The auctioneer’s gaze scans the crowd. “Do I hear one hundred thousand?”
The room stills, tension snapping tight. I raise my paddle. “One hundred.”
A ripple of whispers cuts through the crowd. No one else lifts a hand.
The auctioneer slams the gavel. “Sold! One hundred thousand dollars, bidder number twenty-seven!”
Polite applause trickles around me, but I’m already rising. I barely notice the champagne trays circling.
Outside, cool air cuts against my skin as I slide into the back of the town car. The driver nods once, pulling us into traffic.
I lean back, closing my eyes briefly, a smile tugging at my mouth.
28
MYA
It’s Sunday morning, the day Worth and I are supposed to announce to the world that we’re a couple.
My gaze sweeps around the living room of my tiny apartment. I grab my phone and message him.
You shouldn’t have done this.
It only takes him a few seconds to reply.
Worth:
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
That little shit.
It’s laughable. My small couch is pushed against the wall, and in the middle of it all are two rolling racks crammed with couture gowns worth more than a year’s rent. A stylist, sent by myboyfriend—God, I still can’t get used to calling him that—showed up at my door this morning with garment bags and boxes, a personal assistant in tow.
I fire a text back.
I shouldn’t have told you I needed a new dress.
Worth:
Just say thank you, you stubborn woman.
I can almost hear the smugness. I roll my eyes and type back.
Thank you, Mr. Miller.
Worth:
10.
10, what?
Worth:
10 spankings for every eye roll you’ve given me.
His reply makes me choke on air.
Heat slams into my cheeks, rushing straight down between my thighs. I refuse to dignify that with an answer. Damn him for knowing exactly how to get under my skin.