“Three hundred thousand dollars.”
Handmade Loafers laid those words down like crisp little bricks.
Overalls clutched his heart. Avalon hoped this was merely theatrics.
But sweet Jesus. She was tempted to do the same.
Three... hundred... thousand... dollars.
It sobered her into startled silence. The great weighty roundness of that number cut right through her buzz of defiance and determination. How had it come to this?
Shedidhave the money.
And she’d have a little left. But it was everything she’d meticulously saved over the past two decades.
It was just definitely a lot higher than she thought she’d need to go. She and Corbin always kept money in reserve in case they needed to forego a paycheck, or cover an emergency contingency. Once or twice, early on, she’d dipped into her savings to help cover the GradYouAte payroll.
Clearly it was a lot higher than the auctioneer thought anyone would go, because it took him a good thirty seconds to recover his aplomb.
He cleared his throat.
“Do I hear three hundred five thousand dollars? Three five? Lady in the Shades, I know you don’t want to leave without this magnificent prize. Three hundred five thousand dollars isstilla steal and I know you know it. Be the envy of all your friends, not to mention all these people standing around you. Be the enemy of this well-dressed gentleman. Are you going to let him get the better of you?”
Are you going to let him get the better of you?It was like the universe talking directly to her.
Her heart was slamming like bass in a disco.
“All right, then,” Chuck said matter-of-factly, rather sadly. “Three hundred thousand. Going...”
Avalon darted a glance at Handmade Loafers.
He was looking steadfastly straight ahead. His posture was indolent. But he had a tell: his face had gone white.
It might just be adrenaline. It might be tension. It might just be because he was English.
But Avalon definitively knew: he wasn’t going to bid higher than that.
Because he couldn’t.
“Going...”
Her fingers laced together. “Three ten.”
Had she really said that out loud?
Everyone was looking at her, so she must have.
There was a collective gasp, then someone coughed violently. It was safe to say a circling fly had been siphoned in.
Her words hung in the air, thrumming with insane bravado. Her will had hijacked her senses.
Handmade Loafers’s face was now as gray as his suit.
“Turns out we have three hundred ten thousand dollars.” The auctioneer sounded subdued yet gleeful. “Do I hear three fifteen?”
For a millisecond everything in the world seemed locked rigidly into place. Nothing moved. Not time. Not her lungs or her heart or her eyelids.
“Do I hear three fifteen?” Chuck Beasley coaxed, “Will the well-groomed gentleman sweep the prize away from the lady for three hundred fifteen thousand dollars, or will he suffer defeat today?”