I sit hunched over in the small office break room, staring at my untouched salad. The only other person in the room is Jamie, who I have the misfortune of calling a best friend. She’s staring at her sandwich like most women would stare at a guy with perfect hair and a six-pack.

Her eyes flick up to me as she carefully lifts the sandwich. “What?” she asks. You’d never guess it from looking at her thin, athletic frame, but Jamie has a love of food that no man can ever hope to top. I’ve felt the need to cover the eyes of innocent children from the oddly sexual way she can look at a slice of pizza, or the totally inappropriate way she licks the icing off cupcakes.

I laugh. “I’m just waiting to see if you’re planning on making out with the sandwich or eating it.”

She makes a show of mock sympathy, even going as far as reaching to pat my hand across the table. “I’m sorry you have lunch-packer’s regret, but that doesn’t mean you need to sabotage my experience with your sarcasm.”

I roll my eyes, but still crack a grin. “I don’t have ‘lunch-packer’s regret.’ I’m just not hungry. You also probably should avoid calling eating lunch an experience. You’re going to freak somebody out.”

“You’re not hungry because you packed turtle food for your meal. Not my fault.” She punctuates her sentence with an aggressive but somehow uncomfortably sensual bite of her sandwich.

My phone buzzes from my purse, making both of us jump. “It’s them,” I say in a half-whisper. I don’t even need to tell her who them is. She knows I was expecting a call from the adoption agency any day now. The call that would tell me if I was going to finally be a parent. I hold my thumb over the phone, hands shaking as I try to force myself to answer the call.

“Answer it!” Jamie says.

I flick my thumb across the phone and press it to my ear. It’s not the first time I’ve been through this. I started applying to adopt a child two years ago, and I’ve already been through the entire process and rejected twice before. Third time’s the charm… right?

Jamie flashes me a double thumbs up and an encouraging smile. I know she’s rooting for me, but not even something this big can stop Jamie from her sandwich, which she eyes lovingly before digging in.

“Hello?” I say into the phone, my voice full of false cheer and confidence.

“Miss Holland?” It’s a deep, authoritative voice on the other end that makes my throat tighten.

Wouldn’t they want someone nice and bubbly to deliver the good news?

“This is her…”

“This is Max from American Adoptions. I’m calling to inform you that your request to adopt Braden Smith was unfortunately denied. I’m sorry, Miss Holland. I know this is never easy, but we encourage you to apply again.”

Every syllable slams into me like a hammer, knocking the air out of my lungs and making it feel like the room is on a swivel around me. “I see,” I whisper.

There’s a long pause, as if the man on the other end is waiting for me to protest or ask questions. “A married couple who lives in a very good suburb outside the city was trying to adopt Braden as well,” he says, as if no further explanation is needed.

“Of course,” I say again. Yes, of course. I hang up the phone without waiting for more.

Jamie takes a huge bite of her sandwich and watches me with narrowed eyes. “Everything good?” she asks around a mouthful of bread and meat.

“I’m too single and too poor to be a good home for him,” I say.

She washes her bite down with a swig of soda and sets her sandwich down.

I raise an eyebrow. I must really look bad if she’s putting her food down.

“They said that?” she asks.

“They might as well have. Shit,” I say suddenly as I pinch my temples with my fingers. “Am I crazy for wanting this so badly?”

“A little,” admits Jamie. “I’ve always thought kids were overrated. They are cute and all, but so are animals. Cats won’t crash your car and then roll their eyes at you. Honestly, the only real perk seemed like the whole making them part, but you’re even skipping that. So...”

