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There was a guy at the entrance. He was too small to be a bouncer, but he looked like he was standing there with a purpose.
“Is this, um,” I lowered my voice, “the Chicago Buyer’s Club?”
The guy smiled. “Charming. It is. Are you here for the tonight’s event?”
“Yes. I’m Sydney Mercer, they said I’d be on a list?”
He got out his phone and scrolled for a moment, then said, “Checks out. Follow me.”
He led me through the half-empty bar area towards a door that said Staff Only, and let me step through first. It was a peculiar feeling, and I thought this must be what Julia had felt the first time she began waiting tables. Being on the other side, seeing the ins and outs of a business.
“Just walk to the end and turn right. You’ll see some of the other girls there.”
“Right.”
I kept moving, smelling the kitchen and beer, but then at some moment those smells dissipated, and the air changed. It was smoother somehow, and the smells were sweet and delicate. It wasn’t perfume, but rather the smell of new furniture and fabrics. In the same way, the bar’s music subsided, and gave way to something more rhythmic.
A moment later the hallway took a turn, and I found my way into a spacious room that looked more like a musical set. There was a wide stage at the far wall, where a DJ was doing his thing behind a laptop. To the right of him was the bar, and it was nothing like the one I had just left. There was neon and a lot of glass, colorful bottles and glasses of every shape and form. The room was getting crowded, with a few couples dancing on the dance floor in the middle. And it was obviously a rich crowd, too. There were mostly guys around, dressed in shiny suits, wearing shinier watches, and what women were there, looked like models, wearing gaudy jewelry and loud dresses.
I was a fish out of water. They would probably laugh me out of the damn place. At my shoes, at my simple – comfortable – dress. I glanced around, looking for a place to sit down or stand away from everyone else. The bar was too crowded, but to my left there was a nice sitting area, blocked off from the rest of the room by a heavy curtain, and there I saw a group of other girls. Those must have been my people.
At the head of the group was a tall woman in a red pantsuit and with a tablet in her hand.
Ava.
I hurried to join them.
“…will find the papers in your inbox, so check your email when you get home tonight, yes? You will be receiving fifty percent of the final bid, free of tax.”
I interrupted her, “I’m sorry, what’s the final bid?”
Everyone looked at her. Ava said, “Welcome, Miss Mercer. The final bid is the amount of money your dates pay at the auction for the chance to spend the evening with you.”
“The auction?” My heart began racing. What the hell was this place?
“Why, of course. Don’t worry, dear, this is perfectly legal. Just a fun little game rich boys like to play.”
“Right…” I had a strong urge to leave right then. To just storm out of the club and get a breath of fresh air and forget about all this.
Think of Declan. Think of Declan.
I didn’t move, and listened to Ava’s instructions. There was still forty minutes until the auction.
When Ava left, the rest of the girls spread around the club in twos and threes, and I was left alone at a table, along with another girl, nervously watching the place.
After a few minutes of awkward silence, the girl said, “First time here?”
“Yeah.”
“It has to be my fifteenth.”
“Really? How does this work exactly?” I asked, turning my chair to face the girl.
“One of these guys will bid on you, and whoever pays the most, promises you the world and tries to get into your pants.”
I frowned.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds. I paid off my student loans in three months, and had some money left over for
