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“Do I hear six hundred?” Hilda asks the crowd.
Matthew sags, rolling his eyes in exasperation. I see his lips move, and Hilda moves in to hear what he’s saying. “Sold,” she declares on a screech.
The crowd erupts into enthusiastic applause, and Mathew makes a speedy exit from the stage, meeting his buyer as he descends the steps. I watch on, satisfied, as they greet each other formally with a handshake.
“Luke is up next,” Arabella whispers in my ear, smiling knowingly. I down the rest of my champagne and grab another as the waitress passes.
“I’m sure he’ll fetch a healthy sum for charity,” I say, wondering who might win him. Who will get Luke as their man slave for the rest of the evening? Who will get a dinner date with him? I don’t know, but I hope it’s a woman closer to his age, then maybe he might stand a chance of a long-term relationship. I cast my eyes around the room. There are dozens of preened, gorgeous women here, and they’re all staring up at the stage in awe. I can’t help but think that they’ve all been waiting for this one. I also can’t help but think that the organizers have saved the best till last, because there’s no denying that Luke knocks socks off the rest of the men. I feel an odd sense of pride as I watch him step forward and introduce himself. His eyes constantly fall to mine, and each time, he smiles the smile that lights up his face. And my heart.
“We’ll start the bidding at five hundred,” Hilda chants, not even getting the chance to point her gavel at the crowd before a woman behind me shouts her bid. I turn and see what I expected I would. A perfect woman, with perfect hair, perfect makeup, and perfect attire. “Do I hear six hundred?”
“Here,” another woman sings. Another perfect woman. My head bats every which way with each bid that’s made, Luke’s price tag getting higher and higher by the minute. It’s competitive, with looks passing between the bidders—challenging looks. Looks from determined women who really want to win Luke. I shake my head in wonder, hearing Arabella laughing next to me, and focus on Luke. He catches my eye, shrugs, lifts his trousers at the knees, and sits on the edge of the stage, getting comfortable. When the bidding reaches an incredible, record-breaking four-thousand-pounds for the charity, a few of the ladies drop out of the bidding war, clearly pissed off that they’ve failed to snag the prize. The front runner at the moment is a black-haired beauty, Spanish, I expect, adorned in a red gown with matching nails. She looks smug as she watches her opponents surrender before she sets her eyes firmly on her prize. And I note she’s older than Luke’s type. Good. I nod to myself, satisfied.
“Going once at four thousand.” Hilda cranes her neck, scanning the crowd. “Going twice.”
“Five thousand,” a low, sultry voice announces, and I look around, discovering yet another perfect woman. I don’t mean to roll my eyes, but I do. I feel like I’m on the set of Britain’s Next Top Model. She’s in her early twenties, easy. She’s no good for my Luke. Grimacing to myself, willing the Spanish beauty to take her down, I leave the sight of Miss Stunning behind me and find Luke again. He looks worried, his body no longer relaxed where he’s sitting on the edge of the stage.
I frown, looking across to the Spanish woman. She’s backed up, putting herself out of the race. Damn it, no!
“You have to bid,” Arabella whisper-hisses in my ear, grabbing my arm and launching it into the air. “Six thousand,” she shouts, and everyone looks at me.
I stand like a statue, the soul focus of pretty much everyone in the room, including Luke. His wide, anxious eyes soften when he spots me, a small smile on his face. I yank my arm down and swing toward Arabella. “I can’t afford that kind of money.”
“Seven thousand,” the voice behind me purrs.
I glance to my left and find a pair of heavily lined eyes narrowed on me. I immediately want to jump to my defense, tell her that I have no intention of outbidding her, but Arabella tugs me away. “You can’t let her win,” she says, snarling at the woman.
“I can.” I laugh. “I don’t have that kind of cash.”
“Don’t worry about the money. I’ll pay.” She takes my arm and thrusts it into the air again. “Eight thousand here.”
“Arabella,” I gasp, ignoring the claps. “What are you doing?”
“Luke was seeing her,” she spits. “Amanda.”
“No.”
“Yes.” Arabella looks over her shoulder with a curled lip that could rival Luke’s ex flame.
“Wait, was she the one who left—”
“The Tiffany catalogue on Luke’s bed stand? Yes. Luke’s told me all about her.” Pulling me forward, she points at Luke. “Please, do not let her win him.”
