Page 48 of Highest Bidder

He wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t feel like a compliment. More like a reminder of what I really was. His whore.

I appreciated that because in the moment it had been easy to pretend I was something more, like his girlfriend.

I simply smiled and agreed. “You’re probably right, Sir.”

Just then a group of boys in face paint, probably around ten years old, sprinted past us and tried to climb the hay bales. One got his feet tangled and tumbled backward, landing in a weird position so the bottom part of his leg looked like it was bent inthe wrong direction. It made me wince, and the kid screamed bloody murder.

Jeff told me, “I’ll be right back,” and headed to where the kid’s parents were now kneeling next to the hurt boy.

I saw Jeff talk to the couple, then he crouched down and said something to the little boy, who was still crying in pain, but the cries became quieter when Jeff placed his hand over the boy’s much smaller one.

Jeff then went about directing people from the crowd that had gathered. He hadn’t lied when he’d told me he liked to be in control, even at work.

He needed scissors. Someone from one of the booths produced a pair, and while continuing to speak quietly to the boy, he carefully cut the leg of the child’s jeans away in order for him to get a better look.

I could tell it wasn’t good by the grimace on his face.

Fortunately, someone must have called 911, because a young guy and girl dressed in EMT uniforms appeared with a gurney. Jeff directed them on what pain meds to administer and how to transfer the kid onto the board. Jeff hadn’t released the boy’s hand until he was safely strapped to the gurney. Then he touched the kid’s shoulder and told him he was going to be okay, and that he was one brave kid.

The little boy nodded, a shaky smile on his tear-stained face while he tried to be as brave as Jeff was making him out to be.

That was the moment I knew I was in trouble because I might have fallen in love with Dr. Jeff Connolly right then.

Jeff handed the boy’s father what looked like his card, and I heard him tell the man, “I mostly work at the VA, so I couldn’t take him as a patient, but if you run into any trouble at the hospital, or need a second opinion, give me a call. I’ll be happy to help.”

The parents were so grateful and shook his hand vigorously before escorting their son to the waiting ambulance.

I just stared at Jeff when he returned to my side.

“What?” he asked with a grin.

“Can we go now? I really need you to fuck me.”

Chapter Twenty

Vivian

I worked a double Monday and another on Tuesday. By the end of my afternoon shift on Wednesday, I could barely feel my legs, but I worked the night shift anyway.

It wasn’t about the money; it was about being too busy to think. If I stayed moving, there was no room to even consider I might have fucked up and fallen in love with the man who’d bought me at an auction. No room to remember how he’d helped that little boy at the festival like some kind of hero, or how afterward, he’d bent me over the trunk of his Porsche like a villain and fucked me until I came so hard, I forgot my own name.

So, I worked, shaking my tits and ass onstage, then grinding on strangers’ laps until their twenty dollars’ worth of time was up, I felt wetness in their pants, or they handed me another twenty bucks.

Backstage, a girl named Fallon asked why I was working so much this week. I told her rent was due. It wasn’t a lie, just not the whole truth.

Yeah, the money was great, but if my phone was in my locker, I couldn’t check it to see if he’d texted. Or be disappointed that he hadn’t. I was silly enough to think maybe he would, that’s why he’d insisted we exchange numbers.

Then Thursday afternoon, as I lay on my couch listening to a true crime podcast on my tablet, my phone dinged. I practically tripped over the coffee table as I lunged for it.

Jeff: You better be wearing your collar.

Six freaking words, and I was as giddy as a schoolgirl.

Me: Of course, Sir.

Jeff: Good whore.

My stupid toes curled.

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