Page 31 of #Bossholes

If I played, I’d have about a one in three hundred million chance of winning.

That’s…something.

But if I enter this auction, my chances of making the money I need increase to probably about ninety percent. I’m not going to say I’m a sure thing, but it seems like if you’re willing to sell your V-card, there’s someone out there willing to buy it.

The downside is that I’ll be meeting a stranger off the internet. A legit stranger. There’s little to no communication after the event, everything is handled by Cherry Bid. They collect the money and apparently vet everyone, including me.

I hope it’s true, and I’m not going to a hotel to get murdered. The whole process is a little sketchy, but not unexpected.

Ugh.

“Did you get those court documents submitted?” Wyatt sticks his head in my doorway for what feels like the hundredth time today.

After the phone dropping incident on Friday, I was worried that he’d seen my phone, but everything has been business as usual. Even his annoying micromanaging isn’t anything new and different. If he knew what I was considering, I figured he'd have questions, or at the very least snarky comments. But nothing. It’s strangely assuring.

If he knew I was still a virgin or that I was considering selling myself to the highest bidder, I’d be mortified. There’s no way I’d be able to go through with it. Heck, I’m not sure I’d be able to show my face at work.

He can never know. None of them can.

“Sure did.” I pick up my pen, twisting it between my fingers, and give him a blinding smile. One that begs him to kindly fuck off and let me work. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Wyatt? Sorry, Mr. Ellis?”

He stares at me for a minute, and just when I’m sure he’s going to walk off, he comes into my office, unbuttons his suit jacket, and sits across from me. And let me be clear, he doesn’t simply unbutton his damn blazer. Not Wyatt. His fingers are like magic. Every move he makes happens in slow motion, and I’m powerless to look away.

It’s as aggravating as it is unhelpful.

His hand goes through his dark brown hair and grips the back of his neck. “How do you know I’m not Brantley?”

My brows crash together, and I drop the pen on my desk. “Is this a trick question?”

“Humor me.”

“Okay.” I say the word slowly, drawing it out, while I clasp my hands in front of me. “I admit, I wasn’t sure the first couple of days—especially, when you didn’t shave and Brantley did. But your hair is a bit longer, your eyes a shade lighter, and I don’t know… You guys carry yourselves different. Is that bad?”

“Not bad. Interesting.” There he goes with that hand again, raking through his hair, only this time he sighs. “Just interesting.”

He mumbles something to himself, glancing at my pen, and when I think I’m getting a reprimand, he pushes himself to his feet and leaves. Finally. I have a few more documents to get submitted to the courthouse before I leave today, and at least another hundred emails to go through, responding if I can and flagging for the bosses when I can’t.

I manage to get everything submitted, and I’m about to call the court to verify Maverick’s hearing tomorrow afternoon when Brantley comes in. I groan, dramatically, and practically slam the phone on the receiver.

His brows raise as he takes me in, the corner of his lip twitching ever so slightly. “Get your coat.”

“Excuse me? I have?—”

“To get your coat,” he responds dryly, glancing down at his watch. “We’ve got a meeting downtown. It’ll take the rest of the day. I will not be late.”

Shit. This meeting wasn’t on his calendar, and I wasn’t planning on being away from my desk for the afternoon. I haven’t begun to tackle those emails and the five pm deadline from Cherry Bid hanging over my head. How am I supposed to finish setting up my profile with freaking Brantley looking over my shoulder?

I knew I shouldn’t have waited until the last minute.

Dang it.

I’m in so much trouble.

“Time is a precious commodity, Miss Rhodes, and I don’t have a lot to waste. I suggest you quickly sort out whatever battle is going on in that head of yours. The work will still be there tomorrow.”

I nod despite the panic clawing at my throat. It’s not the work I’m worried about. It’s my future. My brother’s future. Everything hangs in the balance.

And Brantley doesn’t care. He doesn’t know what’s at stake. How could he?

---