Highest Bidder

My mouth shut closed then.

“Come with me,” he said.

I don’t know what I had expected. A room with satin and blood red accents perhaps. Instead, I was ushered into a cozy, well decorated space with the real fire going in a marble fireplace. There were upholstered cream armchairs, a big bed with a velvet throw, and a sheepskin rug similar to the one that my mother used to have in her dressing room in our old life. The walls were hung with modern art in silver and black frames.

“Please wait here,” he said to me. “Do you need anything?”

“No,” I responded.

As he turned around to leave, I wanted to ask him what his name was, but what was the point? After tonight, I never wanted anything to do with him, or his boss again, whomever it was going to be. I did however have one question. “When will he be here?”

“He might be a little while,” he responded. “Maybe take a nap? I’ll turn down the lights,” he said, as he left the room.

I was alone with just shadows for company. I ignored the huge white bed, with its thick fur comforter across its foot, and headed straight for the armchair. There was a massive vase of fresh flowers on the coffee table next to it. The chair smelled faintly of expensive cigars, and brought reminders of my father in his study to me. It saddened me even more.

The minutes ticked by and I gazed so long at the fire I lost myself in the orange flames.

I might have even dozed off for a little while, but was jerked awake by some noise or some instinct for self-preservation. I sat up, just as I heard footsteps approaching. I didn’t know what to do.

Before I could make up my mind, the door handle turned with a click. I dared not turn around. I made no sound.

He stood at the doorway for a moment.

I wanted to call out, but my throat was locked and my body was frozen.

He didn’t come to me, but headed over towards the bed.

I heard the soft thud of his outerwear hit the bed. I listened to the small clink of what I guessed must be his watch dropping on the bedside table.

I heard him sit on the bed and then I heard nothing else. The room was lit only by the dancing flames. I had since decided it was enough light. I did not particularly need to see what he looked like. I could guess.

Needing for this to end as quickly as possible, even though I suspected that was a forlorn hope, I rose to my feet and turned around. “Hello,” I said, my voice quite cold.

He didn’t respond. As I watched, he started taking off his cufflinks. He did it quickly, expertly, then he began on the buttons of his white dress shirt. In one smooth movement, he had shrugged off his shirt.

I was ready to look away, but at the sight of the rippling of muscles across smooth olive skin, I stopped.

What?

I was expecting saggy, liver-spotted skin and layers of fat … not this Greek God.

What was going on?

He flung his shirt away and rose to his feet.

Without even realizing it, I took three steps backwards. He turned to face me then and my eyes were widened in the dark, needing to see his face. He had to be hideous, perhaps scarred and beyond ugly, for him to have to buy a woman.

His face however …

Was a dream.

Freya

He pushed his hair away from his face and his amber eyes sparkled like a wolf’s in the orange illumination of the room.

I couldn’t believe my eyes and for a moment, I was sure that I was hallucinating.

“Brent?”

“Freya,” came his mocking response.

My heart fell into my stomach. As I gazed at him, stupefied with shock, a thousand questions flooded into my head. When I broke our gaze to clear my head, the first question finally slipped out, “You bought me?”

His extraordinary eyes narrowed at my words. “I paid for a night with you.”

None of this made any sense but at the same time, it was somehow as clear as day. “Is this a joke?” Needing to sit down, I just lowered myself to the floor and folded my legs underneath me. He was bloody handsome ... had always been. I hadn’t seen him in about a decade ... not since I was an eleven-year-old busybody.

The last time I’d laid eyes on him he had an 18th century marble figurine raised in the air, ready to bring it down on the head of his younger brother whom he had in a deathly neck grip. Everything about him had been menacing then … as it was now. Nothing had changed.

My voice was eerily quiet as I spoke, “Did you know it was me?”

“Of course.”

I shook my head in awe. “Did you buy me because of what happened ten years ago?”

I watched his eyes darken with quiet rage. “Get up,” he said to me. “Let’s get this over with.”

I don’t know why, but it surprised me and even hurt just a bit that he was going to go through with it. In a tiny corner of my heart I must have hoped he had purchased me to protect me. “Will I be getting the one million then?”

He cocked his head. “If you keep your side of the bargain.”

“Bargain?” I whispered.

“You sound bitter. Is it not enough?”

I was bitter, incredibly so. I wanted to smash the vase of flowers on top of his arrogant head. “No,” I responded, lifting my chin. “It is not.” In this moment, I felt beyond crippled by shame. I couldn’t believe that from all the people in the world, he was the one present at what would be the lowest moment of my life. “How about doubling it? Make it two million.”