The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans 4)

She’d told me I didn’t need luck.

I snatched up the champagne and strode from the room, determined to find out if she was right.

The captain’s room was a much smaller event space beside the main one and invested fully in the nautical theme. The widows were round and reminiscent of portholes, and oars had been mounted to the wall in a crisscross pattern to create a focal wall, which all the men had gathered under.

Evangeline brightened when she saw me. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

I wanted to pointedly tell her I was a man of my word, but Sophia’s voice echoed in my head, warning me to be charming and not rude. “I was held up. I apologize for the delay.” My gaze swept over her. “You look nice.”

It was true. She wore a sherbet colored tailored dress, and the color was flattering against her skin. Surprise darted through her eyes, like she believed I was incapable of providing a compliment. “Why, thank you.” She leaned closer and set a hand on my arm. “As do you.”

“Thank you.” My smile was practiced and efficient. Her gesture was friendly and mirrored Sophia’s from earlier, but her touch didn’t affect me the same. I didn’t care for it, but why was that? Evangeline was a beautiful woman. Was it because she was in love with someone else?

That hadn’t stopped me in the past, but perhaps I’d learned my lesson.

Or perhaps I was only interested in what I shouldn’t be.

Evangeline finished greeting the other men before disappearing out the door to start the auction. I drank a sip of the warm champagne I was holding since my mouth was dry, and not because Sophia’s lips had touched the glass. The bubbling wine was no longer cold, and it was too sweet, but it gave me something to do while waiting.

When my name was announced, I emerged from the holding area, climbed the set of steps up onto the temporary stage, and squinted against the bright light. The crowd had been jovial up to this point, with some of the women catcalling the bachelors when they appeared.

It was deathly silent as I went to my mark. No one dared move in the ballroom. All eyes were on me.

The auctioneer was a woman in her fifties who stood behind the podium set to the side, and once it was clear I was ready, she reminded the crowd of my resume, and that this auction was special. It wasn’t just dinner with Macalister Hale, it included an all-expense paid trip to Aspen and a VIP ticket to the weekend-long festival.

“We’ll start the bidding at one thousand,” she said. “Do I hear one thousand?”

Each second of silence tightened my chest until it became a challenge to breathe.

A hand shot up, off to the side.

“One thousand, thank you very much. Do I hear two?”

The stage lights made it difficult to see, but the orange-pink dress came into focus. Evangeline. I smiled appreciatively.

“Two. Yes, thank you to the lady in the blue to my right.”

My attention swung to the other side of the stage and landed on Ainsley Bellinger, who worked in the mobile banking department of HBHC. She was my age or a few years younger, but it was impossible to tell with some women. She took care of herself; that much was clear. She was direct at the office, which I admired, but I had heard grumblings from the men working beneath her.

My biggest qualm was I found her personality to be like so many others—tedious.

“How about three?” the auctioneer asked. “Can I get three?”

Evangeline’s hand went up.

But Ainsley’s did at four thousand.

The shift in the room was subtle, like a gate that had been slowly cranked open and now was acceptable to pass through. The unsure women were satisfied I was now safe, and when the auctioneer called for five, several hands went up.

After that, it was too fast for me to pick them out of the crowd, but my hurried heartbeat slowed to a leisure pace. Royce was better at putting people at ease than I was, so I slid a hand into my pocket and tried to mimic the casual stance I’d often seen him assume. The auctioneer’s sing-song voice rolled on as the bids continued to climb.

Five thousand.

Ten.

Each bid was a declaration from the people of Cape Hill that the story of Macalister Hale didn’t have to end on a rooftop balcony.

Bids began to slow as we reached twenty.

“Twenty-two is the bid, do I hear twenty-three?” The woman pointed at Evangeline. “Yes, thank you. Now we’re at twenty-three, going on to twenty-four.”

Ainsley’s hand waved, and the people around her tittered with excitement.

All the other bids had dried up, and the collective gaze in the room turned back to Evangeline, wondering what she’d do.