Breathe, Lila. Breathe. That’s the mantra I keep repeating to myself. I run the brush through my hair over and over, hoping it will calm me and let me focus on something other than my anxiety, but all it does is make my hair more frizzy.

This is happening. This is really happening. In about — I glance at the clock again — twenty-seven minutes, I’m going to be on a stage in the middle of The Orchid Room, selling off my body to the man who can bid the most money.

The reality of what was I doing really started to set in yesterday, when I tried on my black dress and silver stilettos in front of my bedroom mirror. That was the moment I realized that men were going to judge me and decide whether or not, or how much, they were willing to pay to fuck me.

I’d been a mess of nerves all night. I don’t think I slept a wink, so of course, I made up for it today by drinking about six cups of coffee during my shift at Earl’s.

Now, sitting in the back room of Orchid, surrounded by a dozen other girls all getting ready for the same thing I am, my hands won’t stop shaking. I grip my hairbrush and try to hold it steady in my lap. My fingers twist around it so hard my knuckles go white.

This feels so real now — too real. What in the hell was I thinking?

I was thinking of the article, I remind myself. This could be a huge story. Caroline had told me that her editors weren’t expecting me to make it onto the auction block — that was the big leagues — yet here I am. This story could launch my whole career.

“First time?”

The voice comes from beside me, startling me out of my reverie.

“Sorry?” I say, eying the girl who’d spoken. She’s about my age, but thin as a rail, and she has long silver white hair that flows down her back. Her eyes are rimmed in thick black eyeliner.

“It just looks like it might be your first time,” she says, with a sweet smile. “Given that you’re about to murder that hairbrush.”

“Oh,” I exhale, laughing nervously. “Yeah. It’s my first time. What about you?”

“Twelfth.”

Shit. Twelve times? I try to keep the surprise off my face.

“I know. Sounds crazy. But I treat it like a job, you know? I’m Sky, by the way.”

Sky. The name suits her, somehow. She has an ethereal sort of beauty that I have a hard time looking away from.

“Hi Sky. I’m Lila.”

“Well, don’t worry, Lila” she says, still wearing the same sweet smile. “Most of the guys here are decent. Some are nicer than others, of course, but Ava vets them all personally and she keeps the real creeps out.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. “That’s great. She seems nice,” I say, because I don’t really know what else to say to a fellow auctionee.

“She is. She saved my life,” Sky says plainly. That’s when I notice the network of scars that line her forearms. I force myself to look away — there’s something that feels so intimate about those soft white lines.

Before I have time to say anything, Ava sweeps into the room.

“Gather round, girls,” she says. She looks even more gorgeous than the last time I saw her — this time, she’s wearing a floor-length, body-hugging red dress that shows off her voluptuous figure. She stands out like a beacon among all of us back here wearing black — but I guess that’s probably the point.

We crowd around her. There are about a dozen of us in all. We’re all similar, in some ways — we all seem to be in our twenties, and we’re all pretty enough — but we run the gamut when it comes to skin tone and body type. I guess they want to have a little something for everyone. I try to memorize the details of the other girls here so I can use it in my article.

“I just came to wish you all good luck,” she says, smiling warmly at us. “There’s a great crowd out there, and we have quite a few men just itching to spend some money tonight. Let’s give them something tasty to spend it on, shall we? Romeo will take things over from here, and I’ll meet you on the other side.”

A slight Spanish man I hadn’t noticed before claps his hands together, drawing our attention to him. Ava disappears back out of the room, and I shift my focus over to Romeo.

“Since we have a few first-timers with us today, we’ll just quickly go over the process,” he says in a clipped tone. “When your name is called, you enter onto the stage through this entrance.” He gestures behind him at a heavy velvet curtain.

“You’ll walk to the middle of the stage, and face the audience. The auctioneer may ask you to turn, bend over, whatever — follow his instructions. The bidding will commence, and when a maximum price is reached, he’ll declare the winner. When you exit, please don’t come back this way because you’ll run into the next girl. Cross the stage to the other side and exit that way. Ava will be waiting for you there, and will facilitate the contracts with your buyer. Once the payment is tendered, you’ll belong to him for the month.”

A shiver runs through me. Belong to him. My thigh muscles clench, but I try to force myself to relax.

“Sky, you’re up first,” Romeo announces. I glance at Sky and she grins.

“Good luck,” I mouth and she gives my arm a squeeze as she walks by.

We can’t see the stage from back here, but we can hear the auctioneer as he walks through everything with Sky. He doesn’t make her bend or turn or anything, but I guess if she’s done this auction twelve times, a lot of people must know her already.

