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Galas and charity balls involved far too much socialization. At this point, I was ready to end this charade, and that made playing my role increasingly difficult.
“Are you eyeing anything, sir?” I asked the senator. He hadn’t left my side all night. His wife wasn’t here, and he was taking full advantage of that.
“There’s a set of paintings,” he answered, pointing over to the display of all the items up for auction. The paintings in question were a macabre set depicting skeletons in various creepy locations.
“Interesting,” I offered with a chuckle. He grinned over at me.
“Don’t judge them too harshly. They may not be cheerful, but I’ve heard this local artist is about to be huge. I’m planning to be ahead of the curve. Watch, when I bid, there will be few willing to throw down any real cash on them.”
“Ah, smart.”
“Do you need a fresh drink?” he offered. I waved off the offer, not about to give him open access to something I’d ingest.
“Oh, no thanks. The medication I’m on doesn’t really encourage drinking. I’m taking my time,” I said as I held up my champagne flute to show it was still half full.
“I’ll be right back. You stay out of trouble,” he said, waving for the guys to move closer before he walked away. He’d been more careful since my kidnapping.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Weston teased. “I can always start a fire to get us out of this.”
“You know, most normal people offer to pull the alarm, not start an actual fire,” I told him with a shake of my head.
“Ah, but it’s so much more believable when smoke is filling the room. They’ll scream and scatter, and security would panic. It could be a fun time.”
“I’ll pass. This should be our last,” I said with more than a little relief. “Two more hours at most.”
“Fine, but you say the word, and I’ll do it,” Weston said. His pout said that he was put out about not being able to cause chaos.
“Auction begins in five minutes. Please take your seats,” an automated voice called out.
The senator rushed back, holding his arm out to escort me. I looped mine through his and let him pull me through the crush of people ambling to take their seats.
“Ha,” he hissed out triumphantly. “We’ve got the good seats.”
Somehow, he managed to beat the crowd and snag a pair of seats in the front. It took everything in me to keep from looking for the guys even though my instincts were screaming that I make sure they were nearby. The bond told me they were, but it was still so new that my brain demanded my eyes verify their closeness. Burke was already suspicious of our connection, and I didn’t want to ruin everything now, not when we were finally getting close.
The minutes counted down on a large digital clock hanging behind the stage. The room hushed into pure silence at the thirty-second mark, and the auctioneer walked out to the podium just as the clock hit zero. He was dressed to the nines in a tuxedo. His gray hair was slicked back, and he held his head high.
“Welcome, everyone. You were all given the rules upon arrival. Keep in mind, I will not be slowing the auction for anyone,” he said in a snotty tone. For a group of egotistical elites, not one person complained.
“Now, our first item is this vase. It once belonged to the twenty-sixth President of the United States,” he said. “Bidding starts at six hundred thousand.”
The auction was nearly impossible to keep up with. I sat silently and watched as the battle began, with paddles sticking up every few rows. The bidding continued until someone finally won, the price having reached two million. At one point in my life, I couldn’t fathom that sort of money, but thanks to the Syndicate and brushing elbows with the senator’s allies, I didn't gawk like a newbie.
“This next one will go for twice as much,” Burke said with a chuckle. “The ladies go absolutely mad over these.”
My eyes widened when they wheeled out a mannequin wearing a floor-length formal gown. It looked like something straight out ofPride and Prejudice. The faded purple lace showed the years, but the dress was in remarkably good condition.
The bidding started after a brief introduction, hitting four million before the bids started to slow down. Jesus, we were only on the second item of twenty. This was going to be an interesting night.
After they cycled through five more antiques and more money than anyone should ever throw around, the senator finally sat up and tapped my leg with his paddle. He didn’t draw attention to his excitement, which was smart, but I knew that meant the paintings were coming out next.
They were even more intense up close, and I wondered what his house must look like if this was a bid he’d take.
The auctioneer called the artist new and unknown, yet the painting set started at five thousand. A few bids echoed out after the senator put in the first. He held back until they started to slow then jumped back in amidst the whispers of the crowd.
“It’s a pity bid. Don’t waste your money,” a man offered to the others around him.
“Why would he be interested? It’s so grotesque,” a woman added, sounding downright appalled.
