Page 42 of Double Puck

Mom's smile turns positively predatory. "The auction, of course."

The auction stage sits beneath a projection of the Madden Foundation logo, and my mother has clearly spent all week on the lighting, because the whole thing glows perfectly.

The room gathers around, some in seats, some standing with champagne held in their hands. By the time the auctioneer calls for the main prize, I've been standing in the same spot in heels, and my toes have officially gone numb.

"And finally, our biggest prize for the evening. Lot fourteen," the auctioneer announces. "The Beachside Bears Ultimate Experience. Private suite for this weekend's home game, signed jerseys, rink-side access—"

"And," my father cuts in smoothly from the front row, "a two-night stay in the Presidential Suite at the Madden Coastal, with a private chef and a car service. Because after such a wonderful gesture from the Beachside Bears, it seemed rude to send our guests home."

The room applauds like it always does. My father has never once let a good marketing opportunity stay merely good. That's why he's become so successful.

Onstage, the Morrison brothers file up the side stairs, and I'm certain everything my mother has spent eight months planning is about to go gloriously off the rails.

Declan looks like he's being marched to an execution. Mason waves to the older women at table nine and they scream. And Beck—

Beck just takes the microphone before bidding can even begin.

"Before we start," he says, "I think it's important the bidders understand what they're getting."

Oh no. This isn't good.

"Beck." Declan's murderous tone carries perfectly. "Not now."

Beck ignores him.

"Ladies and gentlemen… first things first. I'm worth two thousand dollars on personality alone. That's a conservative estimate. Declan's only included because every luxury experience needs one guy who knows where the exits to basic human decency are."

The ballroom laughs with amusement, and the woman beside me spits champagne into her napkin.

"And Mason. He comes with excellent hair," Beck continues, "but he's emotionally unavailable, so manage your expectations on that one, ladies."

"That's not true," Mason says, smiling straight down the barrel of three phone cameras. "Don't listen to him."

Josie is filming everything for content, her phone held high. And just as the bidding begins, Rose appears beside her with a proper camera and a lens the size of my forearm.

The bidding climbs quickly. Forty thousand. Sixty.

With every increase, Beck keeps sweetening the deal.

"Christ! What an offer! For that, I'll even cook dinner," he offers, smile beaming. "Shirtless!"

"Absolutely not," Declan says.

"Seventy-five thousand," calls a woman in gold, winking at Mason.

Eventually, the Bears Game Day package sells for one hundred and twelve thousand dollars. My mother is nearly crying she's that excited.

And standing here with champagne going warm in my hand, I finally see the thing my spreadsheets have never once been able to hold.

Beck Morrison wasn't just standing up there being ridiculous. He was working. The whole room feels lighter than it did an hour ago, and he did that.

I've been in this world my entire life. I've been to endless society galas and fancy events where money doesn't matter. I've watched a thousand men try to command a room like that and fail.

But Beck Morrison is the one I put on the trade list of a dying franchise.

Shit. Have I made a huge mistake?

Beck comes down the steps to a swarm of camera flashes and booming voices, and a man with a press badge and a recorder cuts him off before he reaches the bottom.