “Just a friend,” I tell her, “I just want to help her if I can.”

  Florence side eyes me and sighs a little thoughtful sigh again. “Jules is a saint, never hurt a fly, and used to come down and help out two or three times a week. She lives a few blocks that way.”

  Thorne country.

  “A few weeks back, someone got all up in her face, scared her. But it happens when you work with folks off the street. Not everyone’s always well behaved, some can’t help it though,” she reflects.

  I feel my back up again, if the old woman was a man I’d be grabbing her by the throat.

  “What happened?” I demand fiercely. “Who hurt her!”

  Florence recoils, and once she sees the look in my eyes, she nods to herself.

  “Just someone who needed more help than we could give ‘em. He didn’t hurt her like I said. She just had a scare is all, but she hasn’t come back since.”

  I try to relax, telling myself this was weeks ago. Nothing I can do about it now.

  But coming here has only made me more anxious.

  It’s done nothing to help me get closer to Jules, it’s just made me want to take her away from all this. To take her home. Our home.

  “Did she… does she like it here, the neighborhood?” I ask, ready to leave now. I’ve seen and heard enough.

  Florence looks thoughtful again. “I think Jules is happy wherever she can make a difference,” she says finally.

  I thank Florence for her time and turn to go.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Thorne,” she calls softly behind me.

  I feel a knot in my stomach, rising up into my throat.

  I can’t bring myself to turn around, I just leave.

  My car is still there, and not a scratch on it. I pass a woman bent over who looks up and past me at the no parking sign.

  I scan the street, the soup kitchen, and the buildings around me one more time.

  Everyone’s just going about their business, nobody’s causing any trouble.

  Just trying to find somewhere to stay and something to eat.

  Once in my car, I punch the dashboard, furious at so many things I can’t control, but mostly furious at myself for letting my company stand for something as meaningless as putting people out on the street.

  People who are already on the god damned street.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jules

  If it wasn’t for the memory of Mason, his phone call, and this feeling he’s put inside me, I would’ve probably knocked Karen out with one punch and quit hours ago.

  It takes everything I’ve got to keep my mouth shut and just get on with the job, and she only leaves me because she needs to get her hair done and whatever else she’s spending time and money doing, once I’ve cleaned her crappy bathroom and started on the accounts.

  Probably why she treats me so bad, and probably why she’s kept me for so long. I tend to get absorbed in my work after a while and today I almost forget all about the auction dinner, but never about Mason.

  Not for one second.

  He’s away there under the surface, like a pleasant itch that I don’t mind having.

  A part of me wanting to hold off having it scratched until I can be sure it’s either the man himself doing the scratching. Or I guess I’ll have to take the plunge and take care of it myself.

  Most likely it will be myself at this rate.

  But something else tells me to be patient, something tells me that good things are coming to those who wait.

  As the afternoon drags on, I notice first that Karen hasn’t come back, and when I get up to stretch some and switch on some more lights, I notice my own gown hanging by the door.

  I groan and checking the time, realizing there’s no way I can get it pressed, let alone adjusted now.

  Screwing up my face, I consider my options. The first and easiest one is to just not go to the stupid auction dinner.

  I’ll pay the donation myself, it’s not as if anyone’s actually gonna bid for me.

  But what about Mason?

  I rub my eyes, and then my belly. I haven’t eaten anything all day, and this morning’s encounter has become more and more a fanciful memory as the day’s gone by.

  I smile at thought of Mason, his chivalry, and most of all, his scent, that body. I could go on about it in my mind forever.

  But really? Is Mason Thorne really going to miss me if I don’t go to one of his company dinners?

  He must have a thousand hands to shake, important people to see.

  I don’t see him pining after me. Sure he did call, but maybe he was really concerned about those programs.

  ‘I wished you’d stayed.’

  I look up suddenly. It’s as though the man himself just spoke.

  A shiver runs up my spine and I check the time again, rationalizing to myself that if I hustle, I can finish what I need to, get changed here, and just go to the dinner in my old, undressed, probably won’t fit dress.

  If anything, it’s a free meal and I am starving.

  With about an hour to spare, I finish up my paperwork and the other jobs Karen had listed for me. Not a bad day’s work if I do say so.

  Pity, it’s for free.

  The office phone rings. Karen’s phone.

  My heart stops for a moment and then glancing at the clock again, I figure it’s her.

  Or it maybe it’s Mason.

  In two steps I’m picking it up, my heart fluttering as I half expect to hear his deep, commanding voice again.

  But it’s freaking Karen. Of course, it is.

  “I don’t think you should be answering my phone,” she says, her voice sounding thicker than usual. “But I’ll make an exception for today. Did you finish everything?” she asks icily.

  I tell her I have, and that I’m about to get ready, but she cuts me off.

  “I doubt you had time to do everything, McPherson.”

  She only calls me McPherson when she’s pulling rank, or showing off in front of other people. I can hear voices, the tinkling of glasses and I join the dots.

