Page 63 of The Revenge Game
I reach to take the glass off him, and our fingers brush, sending a jolt through me. Justin’s breath catches, matching my own sudden inhale.
His eyes fly to mine, and we just stare at each other for a few heartbeats.
“Good luck,” I say in an attempt to break the weird moment.
He looks away, tugging at his bow tie. “Thanks.”
And then he’s squaring his shoulders and making his way through the crowd with a confident stride.
Justin jogs up the steps to the stage, and even though his smile is perfect, I can spot the tension in his jaw.
How weird is it that I know Justin well enough to recognize when his confidence is more performance than reality?
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” the auctioneer announces. “A romantic evening with London’s most eligible animal lover!”
A woman in an aggressively red dress raises her paddle before the auctioneer finishes speaking. “Five thousand pounds!”
It doesn’t take an advanced level of deduction to guess that she must be the famous Vivian.
One look at Justin’s face confirms it.
“Ten thousand pounds,” calls out another voice.
Vivian immediately counters with twelve thousand.
I watch Justin’s hands clench as the bidding continues. Fifteen thousand. Eighteen thousand. Twenty thousand. Each time someone else bids, Vivian tops it with a predatory smile.
Before I can think too hard about what I’m doing, I set the champagne glasses on a nearby table. Then I pull out my phone and navigate to the auction website. My fingers fly across the screen as I quickly create an account for myself.
“Twenty-five thousand pounds,” Vivian announces with an air of finality.
The auctioneer begins his “going once, going twice” routine as Justin’s shoulders tense even further.
I enter my bid. A chime echoes through the room as the screen displays the new bid:Anonymous Animal Advocate: £35,000.
The crowd erupts in excited murmurs. Vivian’s head whips around, searching for her mysterious competitor. On stage, Justin’s eyes go wide.
“Thirty-seven thousand,” Vivian calls out.
I shuffle so I’m partially concealed behind a screen before I take a deep breath and type in£50,000.
It’s for a good cause. It’s for charity.
And it’s not like I don’t have the money.
When my bid flashes up on the screen, Vivian’s face turns nearly as red as her dress. She glares around the room, then raises her paddle again. “Sixty thousand.”
My finger hovers over my phone. I have more than enough money to keep going, to ensure Justin doesn’t have to spend an evening fending off unwanted advances. But should I?
When my gaze finds Justin’s face, and I see the tension there, my finger moves on the screen before I can second-guess myself.
The screen updates.
£75,000.
The collective intake of breath among the crowd sounds like someone just announced free champagne for life.
“And we’ve got seventy-five thousand to our online bidder,” the auctioneer says. “Is anyone going to beat that?”