I sigh. “It sounds crazy when I try to explain it. I just know that’s part of what I’m here to do. I’ve always known since…” Since my little brother died. That’s what I was going to say, but I can’t say that out loud. Even if Jamie suspects my real motivations for wanting to adopt, she’s a good enough friend to let me think I still have that secret to myself. My parents split when I was three, and my little brother Brian and I ended up with my dad. The years leading up to Brian’s death are like a black stain on my memory, a poisoned place I don’t mentally touch anymore because it hurts too much. In some twisted way, adopting has always felt like it would give me a part of Brian back, that it would help me heal somehow…

“Because it is crazy,” says Jamie. “But if you weren’t a little crazy, I probably wouldn’t like you. So…”

“I just want to be there for a kid who needs it. You know?”

Jamie motions to the office around us, where at least a dozen of our co-workers are either on the phone or escorting young troubled teens through the building to smaller conference rooms. “Seriously, Steph? You’re a social worker.” She waves her hands around like there’s some mysterious magic to the title. “We’re saving sarcastic teenagers by the boatload every day. I think you can let yourself off the hook if you don’t bring one into your house, too.”

There’s an empty pit in my stomach that never really goes away. Whether Jamie has me figured out or not, my messed up past isn’t something I’m going to burden her with. The emptiness chews at me day after day, begging to be filled with something. I dig my fingers into my thighs and squeeze to stop my thoughts from wandering down that dark path. I don’t need to dredge up the past. Especially not right now.

So I do what I always do. I put on a smile and act like I’m already over it. “You’re probably right,” I say suddenly. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“See?” Jamie says, picking her sandwich back up and begins mauling it like it owes her money.

I watch her with a grin that isn’t forced at all. She and I have been friends since high school. For all her oddities, Jamie is a good friend. She may give me shit whenever she gets the chance, and she may be borderline crazy, but at the end of the day she has my back.

“So,” she says, swallowing a big mouthful and then pointing a fallen piece of lettuce at me aggressively. “Am I going to have to drug you and drag you to the auction this year? Or are you going to be a good girl and come willingly.”

“Ugh,” I say, letting my head fall into my hands. “That’s tonight, isn’t it? I totally forgot.”

“I know you did. You didn’t seem miserable enough.”

“Honestly, I’d rather just go home and drown my sorrows in a deep bag of chips. Maybe wash it down with some wine and ice cream.”

“First of all, Yes,” she says, closing her eyes and clearly imagining the junk food feast. “But no. You are coming because it won’t be fun without you. Besides, Heather would definitely knock you down at least three pegs on the good-favor chart if you miss it. The auction is her baby.”

I know she’s right about Heather, which makes me grind my teeth. Heather is technically one of our supervisors, even though I doubt she’d know me or Jamie by name if her life depended on it. Still, she expects every one of her subordinates to be as fervently devoted to their job as she is.

“Is this one of those things you’re never going to shut up about if I try to resist?” I ask.

“Pretty much.” Jamie pulls an apple out of her bottomless lunch bag and takes a big bite.

I shake my head. “I’ll think about going. Okay? That’s the best you’re going to get right now.”

“Good,” says Jamie. “I’ll pick you up tonight, then.”

I tug at the strap of my dress in annoyance as we wait in line to be let into the auction.

“Stop messing with your clothes, people are going to think you have herpes or something.”

I give her a look of disbelief. “Do you even know what herpes is?”

She shrugs. “All I know is people are going to think you have it.”

“Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re being serious or just messing with me.”

“That’s part of my charm.” She flashes me a cheesy smile as we are let through the front doors into the convention center where the auction is going to take place.

“Oh my, oh my,” Jamie says. Her eyes are locked on the bar at the other end of the large room, which is already crowded with well-dressed men and women. “Did Heather actually spring for an open bar this year?”

I raise an eyebrow. “It’s not like her to be loose with money.”

“Like I care.” Jamie tries to tug my arm and lead me toward the bar, but I pull back.

“I’m not really into the idea of getting sad drunk tonight.”

Jamie looks me up and down. “You want me to be your sober buddy tonight?”

I can tell she’s sincere, but the last thing I need is to drag her down with me. It’s part of the reason I wanted to stay home and wallow in my own sorrows. “No.” I give her my most convincing smile and squeeze her hand. “Go enjoy the booze. I’ll be fine.”