Still, the bid escalates much more quickly than I’m expecting, and when I hear the auctioneer yell “Sold!” I’m shocked that it’s for five hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. Sky said she treated this as a job — well, it’s a hell of a high-paying one.

A couple more girls go through and some of the prices go even higher. My entire body is shaking now, trembling from head to toe.

“Lila, you’re up next.” When I hear my name on Romeo’s lips, my stomach lurches. I swallow hard, half afraid I might actually throw up.

“Ready,” I say, taking my place just on this side of the stage entrance. Ha — what a lie. I’m so not ready.

“Lila, what are you wearing?” Romeo asks, looking me up and down.

Oh, shit. I look down at my dress — it’s nothing fancy but I thought it would be okay. It’s black, like Ava said, and stretchy. It’s low-cut so it shows off my generous rack, and pretty short, but Ava had said to make it sexy.

“Your shoes,” he hisses. “Didn’t Ava tell you all black?”

“I … she … she said a black dress but …” I stammer. Shit, shit, shit.

Romeo shakes his head. “No. This won’t do. The silver is so distracting. So gauche. These men want to feel like they’re buying a fantasy, not a whore.”

“I can just …” I look around wildly. I don’t know what to do. I notice now that all of the other girls are wearing black shoes. I feel like an idiot.

“Take them off,” Romeo says, folding his arms. “It’s the only option.”

“What?”

“Take them off,” he says slowly, as if his enunciation was my problem.

I glance nervously around the room again and at the velvet curtain that separates us from the stage. “I can’t just …” Shit.

“Lila! Quickly!” he snaps. “Everyone is waiting.”

I reach down and yank off one silver stiletto, then hop on one foot while I try to wrestle the other one off. All the girls are staring at me now, and I find myself wishing Sky’s friendly face was still here. I bet she never wore silver shoes by accident.

When my feet are bare, Romeo practically shoves me through the velvet curtain.

I stumble, trying to catch my balance, but it doesn’t work. I move in slow motion — my legs stagger, my arms windmill, and then there’s the stage, rising up to meet me.

Face plant.

There’s a gasp throughout the club. It echoes in my ears as I lie there, face down on the stage, praying harder than I’ve ever prayed in my life that the floor will just open and swallow me up.

“Get up!” I hear a voice hissing from somewhere behind me. “For the love of God, get up!”

I dimly realize that it’s Romeo, but I’m too shocked and winded and humiliated to move.

I feel a gentle hand on my elbow and look up to see a kindly looking older man. He has a full head of silver hair, and thick black-rimmed glasses.

“Are you okay?” he whispers. I realize he must be the auctioneer. “Can you get up?”

“I’m fine,” I mumble. Just humiliated beyond belief. I finally put my palms flat against the black stage and press myself up. The auctioneer takes a hold of my elbow and helps me to my feet.

To my surprise, a round of applause breaks out among the audience.

I feel a rush as blood returns to my head, and then I do the only thing I can think of doing: I curtsy.

There are chuckles and more applause, and then the silver haired auctioneer returns to his podium.

“Gentleman, may I present Number Four-Seven-Nine,” he says jovially. “I’m sure your month with her will be a trip.”

There’s more laughter through the club, and even I have to bite back a smile.

“Now, Miss, we’ve already seen quite a lot of you, but if you would be so kind as to turn, slowly, for our audience?”

I do as he says, turning slowly, my bare feet cold on the glossy stage. I can feel the eyes of everyone in that place, traveling the length of my body. It’s almost like their collective gaze burns into my flesh. I’m shocked to find my nipples beading at the idea, my pussy damp beneath my short dress. One of these men will buy me tonight.

Well, assuming I haven’t completely ruined my chances with my spectacular fall.

I finally face the front again. The lights that illuminate the stage are bright, but I can see how packed the club is. I try to make as many mental notes as I can — I’d estimate at least seventy-five men, maybe more. Most of them look middle-aged or so, though there are some that are older and a few that look younger. God, please don’t let me end up with one of the really old ones.

“We’ll start the bidding at a hundred thousand,” the auctioneer announces, drawing my attention to the activity at hand. Holy crap — a hundred thousand dollars? Will anyone actually bid that high?

“Five hundred thousand.”

I suck in a breath. The commanding voice comes from somewhere near the back. I try to see through the crowd, but I can’t quite tell who spoke. There’s a handsome man in a black suit sitting at the bar, and I find myself hoping that it was him. That wouldn’t be too bad — not too bad at all.

