AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I lean in. “Of course.”
“I hope a grizzly shifter gets the winning bid for me tonight and asks for marriage on the spot.”
My eyes widen.
“I know, crazy. I’m really here for money to help my family out but…can’t a girl wish for the guy of her dreams at the same time?”
Before I can answer, Coco St. James, the intimidating owner of the auction, sweeps by our group. “Get ready for lineup,” she shouts. We all scurry forward in our high heels for final inspection, ready to go out there and hook a mysterious billionaire who likes to spend his money on one night with a virgin. Or gain a wife? So far all of this looks legit, but I know Mr. Tusk is being targeted. Coco is tall, with a short bob of blonde hair and steely blue eyes that seem to see everything at a glance. She moves us around and lines us up according to when we’ll go out on stage.
I’ve managed to make sure I’m first in line for the bidding. Perfect. Step number one in my scheme is unfolding as planned.
Coco frowns and shakes her head and points to the back of the line. “You’re last tonight,” she tells me.
“Last?” I squeak, because if I’m last that increases the chances of Mr. Tusk picking someone else. I was hoping to be first and get this over with fast.
My jaw clenches and my shoulders droop as I go to my new spot at the end. This really sucks. What am I going to do now?
I’m certain St. James knows I’m a fake. Why then does she let me stay? I don’t know. Is she the person conning Mr. Tusk, or is it another group of criminals? I look around for more clues, wishing I had my prescription glasses on because nothing around me is quite in focus.
I have no intention of giving my virginity away tonight to some rando guy who purchases me, nor do I expect to get any payout. I’m here for one man and one man alone, my boss, Derwen Tusk. I’m going to grab him and go. And I didn’t arrive with the intention of being his sex replacement. I’m truly here to make sure he buys me and therefore doesn’t get scammed or hurt by humans who want his money. I would’ve gone to the police about my suspicions, but I didn’t want Mr. Tusk embarrassed by all of this, which might harm his business dealings.
But I’m starting to worry that my plans are going south.
Shoot. I need to make sure he bids on me instead of any of these other gorgeous girls, then when the criminals see their plans thwarted, we can leave. And when we get outside, I’ll tell Mr. Tusk the truth as to why I’m here.
No harm. No foul.
And I’m hoping we can continue on from there, with me remaining as his employee. But maybe also friends because we will have met and we’ll be closer? I’ve been his virtual assistant for the last year and I enjoy working for him, but we’ve never met in real life. Derwen Tusk is the super smart CEO of a big-time corporation on Voltare and he’s here to set up trade between our two species. I was lured away from my former job to a famous tech entrepreneur and hired by an international staffing service for Mr. Tusk because I’d been the personal virtual assistant to so many other fast-paced, high-profile businesspeople. They knew we’d be a good match.
I’m happy I made the jump. This job pays better than any of my former positions, with great benefits, plus Mr. Tusk easy to get along with, and not ridiculously demanding. I don’t have to check in at certain times or document hours worked. He must know my time zone because he never messages when I would be asleep. I feel trusted and valued and I’ve worked harder for Tusk than I ever have for anyone else. At first I assumed, since he was so powerful and important, that I’d be in communication with other staff who would let me know what Mr. Tusk wanted and maybe only sometimes talk to him directly. But he offered to have something called a universal translator inserted into my brain so I could understand his language. I accepted. It was a simple procedure where a medical bot arrived at my home to administer it, pain free. Now Mr. Tusk messages me every single day, twice a day and we communicate via his own language which I can now magically read, write and speak.
He’s the type who hates audio or visual if he can avoid it. We communicate via text and email, both of which he complains about because it’s “primitive.” But I guess he wants to learn these human modes of communication, so he puts up with it. And I respect his abrupt and impersonal yet professional style. He tells me what he needs done and I do it. But also, this makes him easy. And he always thanks me for my help and offers specific praise. There are no strange, sexist or misogynistic remarks, ever. And he follows through with whatever he says he’s going to do and never drops the ball. Mr. Tusk is a hard worker.
And I keep his framed picture on my desk.
Sssh, don’t tell anyone.
It’s because not only is he easy to work for, but he’s easy on the eyes too. Yes, this businessman from Voltare is sixteen years older than me and out of my league, but I have a thing for his dark gray skin, flashing red eyes and the deadly white tusks that jut up from his lower lip. And the gray hair at his temples is the icing on the sexy cake. My secret obsession with his appearance doesn’t interfere with my work performance in the least because I keep my crush entirely to myself. I remain professional in all our dealings.
Mr. Tusk lives on a space cruiser orbiting the planet. I was hired because he needed an assistant to help him with all things human. I’ve picked out his entire casual human wardrobe and had it sent to him. I made sure his suits are exquisite bespoke, and the most expensive, but he can afford it.
He’s six feet two inches and wears a large shirt, thirty-four-inch waist pants and thirty-four length. And size twelve shoes.
I love that I know this about him.
At first I assumed, since he was so powerful and important, that I’d be in communication with other staff who would let me know what Mr. Tusk wanted and maybe only sometimes talk to him directly. But he offered to have something called a universal translator inserted into my brain so I could understand his language. I accepted. It was a simple procedure where a medical bot arrived at my home to administer it, pain free. Now Mr. Tusk messages me every single day, twice a day and we communicate via his own language which I can now magically read, write and speak.
He’s the type who hates audio or visual if he can avoid it. We communicate via text and email, both of which he complains about because it’s “primitive.” But I guess he wants to learn these human modes of communication, so he puts up with it. And I respect his abrupt and impersonal yet professional style. He tells me what he needs done and I do it. But also, this makes him easy. And he always thanks me for my help and offers a bit of specific praise. There are no strange, sexist or misogynistic remarks, ever. And he follows through with whatever he says he’s going to do and never drops the ball. Mr. Tusk is a hard worker.
He calls me “Miss Harper.”
And I call him “Mr. Tusk.”
I start to bite at one of my shiny nails.
But now that I’m here, standing behind the stage with all the other girls being auctioned tonight, I have a hard time thinking they are part of anything bad. And all the staff have been nothing but nice. I thought this auction house was going to be yucky and I steeled myself to be brave and show up, but now it’s kinda classy and I don’t feel worried in the least for the outcomes of these other young women.
Who here is scamming Mr. Tusk? I can’t figure it out.