She works her lips to the side, hesitating. “No. It’s okay, I don’t need—

”

“Jamie,” I say firmly. “Go. I will be fine. I promise.”

She sighs. “There are a lot of eligible bachelors here, you know? If the adoption thing has you bummed out you could always try the good ole traditional way.” She holds up her thumb and forefinger in the shape of a circle and inserts a finger in and out, making a gross noise with her mouth.

“Wow, no,” I say, unable to hold back a laugh of disgust. “Just no.”

She throws her hands up in defeat and walks off toward the bar, leaving me alone for the first time.

I take a deep breath as I look for a place to sit. I decide to find a seat as far away from the stage as possible because I’m in a kind of ‘screw the world for making me come to this thing’ mood. I probably should enjoy it. After all, the guys really are usually attractive and it should be fun even if I’m only here to watch them parade across the stage while crazed women bid for a date. But long-term relationships and me don’t exactly get along. I’ve never even been open with Jamie about my reluctance to get into a real relationship. I especially haven’t admitted to her that I’m a virgin—

I’d never hear the end of it from her if she knew that.

I’ve tried to make it work with guys, but something inside me is too broken to fit with a man. When it comes to the point where guys want to take things to the next level and get sexually intimate… well, I can never take that leap. Like everything else in my life, I can probably blame how messed up my past is for that. The thought of sleeping with a guy always makes me think about the distant possibility of being a mother, and that makes me think of my little brother. And thinking of him? It usually brings up images of my dad’s face contorted in rage, of him raising his hand to hit Brian, or of the twisted things he said to us.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to force the memories back down. Any time I date, I can’t help imagining what kind of father he would be. No matter how hard I try not to, I always see shreds of my own father in every guy, shadows of what could be and how those shadows could grow and twist into the empty blackness that consumed my father. I wasn’t able to protect Brian from him. Not really, at least. How could I trust myself to protect my own child from that?

I rub my hands over my face and let out a long breath as I sink into a chair at the edge of the seating area. I feel like I’m losing it. I know it’s only because I just found out about losing my chance at adopting Braden, though. I carry around my fair share of mental baggage, but on the average day it doesn’t occupy my thoughts so much.

A stab of annoyance runs through me when someone sits directly beside me, even though the vast majority of the people attending the event are still mingling in the larger lobby area and there are countless open seats. My annoyance turns to a warm rush of embarrassment and confusion when I look at who it is.

He’s reaching inside his jacket for something, but even at the first glance of his tattooed hands, I can see enough of him to know he’s breathtaking. He has longer hair than I usually like, it’s cut close on the sides and still looks clean, even though some long, curly black locks dangle on one side of his face. He’s tan with dark, exotic eyes. When he turns to face me, I can see how big he is. Even sitting, he’s more than a head taller than me with a broad, powerful body that fits perfectly into his suit.

“Hi?” I say in question more than way of greeting.

He ignores my greeting and hands me a check.

“I think you have me confused for—” I start.

“No,” he says firmly. His voice is deep and gravely. The sound alone makes goosebumps ripple across my skin. My eyes can’t stop wandering him, exploring every last perfect detail. He’s exactly the kind of guy I should stay away from, not that a guy like him would ever be interested in me. “I’m not confused,” he says.

“What is—”

“It’s a blank check,” he says. “I’m one of the bachelors up for auction tonight. I want you to bid whatever it takes to win the date with me. Do you understand?”

“W-what? Why me?” I ask. It feels like my normally alert brain is scrambled just from looking at him. Red sirens are blaring inside the machinery of my mind and hoses are broken loose, spraying hot steam everywhere. I can’t seem to do anything but stammer and stutter.

“Because somebody here is going to try to bid for the date with me, and I need to make sure she doesn’t win.” He stands and straightens his tie as he rises.