  “You owe me for the dry cleaning too, by the way. My gown, they had to spend an extra half hour cleaning it,” she slurs, and I begin to wonder why she’s even calling.

  I wished I’d let it ring out.

  But it might’ve been Mason.

  “I’d better get going if I wanna make it on time,” I hear myself saying, trying to sound cheerful.

  Karen grunts and hangs up.

  I just shake my head, telling myself again it could have been Mason calling, and that I have to get ready.

  There’s no time to go all the way home and shower then change, plus I haven’t even tried to get into that damned dress yet.

  I hope a day’s worth of not eating helps.

  I know I can use Karen’s bathroom only because I just spent an hour cleaning it myself. There are fresh towels and a hairdryer there too.

  I lock the office doors from the inside, just to be double sure I won’t be disturbed, and have what must be the shortest shower of my life, followed by an even quicker blow dry.

  Something about using work bathrooms, especially Karen’s, makes me cringe but I make it.

  Now for the dress.

  Grateful I gave myself the best part of an hour to get ready, squeezing into the dress takes longer than I thought and makes me all sweaty.

  Dirty all over again

  There are no real mirrors, but the glass door of Karen’s office gives a pretty good ghostly reflection of my shape squeezed into something that must be at least three sizes too small now.

  I suck my tummy in, take a few steps, a
nd then try and sit down.

  Crap.

  This is terrible.

  If I was home, I’d change, or just call the whole thing off. But I tell myself I’ve come this far, so why not?

  Because I don’t have shoes or a matching purse, and now I smell like a jock after trying to squeeze into this damned thing.

  ‘I wished you’d stayed.’

  I hear him again. It makes me jump a little and I get that same shiver all over.

  Mason.

  I feel a warmth rush from my chest to my groin, even past the constricting, straining fabric of my dress I can feel a flush of heat for him.

  I pull myself together, a final glance at the time telling me it’s now or never.

  A quick rummage through Karen’s wardrobe in her office reveals a pair of shoes, still in the box that fit and will do. My purse too, who’s going to be looking at me anyway?

  A quick spritz with her perfume too and I pass for…

  “You okay lady? You need me to call someone?”

  …half decent.

  The cab driver looks me up and down, concerned. Maybe thinking I’ve been attacked, or worse.

  I politely ignore his concern and handing him the second to last of the bills from my purse, I ask him to take me to the Thorne building.

  Similar story at the door, with security only letting me in because I have a ticket, and my Thorne Industries ID.

  I don’t think it’s that bad, I tell myself.

  Then I catch a glimpse of myself, side on in the foyer mirrors, a whole wall of them, transmitting an infinity view of myself in a dress that’s way too small and makes me look like… I dunno.

  Like I need someone to call somebody to come get me.

  I try and suck my stomach in some more, but I have to walk at the same time too, and the two inch heels aren’t making it any easier.

  It’s okay, I’m sure it’ll be pretty dark in there.

  Not.

  I’m fashionably late, but it looks like so are half the people who should also be here by now.

  Most are congregating around the bar area, with only a few people seated.

  I spot Karen, who looks like she’s tossing back glass after glass of whatever free booze they have at the table.

  She spots me, and for once seems friendly enough. She waves her hands in the air, beckoning me over.

  Not even noticing my dress, her shoes, or her perfume.

  She’s drunk.

  I’m not sure yet if that’s a bad thing or a good thing, but I fall into the seat next to hers, grateful to hide behind something and having at least one person in the room who wants to talk to me.

  The complete opposite of witch Karen at work is drunk Karen at a social function.

  She puts an arm around me, telling me how great I look, wagging a finger at me for lying to her about finishing all my work when she knows I haven’t.

  I get the distinct impression that she drinks a lot, and also that she has no real friends.

  I almost feel sorry for her, but she’s not acting crazy or out of control. Just very, very relaxed. And a kind of friendly which I find unnerving more than appealing.

  I decline the offer for a drink, instead, I ask about Mr. Thorne for some reason, hearing myself saying quite loudly how I wonder where he is. When he’s going to make an appearance.

  Luckily, the rest of the table arrives, back from the bar, faces from work mostly, not that I have a lot to do with any of them.

  Karen promptly ignores me, latching onto a man who’s sitting next to her, leaving me on my own.

  I turn to the woman next to me, and she herself turns a full one and eighty, away from me.

  Point taken.

  I sit like that for a full fifteen minutes, until the lights finally go down.

  The huge ballroom with around three hundred tables goes eerie quiet and our host for the evening introduces himself.

  He’s some minor celebrity, although I have to admit, I’ve never heard of him.

  He promises the show will be underway soon, and that, unfortunately, the guest of honor, Mr. Thorne hasn’t made an appearance yet.

  Called away on business, and that he might not be joining us after all.

  I feel myself sinking into the chair, exhaling so hard I hear the fabric of my dress tearing slightly.

