Page 2 of Bought by His Brother's Best Friend

“You could take Tyler’s place.”

A startled laugh escaped me. “That’s... that’s not a solution, Marjorie. I’m not Tyler. I’m just his agent.”

“You’re his brother. You’re a Bennett. You have the same bone structure, the same charming smile.” She reached up and straightened my tie with a maternal gesture. “You’re handsome, successful, and single. Why wouldn’t you be auctionable?”

“Because nobody came here to bid on me,” I said, feeling heat rise to my face. “They want Tyler the NHL star, not Shane, the guy who negotiates his contracts.”

“Sports agent to the stars,” she corrected. “That’s how we’ll present you. Women love a man in a well-tailored suit who knows how to close a deal.”

“Marjorie—”

She took my hands in hers, her grip surprisingly strong for a woman in her sixties. “Shane Bennett, I have watched you grow from a scrappy teenager into a fine young man. Do you know how many children we can help with the money from tonight?”

I swallowed hard. Low blow, but effective.

“The audience might be disappointed,” she continued, “but they’ll understand if we explain the situation. And they’re good people who care about the cause. They’ll bid.”

Would they, though? Tyler was the face everyone recognized from sports drink commercials, and his thoughtful and inspiring quotes in post-game interviews. I was the behind-the-scenes guy who preferred it that way.

But the foundation had given Tyler his chance. In many ways, it had given me mine too. Without hockey, Tyler wouldn’t be where he was, and I wouldn’t have built my career representing him and other athletes.

I sighed, already regretting what I was about to say. “What time do I go on?”

Marjorie’s face lit up. “Nine forty-five. Right after the concert pianist.”

“I’m going to look ridiculous up there,” I muttered.

She patted my cheek. “You’re going to look like exactly what you are—a hero helping children.” She glanced at her clipboard. “Now, we’ll need to prep you. The bachelors wait in the green room until they’re called. Each one gives the emcee a little bio to read, then walks the stage, and the bidding starts.”

My mouth went dry. “Bio?”

“Just the basics. Occupation, hobbies, what your ideal date would be.” She waved dismissively. “Hank will help you with it. He’s with the other bachelors now.”

Before I could protest further, she was steering me toward a door marked “Green Room,” her hand against my back.

“Chin up, shoulders back,” she instructed. “And remember to smile. It’s for the children.”

The green room was alive with nervous energy. Eight men in various stages of anticipation milled around, some practicing their runway walks, others helping themselves to the small bar set up in the corner. A large TV monitor showed the stage where a local news anchor was being auctioned off to enthusiastic bidding.

“Five thousand dollars! Do I hear fifty-five hundred?” came the emcee’s voice through the speakers.

“That’s Jacob Johansen from Channel 4,” said a voice beside me. “He always does well. Great hair.”

I turned to find a man with a clipboard and a headset—Hank, I presumed—studying me with open curiosity.

“You’re not Tyler Bennett,” he said bluntly.

“Observant,” I replied, then winced at my own sarcasm. “Sorry. No, I’m Shane Bennett. Tyler’s brother. He’s stranded at an airport, and somehow I’ve been drafted as his replacement.”

Hank nodded, unsurprised. “Marjorie’s persuasive.” He held out his clipboard. “Let’s get your info for the introduction. Name, age, occupation.”

“Shane Bennett, thirty, sports agent.”

He scribbled on his form. “Hobbies?”

I hesitated. What did I do outside of work? “Hockey, I guess. Cooking.”

“Cooking works. People love a man who can cook.” He didn’t look up from his writing. “What’s your ideal date?”

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