“What if I don’t want to win a date with you?” I ask. It feels like the world’s dumbest question, but the way he seems to just assume I’m going to do what he wants gets under my skin.

“I hope you do,” he says. “Because I was planning on showing you a good time for your trouble.”

“What, like go-karts?” My own question replays in my head a thousand times a second until I’m convinced it might be the single dumbest thing ever said in the history of humanity. Go-karts? I could curl into a ball right now and disintegrate if it meant I didn’t have to look at the stunned and amused look on his face anymore.

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” he says after he lets his enjoyment of the moment settle in. “I was thinking something more private.”

Don’t say a word, Stephanie. With a monumental mental effort, I keep myself from saying something else dumb and just nod my head with a plastered-on smile that I pray doesn’t look weird.

He half-grins, sitting back down beside me and turning to face me until his leg is resting against mine. “You know, I don’t bite.”

“Oh,” I say in a weak voice. My throat feels tight and my head feels thick like I overdosed on cold medicine.

“You sound disappointed,” he notes. “I could bite, if that’s what you’re into.”

“Is there a reset button somewhere?” I ask. “I promise, I’m not normally this…”

“Reset?” he asks. “I hope not. I’m enjoying this.”

“You probably love videos of people falling down or getting hit in the balls, then,” I say sourly.

“No,” he says, standing again and giving me the strangest look. “But there’s something about you I like. So please,” he says, nodding toward the check in my hand. “Make sure you win the bid for tonight, because I’m not done enjoying you.”

I raise my eyebrows at his phrasing. He gives me a knowing look, like he meant exactly what it sounded like he meant. I reel back in shock as he walks away, leaving me holding a blank check with his signature.

“What if I just leave with this?” I ask, having to raise my voice to catch his attention as he walks away.

He turns his head just enough to speak over his shoulder. “Then I’ll have to hope I can track you down, because I’m not done with you.”

I sit back in my chair and cross my arms in disbelief and annoyance. Where is Jamie when I need her? I don’t know if she’d believe any of this just happened. I’m not even sure I would if I wasn’t still holding the blank check with his signature. I scan the check for his name. Tristan Rivers.

I discreetly look over my shoulder to be sure he’s not still watching me before pulling out my phone. I’m not ready to admit to myself I’m even remotely considering his offer, but I’ll at least admit to being curious. I’ve got time to kill before the auction starts, anyway, and a little internet stalking sounds like just the way to pass the time

I start by googling his name. I expect to find a few scattered results of people with similar names or maybe some obscure reference to him in a high school newspaper or something from college. My eyes widen when a collage of pictures featuring his face and page after page of results featuring stories about him populate the page. Headline after headline practically daring me to click wait. It only takes a quick scan to gather that he’s extremely wealthy, involved in some morally questionable business practices, and has a sort of viral following of gossip-mongering women who obsess over his romantic interests.

I let my finger hover over the images tab for the search results for a second before my curiosity gets the better of me. I tap the screen and watch as image after image pops into view. I’m torn between staring at the shots of him in suits where he looks like a movie star and the pictures of him that look like they were taken by stalkers. There is an entire set of him working out shirtless on the deck of what I assume is his mansion. I notice one particular picture where his abs are on proud display. I guiltily press the home button on my phone and stuff it into my purse.

My cheeks are flushed red when I realize I was just gawking at half-naked pictures of a guy in the middle of the crowded conference room, but a not-so-subtle look around confirms that no one seems to have noticed. The seats around me are starting to fill up though as the speakers for the auction are gathering on stage.

I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. I haven’t even come to grips with being denied the right to adopt Braden yet. It’s lingering in the back of my mind like a dark cloud. I had planned to marinate in my own sorrows for a few days before I even started thinking about moving forward. The setback must be messing with my head, because guys have never had an effect on me like Tristan just did.