“Six hundred thousand.” I whip around and see an older balding man at the front raising his hand slightly. I bite my lip.

“Seven hundred thousand.”

Holy shit. This time I don’t even have time to look around before another voice rings out.

“Eight hundred thousand.” The man at the back again. Yes, please.

My knees are really shaking now, and part of me is glad that Romeo made me take off my shoes — I’d have probably toppled over by now.

“Nine hundred thousand.”

“Two million.”

I blink. Did he just say two million? I check this guy out — he’s sitting off to the side, and he’s got dark hair like the other guy at the back, but he’s got a layer of scruff that’s damn sexy and a bright yellow tie knotted over his black shirt.

“I heard two million, do I hear two million one?” the auctioneer asks. I glance over at him, stricken. This is crazy. Why would someone pay two million dollars for me? I can barely make five bucks a night in tips and now …

I shake my head lightly, blinking into the bright spotlights.

“Three million.”

I want to cry. I should feel ecstatic but I’m completely shocked and stunned. It’s the man at the back again.

“Four million.” Yellow tie.

“Five.” Oh God, the bald guy is still in it too. Please not him.

“Ten million.” Two voices chime out at exactly the same time. There’s a gasp from the room, and the auctioneer looks back and forth between the two men who spoke. Before he can call it, the man at the back stands up.

“Step off, Sam.”

“You step off,” the man in the yellow tie — Sam, apparently — retorts. “I bid ten million. She’s mine.”

“I bid ten million,” the man in the back says. “Everyone in here heard me.” He’s coming forward now, walking over towards the other man. I can feel the tension ratcheting up.

“Gentlemen, please,” the auctioneer says sternly, but the man doesn’t stop his advance. He’s right in front of the other man now, both of them standing and facing each other, both of them puffing their chests out like alphas determined to prove their dominance.

Now that I can see them better, I see that the one from the back is taller, clean-shaven, and built like a linebacker. The other one, Sam, is slightly shorter, with broad shoulders and that damn sexy scruff. They’re both incredibly hot.

“You don’t even like redheads,” the clean-shaven one says. Sam scoffs.

“How would you even know what I like, Bennett? Keeping track of the women I sleep with?”

Bennett. The other one is named Bennett. Sam and Bennett.

Even though I’ve never liked the idea of guys fighting over me, the testosterone wafting off these two right now is making my pussy gush. For a second I let myself imagine both of them taking me, fucking me between them, their rock hard chests pressed against me. I shiver.

The auctioneer raps his gavel on the podium. “Gentlemen!” he barks again. I twist my hands together nervously. I wonder if this is something that happens regularly here? All the other girls had made it through this process smoothly. Of course, none of them had tumbled head first onto the stage either. Everything’s coming up Lila tonight.

Bennett is still getting in Sam’s face, and Sam isn’t backing down.

“I won’t tell you again, Sam,” Bennett growls. “Walk away.”

“Are you going to make me?” Sam asks. He’s got a grin on his face, but there’s nothing friendly about the way he puts his hands on Bennett’s chest and shoves.

Bennett staggers backwards a step. Everything else after that seems to happen simultaneously.

Bennett’s fist careens through the air, connecting with Sam’s face. The auctioneer leans forward, shouting into the microphone for them to stop this right now. And a swarm of security guards or bouncers converge on Bennett and Sam, efficiently pulling them apart before this can escalate any further.

I’m still standing on stage, pressing my hand to my heart. I’m startled out of my thoughts by the sight of Ava’s gorgeous red dress as she emerges onto the stage from the other side.

“Mr. McCardiff,” she says, taking the microphone from the auctioneer. “Mr. Baines. Enough.”

Two security guards are holding each of them, though they look like they could continue to go at it if given half a chance. They’re fuming, almost huffing out breath, like two angry bulls.

“I’ve had enough of your childish behavior,” Ava says into the microphone. I like Ava more and more — she seems to give zero fucks about the fact that she’s lecturing them in front of the whole club.

“If either of you would like to retain your membership, you will meet me in my office following this auction, and you will both apologize to Li — I mean, to Four Seven Nine — for your behavior and for disrupting her auction.”

They both grumble something unintelligible as the security guards walk them off the club floor. I’m still standing there, not sure quite what to do. I look helplessly over at the auctioneer, who waves at me.

“Come on, come on,” he whispers. “Off the stage. We have to keep things moving.” He doesn’t seem as abrupt as Romeo was, at least, and he smiles kindly at me, but once again I feel humiliated. What the hell is going on?