I’d pay for the donation with my own funds. The most pressing issue was, could I bid for two bachelors?
Shit. I really hoped so.
Angela continued pitching the sweet man on the stage. “Mr. James has an affinity for candlelit dinners, and he is a believer of fulfilling his own destiny.”
Patrick’s head nodded. No hands were visible.
Mierda, mierda, mierda.
I couldn’t look at Aaron. Not even when I could feel both his eyes boring holes in my profile. I’d bet he was fuming. But I’d apologize later. I’d … explain.
“He is a sailing aficionado, an activity he picked up ever since his grandson bought him a beautiful sailboat. One that he intends on putting to good use on his date.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I tracked down around five women who were in the mood for a sailing date placing their bids.
Relief filled me so instantly that I felt about ten pounds lighter.
My gaze searched for Aaron then. And it didn’t take me any time to find him. My eyes seemed to know exactly where he was standing.
My breath caught for a second.
Stupid, stupid tuxedo.
I had been so wrapped up in what was happening that he, looking all imposing and striking on top of that stage, caught me completely off guard.
The auction for Patrick continued in the background, my eyes making their way to Aaron’s. They were narrowed. Probably assessing what the hell that had been. Other than that, he looked … fine. Neutrally stoic. Just like he usually did. Except for the distracting tux that hung off his body like a glove.
Finding a little comfort in the fact that Aaron didn’t seem to be completely furious, I shrugged my shoulders and mouthed, I’m sorry, okay?
Aaron’s eyes narrowed further, and then his head shook lightly. You’re not, I watched his lips enunciate.
I huffed. I am, I mouthed back.
I was very, very sorry, and he—
He shook his head again, disbelief in his eyes. You’re not.
Aggravated by the words Aaron had mouthed—twice—even though he had every right to and I had sort of anticipated it, I threw both my hands up with irritation.
Jesus, this man—
“Nineteen hundred for the lady in midnight blue.” Angela’s voice reached my ears.
Wait, what? No.
I flinched, then dropped my hands to my sides, and stuck them there. Looking at Angela for confirmation of what I had done, even if this time accidentally, I found her pointing in my direction.
Shit.
Returning my gaze to Aaron, I watched him roll his eyes, lips pressed into a thin line.
Grimacing, I sent him a tight smile that I hoped communicated how really sorry I was and hoped Patrick had another one of those boats. Because I needed somebody else to bid on the old widower man.
Angela announced the next sum, not obtaining an immediate answer.
The guilt returned, together with a pinch of embarrassment. Which pushed me to pin Aaron with a serious look as I mouthed again, Sorry, very slowly and methodically. Making sure he understood the sentiment behind it.
Aaron’s eyes held mine, one of those deadpan expressions in place.