Page 12 of Shared By the Highest Bidder

“Fun.” She laughs sarcastically. “It’s not fun enough being rich?”

“Honestly, it gets rather boring.” I exhale, knowing what it’s like to be so fucking bored and lonely, I want to scream. “There’s only so many hours in the day to spend ungodly amounts of wealth.”

“That makes sense.” She taps delicate, unpainted fingernails on the pearly white tablecloth. “What is fun about the auction then? Outbidding each other?”

“Exactly.” I point to her. “And that benefits someone like you.”

One man I know will mortgage his summer house in the Hamptons for a month with this delicious breath of fresh air.

But the man I want for her, the one she’ll be perfect for, doesn’t own a summer house.

Bernadette drags a breath through pursed lips.

“Willyoube bidding on me? You look like you’d be good to a pet.”

Pet... God, I’d love to have her under my desk all day sucking my dick.

“I can’t if you’re paying for me to represent your boyfriend.” Regret drenches my tone.

“Ex-boyfriend.”

“I can’t buy you or give you the money to pay my legal fees. It’s unethical.”

She wrinkles her nose and leans in. “Are the men really old?”

I scoff a laugh. “The men who use the auctions are in their prime.”

“How old, about?”

“Late thirties, like me. Some are in their early forties.”

“All single?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Is it safe? Are they vetted?”

“They pay thirty thousand dollars a month for the membership alone.”

“Rich people can be evil and deviant.”

Her words still me. “What do you mean by deviant?”

“I didn’t mean deviant as in anything alternative, like being gay or bi.”

My heart spikes. “Do you have a problem with sexual preferences?”

“Not at all. My friend Stella in L.A., who I’ll be working for...” Bernadette hesitates. “Her fiancé is bisexual.”

I’m tempted to tell her so am I.

Only, I’m not sure what the hell I am anymore. I have my fill of women, who I enjoy to the hilt, but my heart has only opened to one man.

A man Pratt Sterling stole from me.

“It’s important to be open-minded,” is all I say about that. “But if you think the men at the club are aberrant...”

She waves me away. “I mean, deviant, like they march to their own drum. Don’t play by anyone’s rules.”

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