Page 2 of The Bachelor Auction

I lift up from my chair and crane my neck, but all I’m able to catch is the back of a tailored suit, a mop of dark hair, and broad shoulders walking down the carpet toward the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’re not familiar with the face before you, you’ve probably been living under a rock,” the announcer says.

Polite laughter ensues. Then, “Please welcome Mr. Tyler Becks from Becks International. He hasn’t just been voted as one of the richest and most influential men in the country, he’s also one of our most generous benefactors.”

Clapping begins. Is it just my impression or is the clapping louder now?

No, it’s definitely excitement.

I’ve no idea who Tyler Becks is. I mean, I’ve heard his name countless times before, but I’ve never actually seen him.

He’s probably another old dude with too much money laying around.

I glance at Brenda who’s straightened in her chair, her back rigid, her expression a mask of concentration and deadly determination.

Only, she’s not faking it like I just did in the throes of my Soduku battle.

From the way her gaze keeps shooting daggers left and right, she looks like she’s ready to murder whoever might be messing with her plan tonight.

“Relax,” I say a little too loud so she’ll hear me over the sound of the excited chatter and clapping around us. “You’re doing great. I’m proud of you.”

The way I see it, a little motivational talk has never hurt anyone, even if she’s about to throw us into debt for the next twenty years or so.

Which I know won’t be happening because she can’t be so careless as to really go through with such a stupid plan.

“Now, Mr. Becks,” the announcer continues as soon as the clapping has stopped. “What is it again that you’re auctioning tonight?”

“First and foremost, thanks for having me. I’m always very excited to donate to a good cause. And, please, call me Tyler. Everyone does,” says the guy in the tailored suit.

Tyler.

For a moment, I forget to breathe.

Shit!

That’s the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard—a deep, sexy rumble with some kind of New England accent I can’t place. Maybe Connecticut or Vermont. His tone is calm, composed, and so sexy it sounds like whatever he’s saying is bound to be dirty.

I crane my head to get a look at him, but I can’t see a damn thing. As he continues to talk, I close my eyes and take a deep breath as wave after wave of scorching heat travels through me and settles in my most private places. I want that voice to whisper into my ear all night long.

It doesn’t even have to be dark outside. Just make it an after-lunch encounter or a seedy hotel room that’s rented by the hour. I could work with any of those settings.

I imagine running my fingers through his dark hair, pulling him closer to me as his mouth lowers to my nipples, paying attention to one, and then the other. His face is obscured, shrouded in mystery, making my fantasy encounter that much more scintillating.

“—dinner while you can ask me questions and get to know the real me,” Mr. Sexy Voice says, and I realize I must have tuned out because I’ve no idea what he’s actually auctioning off. I think the word “date” was dropped at some point, but I’m not sure.

“Who wouldn’t want a piece of a real mastermind, ladies and gentlemen? Maybe you’ll teach us how to turn any idea into a gold mine. And ladies, did I mention that Tyler’s still single?” The announcer laughs at his own joke.

“Now you’ve got everyone’s attention,” Mr. Sexy Voice says coolly.

“In which case, let’s not waste valuable time. Take out your checkbooks, ladies and gentlemen, and start bidding. We’ll start with five hundred.”

Barely two minutes later, we’ve reached a four-figure number, and there seems to be no decline in interest.

Talk about desperation.

I crane my neck to watch the female guests. Their eyes are fixed ahead, gazes shimmering with greediness and determination, like a hunter about to catch its prey. Theyarea desperate bunch. I mean, who in their right mind would spend so much money on a single date?

When the bid hits eight thousand, I roll my eyes.

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