Page 21 of Alphas Like Us
“9k, would I get—10k, we got11k—,”
Fuckfuckfuck.
I click andclick.
Red.Red.
“We got12k—”
Green. I hold my breath, and we all wait to see if a rich prick bids onhim.
“Somebody bid, make it 13k,” the auctioneer chants.Don’t.
I wanthim.
“13k!” he shouts and bangs a hand on the podium. He pushes up his slipping glasses. “Would I get a14k?!”
My stomachdrops.
I can’t let this eat at me; I saw this happening from the start, but an acidic taste runs in the back of mythroat.
Jane has her knuckles to her lips,worried.
That’s not good. I look down at her and ask, “What’s the chance that one of your family friend’s bids on him like they bid on you?” Jane has already gone through this process tonight. After Maximoff is finished, Beckett and Charlie are the only twoleft.
14k. I hear the numbergrow.
“Terribly small,” she whispers, and me and the rest of SFO listen closely as she explains what most never hear. “The old woman who bought the night with me—she was the friend of my socialite grandmother, and my grandmother has never doted over Moffy the way she does me. She buys me thousand-dollar tea pots when she knows that I dislike tea, and she only gifts Moffy store-bought cards with nosignature.”
I catch myself grinding myteeth.
Donnelly tightens his loose cartilage earring. “Grandma Calloway sounds like a b…” His voice trails at Akara and Thatcher’s reprimanding looks. “…itch.Bitch.I meantbitch.”
15k.
“Paul,” Thatchersnaps.
Donnelly lets it go withoutcare.
I’m stuck watching Maximoff stare off in space, green lights flashing in the hands of the audience, and my muscles tighten. That acidic taste in my throat keepsrising.
Jane shifts her weight,nervous.
17k.
“Redford,” Oscar says my middle name with a flat tone. It’s serious, and I instantly follow his vigilant gaze to a boxed seat, up in the third tier across the orchestrahall.
Where Charlie Cobaltsits.
His bowtie is undone, white button-down sticking out from his slacks, sandy-brown hairruffled.
Oscar has been keeping an eye on his client, and something’s not right. Charlie is bentforward, hands on the railing,unblinking.
Watching.Toocarefully.
He’s usually slouching or slumping in disinterest. But Charlie zeroes in on the audience while clickers blink green and red. Too interested in thisoutcome.
All of a sudden, Charlie bolts to his feet and disappears through the upper-tierdoor.
