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“The bidding starts now,” the auctioneer says.
I’m the first to ring in. “One million.”
A hush falls around me. I know it’s a lot for an opening bid. I know some people may think I’m too eager, desperate even. I don’t care. I want her. What I want, I get.
“One million, two hundred thousand,” someone else bids.
“One million, five hundred,” another follows.
I guess I’m not the only one who wants her. Still, I’m not letting anyone else have her.
I ring in again. “Five million.”
This time, I hear gasps, some of shock, some of surprise. I couldn’t care less.
“Going once,” the auctioneer says.
No one else bids.
“Going twice.”
Silence.
“Sold to Mr. Gavin Scotsfeld for five million dollars!”
Half the crowd bursts into applause. I sit back in my chair with a triumphant grin, watching as my prize disappears into the room below.
Mine.
~
“Congratulations.” Elias Grey shakes my hand in the gray room after the auction.
He’s the grandson of the club’s founder, the oldest member of Ambrosia in more ways than one. He’s also the most influential member on the Council, the executive board of the club, together with his best friend, Thomas Heath.
“Thank you,” I respond.
“You’ve made quite an investment.” Thomas pats me on the shoulder. “Let’s hope it will be worth it this time.”
That last remark, a reminder of the past, casts a shadow over my triumph. As always, Thomas makes no effort to hide his feelings or mince his words, a contrast to Elias, who always says what you want to hear so you seldom know what he’s really thinking.
I shrug it off. “It will be.”
“Of course it will,” Fiona says as she walks into the room. “I am so happy for you. I think you’ve made an excellent choice.”
I look at her. “Isn’t that what you tell everyone?”
“Well, what can I say? All the women are excellent choices. After all, they are all handpicked by me.” She gives a curtsy.
“Well, you do get the right women most of the time,” Thomas says.
And I thought I was the one who always dampened the mood.
“Good job,” Elias praises her.
Fiona smiles. “Thank you.”
Suddenly, someone else enters, a man in his mid-forties with salt and pepper hair.
Fiona turns to him with a look of surprise. “Mr. Goldberg.”
I remember the last name. The owner of a publishing company, I believe.
“Scotsfeld.” He walks straight up to me. “I’ll give you five million dollars in cash, plus my property in Washington and shares in my company, if you will give me that last prize.”
My gaze narrows. “Excuse me?”
“I was late,” Goldberg tells Elias and Thomas. “I could have been here sooner but my car broke down.”
He turns back to me.
“My wife died recently. I need someone. And I saw your prize. She looks just like her.”
I say nothing. I feel sorry for the man, but his problem isn’t mine. On the other hand, my prize is.
He looks at Fiona. “I told you I wanted a prize. I told you I’d pay as much as five million dollars if you found someone who looked like my Charlotte.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Goldberg, but you know the rules,” Fiona says. “You have to be here for the bidding. You can’t make arrangements before. Or after. All the bids are final.”
“But…”
“She’s right.” Elias steps forward. “I’m very sorry for your loss and for the unfortunate fact that your car broke down, but rules are rules.”
“I’ll find someone else for you,” Fiona promises. “Soon.”
Goldberg frowns. “How soon? I need someone. The house feels so empty and it’s driving me crazy.”
“Soon,” Fiona repeats. “I’ll let you know when the next auction takes place.”
Goldberg looks at me. I can see he’s still pleading his case. I don’t budge.
He glances at Fiona, a bit of resentment in his eyes, then stomps out of the room.
“I think I’ll have a word with him,” Elias says.
“I doubt he’ll listen,” Thomas says.
Still, he accompanies Elias out of the room.
As soon as we’re alone, Fiona clasps her hands together and gives me a wide smile. “Now, are you ready to meet your prize?”
~
I study the woman standing in front of me with narrowed eyes.
Strange. I almost thought she was the waitress from that party, but now I realize she’s not. Her cheeks are plumper, and she has a mole on her chin, a feature I would have noticed and remembered. Most importantly, her eyes are gray, not blue. That must have been just a trick of the light, or maybe a trick of my own imagination.
How could I have thought it was her? The waitresses are supposed to be twenty-five or older and on the pill. She couldn’t have gotten pregnant.
And this woman is. Her stomach is still small, but I can tell it’s not as flat as it’s supposed to be.
I suppress a frown. I can’t deny that I’m disappointed. Still, I chose this woman. I bought her for five million dollars. She may not be stunning, but I can see that she’s not plain, either. And she still has that poise.
