The annual Argento family charity auction. Every other year, this is my Christmas. I plan and prepare for weeks. I get to dress up all fancy and have a wonderful time among socialites. Usually not my scene but it adds a few more marbles to the good side of my family’s karmic scale.

This year, however, I’m finding it hard to stay excited. It’s strange to look around this room and not hear the roar of laughter surrounding my father as he tells a good joke. He should be here. He deserves to be here.

My golden dress hugs my curves, perfectly floating just above my knees. The halter top shows off my shoulders, along with my family’s marque tattooed on my right arm. It’s Argento night and I’m a proud girl, so of course, I’m showing it off.

Nora gasps as the four of us pass through the silver archway at the entrance to the venue. Just after the security check sits the ballroom, decorated to perfection with bright lights and French chandeliers. A buffet of finger foods and a champagne fountain sit to the left. A dance floor straight ahead with a DJ who is straight up kicking ass at his job right now. The guy I hired is used to clubs and raves but he’s fitting right in with the classical ambiance.

The right side is reserved for the pieces my family has up for auction tonight. Priceless works of art. Family heirlooms dating back to the first world war. Every year my grandmother parts with something new that she couldn’t let go of before. Her way of embracing old age.

The more you give the less they can take from you, as she always says.

“This is amazing!” Nora says, clinging tightly to Clive’s arm.

He smiles at her. “Don’t you come to this every year?”

“Well, yeah, but this year is particularly shiny!”

Melanie nudges my arm. “Great job, hun.”

“Thank you,” I say, breathing out.

“Now, point me toward the nearest single male specimen.”

I chuckle. “All right.”

We link arms and make our way through the crowd as we scan the room, eyes shifting from one face to the next. My brothers, nope. Too off-limits. My family dentist, nah. Too old.

“Who’s that guy?” she asks, pointing discreetly.

I nod, catching sight of him. “That’s Ian Botsford.”

“Like the hotel chain, Botsford?”

“Yes.”

“So, he’s loaded,” she says, nodding. “I like that. No freeloading.”

“Loaded and... married.”

“Damn.” She moves on. “What about the silver fox beside him?”

“Oh, good eye.”

“Name,” she demands.

“Charles Kent,” I answer.

“Fancy. Is he single?”

“Perpetually. He prefers it that way, I think.”

“Well, I’m not looking for anything serious.” Melanie focuses on him like a hawk. “Introduce me.”

I wince. “You might be a little too old for him. I’ve heard things.”

“But he’s like fifty.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m thirty.”

“Yep.”

She shudders with disgust. “Gross. Never mind.”

I laugh.

“Didn’t you invite any age-appropriate, handsome, eligible bachelors to this shindig?” she asks.

“You rang?”

I bite my tongue to keep from laughing as the familiar, cocky voice comes in from behind us. I glance over my shoulder and my gaze instantly drops from his clean, combed hair to his stunningly perfect black suit and slightly ridiculous hot pink bowtie.

Classic Robbie.

Melanie’s groan begins before she even spins around to face him and issues him her usual greeting of, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Robbie smiles wider. “I was invited.”

“Who invited you?” she snaps.

I try to ease my arm free. “So, I’m gonna go find Clive and Nora—”

Melanie snatches my arm. “You?”

“Release the hostess, Mel,” Robbie says. “She was just doing her job; filling the place full of Chicago’s most worthy patrons.”

“Ha! You couldn’t even afford a roll of toilet paper at this thing.”

“You seem tense, honey,” he says, igniting flames in her eyes. “Relax. It’s a party.” His smirk digs in. “Would you like some champagne?”

“No!” she says quickly.

I bite down hard but my lips twitch with laughter.

Melanie glares at me as her cheeks burn red. “I’m gonna go find Clive and Nora.” She slips free and wanders off into the crowd.

I cross my arms and look up at Robbie, morphing into a soft scold.

“Oh, shaddup,” he says. “You laughed.”

I grin. “Nice bowtie.”

“Thanks. It clipped right on.”

I shake my head.

“I need to talk to you.”

Now, it’s my turn to groan. I do it inwardly as I slowly glance at Marcus behind me. “About what?” I ask him.

He gestures to a quieter section of the crowd.

I sigh and look back at Robbie, who now stands an inch taller with his arms crossed and his chest puffed out.

“This the bodyguard?” he asks me, squinting hard into Marcus’ face.

“Yeah,” I answer.

Marcus extends his hand. “Marcus Donner. I don’t think we’ve ever officially met.”

Robbie merely glances at it. “Uh-huh.” He takes a step back and raises his bandaged hand in a loose fist. “You cool?” he asks me.

“Yeah, I’m cool,” I say with a nod.

He hums and walks off. I can’t help but smile. The master of entrances and exits.

“What was that about?” Marcus asks.

“He doesn’t like you,” I answer.

“Why not?”

