Page 3 of Playing for Keeps
Cleo nudges me forward, and I slowly make my way up the steps.
The lights are blinding, casting the room in a haze. I can’t see anyone beyond the tables directly in front of the stage, but I don’t care. All I can think about is Ash and why she isn’t here.
The auctioneer is speaking, but her words blur into background noise. I’m too distracted, my gaze sweeping the dark room, still hoping Ash will walk through the door.
Then a voice cuts through the chatter.
“A thousand dollars!” a woman near the front calls out. The crowd erupts in laughter and applause.
My stomach sinks, and I force the smile I’ve mastered over the years for press events and media days.
“Thank you!” the auctioneer beams. “Do I hear an advance on one thousand dollars? A night with Wyatt Brookes has to be worth more than that!”
I take a step forward and reach for the microphone.
“It’s dinner,” I clarify with a nervous laugh.
“Of course,” she says smoothly, reclaiming the mic. “Dinner with Wyatt.”
More bids follow, and I listen, hoping to hear Ash’s voice in the crowd, holding on to the faint hope that she’s just late, hidden in the darkness, waiting for the right moment. But her voice never comes.
The bids keep rising, and when the same woman from earlier, older, well-dressed, and definitely enthusiastic, calls out “Twelve thousand,” the crowd roars.
I groan internally. That’s it. No one’s topping that.
“Twelve thousand dollars!” the auctioneer exclaims, grinning. “Any advances? Anyone going to top twelve thousand?”
The room falls quiet.
I steal a glance at the bidder. She’s smiling like she’s already won, her eyes glued to me like I’m a prize she can’t wait to claim. I’ve never felt more objectified, and that’s saying something considering my career.
Right now, I swear to myself, this is the last time I agree to one of Cleo’s publicity stunts. I’ll write a check next time. Hell, I’ll donate twice the amount. Anything but this.
“Twelve thousand dollars, going once,” the auctioneer calls out, her voice rising above the buzz of the room. “Going twice–”
“Fifteen thousand dollars,” a voice interrupts.
Everyone gasps, a ripple of surprise moving through the crowd.
My eyes widen. I scan the dimly lit room, but the spotlight makes it impossible to see where the voice came from.
“Fifteen thousand!” the auctioneer echoes, her tone charged with excitement. She turns toward the original bidder. “Would you like to go to sixteen?”
The woman shakes her head with a polite smile, gracefully bowing out.
I exhale quietly, tension loosening in my chest. Though, for all I know, this new bidder could be just as enthusiastic.
“Ladies and gentlemen, fifteen thousand dollars, going once… going twice… sold to the lady at the back!” the auctioneer calls out. “Come on up and claim your prize!”
The room breaks into applause, but I barely hear it over the pounding in my ears. My gaze sweeps the crowd, searching for the mystery woman who just paid an insane amount of money to have dinner with me. The lights are brutal, making it impossibleto see, but then she appears, ascending the steps, her head down, long, dark hair veiling her features.
Her dress is black and covered in sequins that shimmer with every step. It hugs every curve, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. Then she lifts her head… and my world tilts.
Ivy.
CHAPTER TWO
Ivy
