Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
The crowd’s reaction is instant and nuclear—cheering, whistling, phones held high. Roni stumbles a little on her way out, catches herself, and flashes a bashful smile. My heart flatlines, then restarts in a panic.
I feel Eamon’s eyes on me, but I can’t look away.
This isn’t real. It can’t be. Who the fuck signed her up for this? Why would she do this?
Roni stands there, squinting into the crowd, obviously terrified. Her arms are pressed against her sides, hands gripping a tiny clutch like it’s a life raft. She looks lost, vulnerable, and so fucking beautiful I want to jump off the stage and carry her out of here.
But I’m the goddamn MC. And the show must go on.
I force my face into a smirk, trying not to sound like I’m having an aneurysm. “Well, this is a surprise,” I say into the mic, and the audience eats it up.
“Veronica Lewis, folks. Receptionist by day, stunning lady by night.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. I start listing facts, anything to avoid thinking about her in that dress, on this stage, up for fucking auction. “She’s a caffeine addict and a reality TV junkie.”
She’s frozen. Her eyes meet mine for the briefest second, and the look on her face is pure terror and something else—something that feels like a dare.
I gulp, the microphone shaking slightly in my hand. “Let’s start the bidding at one hundred dollars, shall we?”
For a half-beat, there’s silence. Then, from the VIP section, a paddle shoots up. “Five hundred,” someone calls.
My jaw clenches. I can already tell who it is. The voice is smug, practiced, and familiar—Terrence fucking James, wearing his signature smirk and Armani blazer. I watch as he leans back, cocky as hell, and mouths something obscene in Roni’s direction.
Roni’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t move. She just stares straight ahead, eyes fixed on a point over my shoulder. I want to punch a hole in the wall.
“Do I hear six?” I grit out, the words nearly catching on my tongue.
Two more paddles pop up, but TJ just raises his again. “Seven hundred.”
God, I hate this guy.
“Eight hundred,” a woman shouts from the middle tables, and I recognize Dee’s voice. Fucking hell. I should’ve known she was involved in this shit. TJ doesn’t even blink.
“Five thousand,” he calls, louder now, making a show of it.
The entire room turns to look at me. They can all see how rattled I am. Eamon’s headset is crackling with something urgent, but I ignore him. I’m too busy watching the way TJ’s eyes travel up and down Roni’s body, like she’s a fucking ribeye and he’s starving.
I’m supposed to be impartial. I’m supposed to finish the auction and keep the night moving. But there is no fucking way I’m letting this end with her going on a date with TJ.
I grip the podium so hard my knuckles go white. “Five thousand, going once—”
“Six thousand!” Some other asshole waves his paddle while flashing a shark’s grin. I actually see red. The crowd is loving this. Some are egging him on; others are shouting for Roni to give them a smile, or to turn around.
She’s trembling. It’s small, but I see it. Her hands are shaking. She’s about three seconds from bolting. I can’t stand it.
“Going twice—” I say, voice barely a growl.
“Seven thousand!” TJ roars. The crowd erupts, but I’m done. Done with the show. Done pretending I’m okay with this.
“Ten Thousand and sold,” I growl as the microphone drops from my hand and bounces off the stage. I stride out, straight toward her. Roni looks like a deer caught in the headlights as I grab her by the waist and lift her up, like I’ve done a thousand times before, but this time I don’t stop. I haul her over my shoulder and turn back to the crowd.
“She’s mine,” I snarl, loud enough that it echoes to the back of the club. “Auction’s over.”
Gasps. A ripple of laughter. Someone whistles. But all I hear is the pounding of my own pulse and the little squeak of surprise as Roni grabs at my back for balance.
I carry her offstage, past a grinning motherfucking Eamon, and through the door marked “Private.” Behind me, I can already hear Eamon’s voice over the PA, giving instructions for the end of the auction. The crowd is going wild, but I don’t give a shit.
Roni’s curvy body melts against my shoulder, driving me wild as I head straight to my private sanctuary. Once we’re safe behind my heavy office door, I set her gently on her feet, but I don’t let go of her waist.
She’s breathless, cheeks flaming, hair a mess from the ride as she stares at me wordlessly.
My brain is pure static. For a second, I can’t remember how to talk.