“What do you want, Marcus?”

He steps to the side and I begrudgingly follow him to the quiet corner of the room. As we reach it, his face softens.

“You look nice tonight,” he says.

I snort. “Seriously?”

“Trix, I’m trying. Okay?”

“Little too late, isn’t it?”

“Look...” He steps forward. “You were right. All right? The previous approach wasn’t the best.”

“Head of the class.”

“I apologize,” he says. “It was wrong for us to try and force this on you and I’m sorry.”

I nod. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“I spoke with your father again and we think—”

“Oh, my god!” I exhale hard.

“What?” he asks.

“It’s one step forward, nine steps back with you.”

“Why?”

“You and my father have no business making these decisions on my behalf.”

“Trix—”

“I’m sorry, who am I?”

His mouth sets in a hard line. “Ms. Argento.”

“That’s right.”

“You didn’t listen to anything I told you Sunday night, did you?” he says, his voice low. “This wedding needs to happen whether you like it or not.”

I sigh. “Wow. Ten seconds. It took ten seconds for you to pave right over that apology.”

He shifts back and forth in short, angry steps. “Oh, for god’s sake, Trix, grow up.”

“And actually,” I raise a finger, “if the entire point is to boost public image of the family, then the only one who really needs to get married is me. Doesn’t have to be to you.”

“You’re being stupid, you know that?”

“And you’re being a manipulative jackass, as usual.”

“You want to keep dragging your feet, that’s fine, but we both know that your father always gets what he wants,” he says. “One way or another.”

“Sounds to me like you’re the only one not getting what they want,” I point out.

“This isn’t over,” he says.

“Yeah. Buh-bye, Marcus,” I say.

I move to pass him but he grabs my elbow and pulls me in close.

“I look forward to our dance, Ms. Argento,” he whispers in my ear.

He releases me and walks away as another annoyed groan crawls up my throat.

Ah, crap.

Of course, he plans on bidding on my dance at the auction. Stupid, overly-aggressive alpha male jerk face. I sure do know how to pick ‘em, don’t I?

Screw this. I’m going to go find Clive and Nora.

I force a smile and make my way through the crowd. To my luck, I quickly stumble on Clive and Nora huddled together beside the buffet table admiring the champagne fountain.

“Slow down, Nora.” Clive chuckles.

Nora brings the glass to her lips. “What? You think a first-class girl can’t drink?”

“I think a first-class girl in a twelve-hundred-dollar dress might want to be more careful,” he says. “That’s all.”

I grab a glass for myself and waste no time throwing it back. I’m going to need a hell of a lot more of these if Marcus is going to be feeling me up in about five minutes in front of a hundred people.

I scan the crowd again as I take hold of a second glass. Old friends, my father’s colleagues. Everything my family has built is in this room. Long lines of strict codes and traditions have ended up here...

With a thirty-year-old single daughter who refuses to do as he demands.

Well, that stings in ways I didn’t expect.

Then again, isn’t this my MO? Daddy’s little rebel. Oh, don’t mind her. That’s just Beatrix. She’ll grow up eventually. Well, here I am, all grown up, and I still can’t manage to just sit down and do what’s right for the family.

I chug my second glass. A rush of alcohol to the head. Still not nearly enough to get me through that dance, though. God, please do something to get me out of this one—

“Good evening, Ms. Argento.”

I spin around, throwing on my standard meet-and-greet attitude but it quickly drops the moment I make contact with his stark eyes and that pointed chin.

“Mr. Tyler,” I say, holding in my gasp.

My eyes drop to his black suit and bright red tie.

Um, whoa.

He cleans up... well, slightly better than the clean-shaven good boy he usually looks like.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

He smiles and looks around. “It’s the annual Argento family charity auction,” he says with a shrug. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

My defensive nature finally kicks in over the champagne haze. “I’ve organized every one of these for a decade,” I say. “Your name has literally never been on the guest list.”

“Well, let’s just say my interest in your family has piqued recently.” He snatches a fresh glass of champagne off the table behind me. “Everyone always has such great things to say about this auction. Figured I’d come see what all the fuss was about.”

“You weren’t invited. How did you even get in?”

He slides a stamped ticket from his breast pocket. “I have friends in high places, Ms. Argento. Same as you, no doubt.”

I squint. “I might have to be stricter on security next year. Can’t say your presence here makes me comfortable.”

“Are you saying I make you feel uncomfortable?”

“Yes.”

He chuckles. “Why?”

“Because the obvious. You have a vendetta against my family.”

“No, I have a vendetta against murder and organized crime in Chicago,” he argues. “It’s not my fault if your family happens to be involved in that.”

I reel myself in. There’s no sense in losing control here and saying something I shouldn’t.

“Well,” I force a smile and grab a new glass for myself, “I hope you have a fun night. They say great things about this auction for reason. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

I turn on my heel and walk off, taking long, soothing breaths with each step I take from him. Lance Tyler. Who the hell does he think he is?