Normally, if I go on a date with a guy it’s out of some kind of stuffy sense of obligation or a pity date. I never really feel like I’ll be interested in the guy. It’s just that I can tell they are interested in me and I would rather avoid the confrontation of refusing them outright.

But Tristan? I get goosebumps just thinking about our brief interaction. It was more than the few words we exchanged. It was his body language. His eyes. God, his eyes. He had a way of looking at me like I was the only one in the room, or the only thing in the entire universe, for that matter. His eyes carried an energy with them, like being the focus of that gaze added some kind of electric current to my mind that made everything more intense and more wonderful. It was the most surreal experience, and after just a few minutes of separation, I already feel a deep, physical craving to be back in that spotlight. Yet at the same time, his offer feels like a hand extending from that darkness, like an offer to pull me away. But to where?

Jamie slides into the seat beside me with a drink in either hand and a piece of cheese between her teeth. She jostles and bumps me as she gets settled and starts chewing on her cheese.

“I miss anything?” she asks. “What’s that? You planning on bidding?” she asks jokingly when she notices the check in my hands.

“Maybe?”

She swallows down the last of her cheese and raises her eyebrows. “Uhh, is this supposed to be where I say some kind of responsible friend thing? You know, like blowing money on a charity auction seems kind of impulsive and out of character, especially given the circumstances?”

I hold up the check for her to get a better look. “One of the guys gave this to me. He said to make sure I win.”

“One of the bachelor guys?” she asks skeptically.

“Tristan Rivers,” I say. “I googled him and he’s some kind of billionaire.”

“And he gave you a blank check?” she asks.

“He did…” I say.

“And we’re not making a run for it because?”

“That’s not funny!”

“Oh,” says Jamie, who puts on a look of mock confusion. “Did I make a joke?”

I sigh. “Just because you’re a delinquent, doesn’t mean I’m about to make off with a stranger’s blank check. Even if I somehow managed to get away with cashing the thing, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

Jamie purses her lips in thought. “Fine, but if I start bidding against you, there’s no danger of me actually having to pay the bid?”

I slap her leg. “Stop it! I knew I shouldn’t have told you. Besides, I don’t even know if I’m going to do it yet.”

“Of course you are,” she says, shifting her drinks to one hand so she can slap my leg back. “I’ll bid for you if you don’t.”

The first wave of real panic flutters through me. Knowing Jamie, she’s not kidding, and she just might end up roping me into a date with Tristan. Which, I have to admit, might not be the worst thing in the world to get roped into. Okay, I’d be kidding myself if I said every sexual nerve in my body seems to be begging me to take his offer. I’ve never even felt sexually repressed until this moment, but something about Tristan woke that side of me up and now it feels like I’m an active volcano just waiting to erupt.

The next few minutes seem to blur by. My thoughts are a dull buzz by the time the speaker takes the stage in front of a large curtain. By now, the entire crowd has filtered into the seats and there are hardly any open spots available. The murmuring crowd hushes when the speaker taps the mic. He’s an elderly man with rosy red cheeks and wild, gray eyebrows.

“Welcome to our fifteenth annual charity auction!” he says into the microphone without taking his eyes off the cue cards he’s clutching in front of his face.

“Where’s Heather?” I ask Jamie. Normally Heather doesn’t miss a chance to host the event and give everyone a thorough explanation of how much work it was and how many late nights she had to put in to pull it off.

Jamie looks thoughtful for a second, then grins. “Probably carving herself an award backstage.”

I cover my smile. “You might be right.”

The man on stage pauses to shuffle his cue cards and clears his throat. “And without further adieu, let me introduce the lovely woman whose brilliant vision made this event possible.” The tone of his voice makes it clear he’s reading what’s on his cards word-for-word.

Jamie nudges me excitedly and my smile widens.

“She worked tirelessly until her vision of the most amazing night could be…” he pauses to lift his glasses and squint as his card. “Could be a reality. And now the lovely Heather Tillman, ladies and gentlemen!” He makes an unimpressive gesture by lifting his arm just slightly as Heather comes storming onto the stage.