  Karen murmurs something horrible about Mr. Thorne, Mason, and I turn to give her a look, narrowing my eyes which she doesn’t even notice.

  If Mason’s not coming, then I’m not staying. I feel like I’ve humiliated myself enough already today.

  A tub of rocky road and a bath sounds much more appealing than sitting here for another four hours, squeezed into this stupid dress.

  I get up to leave, with nobody even noticing.

  By the time I reach the side exit, I feel my lip quivering. The tears I wanted to hold back until I got home are coming.

  Someone opens the side door at the same moment I do and I walk right into them.

  A wall of man I recognize instantly from his cologne, his rock hard body against the flats of my raised hands.

  Mason!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Mason

  After re-thinking my whole business model and trying to get a hold of the so called executive arms of my companies I’m so late for the charity auction, I almost forget what’s brought about this change in me.

  Almost.

  My main reason for living now.

  It takes running right into her as the ultimate sign that things are right on track. I want to hold her and to tell her everything.

  But she’s has tears glistening in her eyes, and not in a good way.

  “Jules, what is it? What’s happened?” I ask her, taking her gently by the elbows as she looks up at me.

  Her hands on my chest are like defibrillators, zapping fresh life back into me, making my heart pound for her again, along with other parts of my anatomy.

  Seeing her upset puts me in a defensive mood.

  Protective, and I remember what the old woman said at the soup kitchen.

  Looking around, I try and see who or what might have upset her so much, not even thinking for a second it’s because she thought I wasn’t going to turn up.

  “I just feel stupid,” she says, her breath shaking. “I thought you weren’t coming, and this dumb dress, and my boss.”

  It all comes tumbling out of her mouth so fast I barely have time to take it all in.

  Someone else is at my side, eagerly trying to get my attention. “Uh, Mr. Thorne.”

  “Not now,” I growl, without even looking, and they quickly move away from us both.

  I’m so over this whole auction business before it’s even started. I know what I want, she’s right in front of me, and it kills me inside to see Jules so upset, whatever the reason.

  Someone else is calling out for me now, from somewhere behind Jules, but I wave them away with my hand, eager to rest it on Jules’ arm again.

  “Whatever it is, we can work it out,” I tell her, not wanting her to run again like she did earlier today.

  I’m never letting her go again, not even for a minute.

  I feel like putting her over my shoulder, walking her up to my bed, and claiming her right now. But I have to know she wants me, as well as the fact I do have some public announcements to make after today’s outing to the soup kitchen.

  My eyes have been opened to two things today: Jules and the fact my business isn’t really my business at all.

  And I know I have to claim both to be whole again.

  It takes some control, but I hold her at arm’s length, looking her up and down if only to convince myself that she’s really here. That any of this is real.

  “You look amazing,” is all I can say.

  She rolls her eyes and looks upset all over again.

  “I mean it Jules. You look amazing,” I tell her again because she does.

  “You do mean it, don’t you?’ she asks, blinking and sniffling.

&
nbsp; “C’mon,” I tell her. “Let’s get you a seat. I have some announcements to make, then we can have dinner here if you want?”

  She looks so hesitant like she’s gonna bolt again, but my hands are still holding her, and I don’t plan on letting her go.

  Eventually, she stabs a little nod, and looking shyer than ever, she lets me take her arm in mine as I walk us both over to the main tables by the podium.

  The lights come up, and there’s a strange silence as half the room stands, and the other half are sort of looking at each other, not sure what to do.

  I hear a few snickering laughs, then the slow, fractured applause starts.

  I sit Jules down, and whisper in her ear, “I’ll be right back, just going on stage for a minute.”

  Her hand clutches mine, and the look of total terror in her eyes makes me feel like I should’ve gone with my gut and just taken her over my shoulder.

  Not everyone likes to be in the limelight, so with a firm squeeze of my hand on hers as reassurance, I bound up to the podium.

  I close the hand she just touched, hoping it’s captured some of the magic she just transmitted, holding the sensation of her on my skin as long as I can.

  Ready to say what I have to say to my so called dream team of employees.

  There are the usual acknowledgments. “We are here to hold an auction, with all funds raised going to the sponsor’s designated charities, with Thorne Industries matching each one, dollar for dollar.”

  Perfunctory applause follows, but I can still feel the whole room watching Jules.

  “If you all haven’t done so already.” I let everyone know. “Download the app on your phones, the link is everywhere here in the room,” I continue, pointing to the huge screen behind me with the logo for the event and the link.

  “After downloading the app you can bid your top amount on your choice of candidate and their charity, or compete with other bidders as the evening goes on. And now that I’m here dinner can be served.”

  Perfunctory laughter.

  “But I also want to take this opportunity to announce some big changes coming to Thorne Industries.”

  My voice drops lower, and a hush comes over the whole room.

  When the leader of an empire the size of Thorne announces big changes, it only strikes fear into the hearts of the guilty.