“I have a confession.”

I spin around to find Lance standing behind me. “Are you following me around or something?”

“I didn’t come here for the auction,” he says.

I grit my teeth. “You don’t say?”

“I came in the hopes that you’d give me five minutes of your time.”

“For what exactly?”

He exhales as his eyes scan behind me. “We’re both on the same side, Ms. Argento.”

“That’s funny.” I take a step back. “I don’t recall being on the side that wants to stick my father in a concrete box.”

His eyes soften. “Beatrix, your father—”

“May I have your attention, please?”

I flinch as my guts churn. “Ah, hell.”

I turn away from Lance and glare across the hall toward the auctioneer.

“If you’ll all come this way...” His voice booms through the hall from the speakers. “It’s time to start the auction with a little piece of tradition! Let the bidding begin for a dance with the one and only Miss Beatrix Argento!”

I scan the crowd for Marcus and quickly find him toward the front. He stands there, tall and stoic, as the rest of the crowd rumbles in applause.

Ugh. I’m not nearly drunk enough for this yet.

Unless...

I look at Lance. “Buy me.”

His brow rises. “Excuse me?”

“Buy me,” I say again. “Bid on the dance.”

He gawks at me. “You can’t be serious.”

I glance over my shoulder and cringe at Marcus’ stupid smug face.

“Please,” I beg.

“If I do, do you promise to talk to me?” he asks.

I bite down hard, fighting the delicate urge to smack him. “Yes,” I spit. “I will give you five minutes — but you have to win.”

“Miss Beatrix, are you out there?”

I raise a hand and wave toward the front, drawing the spotlight in my direction. The applause grows around us but I’m not ready to go just yet.

“Last chance, Mr. Tyler,” I tell him, trying to hide my desperation. “Take it or leave it.”

“Wait—” He grabs my elbow. “Are you gonna pay me back?”

My jaw drops. “It’s for charity,” I tease as I slip free of his soft grip. “Where is your giving spirit?”

His smirk morphs into a sneer but I catch the edges of his lips curling again as I walk away toward the stage.

“There she is!”

The spotlight follows me across the floor and I throw on my happy smile as I walk up onto the stage.

“The proceeds from this auction will go toward the children’s hospital. Give her another round of applause!”

The crowd claps even louder.

“We’ll start the bidding at one-hundred dollars!” the auctioneer says.

Marcus’ hand shoots up into the air.

“One-hundred!” the auctioneer cries happily. “Do I hear two-hundred?”

I find Lance in the crowd, lingering near the edge on the left side. He stands still, hesitating as he finds my eyes.

A random hand rises from the middle of the crowd. “Two-hundred!”

“Two! Do I hear three?”

“Three-hundred,” Marcus says, staring at me.

“Do I hear five-hundred?” the auctioneer raises.

“Five!” someone else says.

I look at Lance again. He stands there with his hands in his pockets. Maybe he won’t bid at all. Maybe it was a huge mistake even asking him to.

Marcus and a few others bid up to two-thousand quickly. This is usually around the time the bidding slows down. I don’t take it personally. A dance with me is nice and all but our family and friends put up some fabulous pieces for this auction. They’re saving their money for the good stuff.

“Twenty-two hundred!” Marcus shouts.

“Twenty-three hundred!”

I recognize the voice and chuckle at the death stare Melanie fires at Robbie.

“Twenty-five hundred!” Marcus quickly counters.

Robbie’s too busy laughing at Melanie to keep bidding. A silence comes over the crowd and my gut churns as Marcus’ smug grin starts rising up his stupid face.

“Twenty-five hundred, going once!”

I bite down. If there’s a god, please hit me with lightning or something.

“Going twice...”

“Twenty-six hundred.”

I hold my breath and follow Lance’s voice to his face in the crowd. My smile fights to inch up my face but I somehow manage to keep it down as he stares up at me from the floor.

Marcus glares at him, knowing exactly who Lance is. “Twenty-seven,” he says.

“Twenty-eight,” Lance says.

“Three-thousand five-hundred,” Marcus spits.

The crowd reacts. Even I gasp a little.

Come on, Lance...

“Five-thousand dollars,” he says.

Holy shit.

My jaw drops. Murmurs ignite into shouts as everyone starts clapping. I look to Marcus, seeing his face glow a bright red. He presses his lips together with rage and my chest tightens.

“Five-thousand dollars! Going once...”

I don’t breathe. Please, Marcus, for once in our lives, keep your damn mouth shut...

“Going twice.”

I close my eyes in silent prayer.

“Sold!”

I exhale hard and open them again to look at Lance.

He stares into my face and smiles in victory.

Lance Tyler. The guy trying to lock up my father and destroy my family… and now I owe him a conversation.

I did not think this one through.