Page 2 of Auctioned to the Mountain Man

After today’s never-ending shift at the lodge—too many rooms to clean, too many loads of laundry to manage—I’ll take this over another chaotic week. At least here, the only thing at stake is my patience.

Poppy’s rule echoes in my head, crisp as the day she laid it out. This event is entirely platonic. No refunds if things get weird, but no guilt, either, if we walk. A safety net stitched tight with common sense.

So, if a creep decides to buy me, I can spend my entire weekend with my feet propped up doing absolutely nothing. As easy as it sounds, I want to keep my word and play along.

As two more women go up to the stage, I shift closer to the stairs. With my name coming next, I strive to perfect my smile.

No matter what happens, I’ve got to stay positive and enjoy myself. This is supposed to be fun, and I want to have a blast.

“And next, we have Lily!” The announcer calls out my name, beckoning me to join her. “Lily is twenty-three years old. She passes time by indulging in horror flicks and has quite the caffeine addiction, so be prepared to fund her daily dose of coffee from Willow Perk!”

Chuckles break out across the crowd at the tease, and I step into the light. The spotlight burns against my skin, so bright it bleaches the room into a blur of silhouettes. How did the other women manage not to squint? I blink rapidly, willing my eyes to adjust, but the crowd remains a sea of shadowy figures—a murmur here, the glint of a watch there.

The auctioneer’s voice cuts through the haze. “Do I hear two-hundred?”

Two-hundred?That is far too much. I feel like I’m worth a couple crumpled bills and some loose change.

A paddle lifts. Somewhere to my left. Someone wants me. More than one by another raise of another paddle by a higher number.

Reminding myself that many of these people just want to donate money, I don’t let it go to my head, evenifthe number is crawling higher and higher.

The last donation rings in for five-hundred, and the woman next to me happily announces that the shadow in the back has won me, and to come claim his prize.

Here we go.

On shaky legs, I make it down the steps. My heart is thudding with nerves. Frankie made jokes earlier, but I’m kind of freaking out.

Even if this is completely platonic, I’ve never spent time with a man before.Never.At my age, it’s a bit pathetic, but I can’t help it.

Men tend to avoid me—not with malice, but with the same instinctive wariness of a cat circling an unfamiliar object. I’m the wrong shape for their attention. Too quiet. Too stiff. Toosomething.

And yet—somewhere in that faceless crowd, a man just paid to change that.

The thought sends a fresh wave of heat up my neck. The stage lights fade behind me, but the weight of stares follows, pressing like fingertips between my shoulder blades.

I don’t have to wait long before I’m joined by my shadowy figure.

All he has to do is appear, and my next breath is catching in the back of my throat.

The man standing before me isn’t just tall—he’s a freaking giant, shoulders blocking out everyone around us.

I have to crane my neck just to see his face, and when I do, my throat goes dry.

Dark, intense eyes lock onto mine, the kind that don’t blink enough. Stubble dusts his sharp jawline, and his rolled-up sleeves reveal forearms thick with muscle and a dusting of dark hair.

At his sides, his hands curl. Hands that have to be twice the size of mine. Even his fingers are dusted in hair.

He’s hot.He’s also someone I’ve never seen in my life.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t offer a hand. Just jerks his chin toward the exit, silently ordering me to follow, before turning on his heel.

Swallowing hard, I follow along. All while wondering what in the world I’ve gotten myself into.

2

Silas

I had one job.

---