She looks like she spent two hours on her makeup and hair as she clicks across the stage in her heels. Heather takes the microphone from the man and then not-so-subtly gestures for him to get off the stage.

Once she has the spotlight to herself, she smiles even wider. “Thank you so much,” she says, even though no one was clapping. “When I first started planning this auction…” she begins.

Her words fade into a distant mumble as my thoughts wander back to Tristan. My fingertips idly run over the blank check he gave me. I’ve spent so long running from attachments. It just always circles back to my past. Maybe there are some fun moments here and there, but it’s like sliding down a steep hill when I know what waits at the bottom: disappointment.

I can’t be what men want me to. I can’t give them what they want. I know that because I expect too much of them. Even though I know I’m waiting for the guy who is too perfect to exist to help me start a family, I can’t make myself lower my standards. I’ll always see the flaws in them. I’ll always be watching for the subtle signs that they might not be the right kind of father or husband. So why should I even consider bidding on Tristan? Because you’re doing him a favor, not marrying the man.

I put my fingertips to my temple and wince. I know I’m making this too complicated but I can’t seem to stop myself. I guess it’s only natural when a single encounter threatens to totally re-write the book on my history with men.

I know he’s ridiculously handsome and I know he’s extremely wealthy. I’m also pretty sure a guy like him would expect sex on the first date. Hell, he might not even be planning on a real date. But why me? That’s the part I can’t figure out. A guy like him could take his pick of the women here, and he decides to give the blank check to me? I’ve never thought of myself as ugly, but I’d be kidding myself if I called myself anything but average. It just doesn’t make sense.

Yet I’m still holding the check.

I haven’t torn it up. I haven’t crumpled it into a ball and tossed it away to be forgotten like I should.

Maybe it wouldn’t have to be so complicated with him… Maybe for once, I could just let go of trying to find the perfect husband and instead settle for the perfect night. After everything I’ve been through, maybe I deserve that much.

Heather’s words snap me back to the present. “Let’s kick things off with our first eligible bachelor, Henry Sirmans!”

The crowd claps and cheers more loudly than they have yet, probably just because they know Heather’s monologue on herself has finally come to an end.

A man walks out from the side of the stage. He’s wearing a suit and is actually pretty cute. If I hadn’t seen Tristan a few minutes ago, I’d probably be even more impressed, but after Tristan, everyone else just seems a little pale by comparison.

Heather starts the bidding at a hundred dollars, and a handful of women bid the price up until the date sells for three thousand dollars. In all the years I’ve been coming to the auction, it’s the highest price I’ve ever seen a date go for, and the winning bidder—a woman in her thirties with blonde hair and a huge smile—takes the stage to raucous applause.

The next few men are auctioned off in a similar manner, though the winning bids are less spectacular.

By the time Tristan’s name is called, my nerves are shot. I still don’t know what I’ll do, but Heather announces his name and he comes striding out to the stage. The sight of him sends a hush over the crowd. Every woman who already bid for a date with the previous bachelors is probably kicking herself right now, and everyone else is likely trying to figure out how much they can afford. And here I am with a blank check, still not sure if I want to bid.

“Shall we start the bidding at a hundred dollars for this fine young man?” asks Heather with a knowing smile.

“One thousand,” calls a woman on the opposite end of the crowd. Everyone’s eyes go to her immediately, including Tristan’s.

I watch the tightness in his expression carefully as he looks at the woman. He doesn’t look surprised exactly, but I can’t figure out what’s going through his head.

“Well, that’s quite a generous bid,” says Heather. “How about eleven hundred?”

The silence that follows seems to press in on me until my fingers nearly crumple the check from the force of the tension. A few more moments of indecision and it could all be over. The opportunity will be past me. I’ll be able to go home and think about how unfair it is that they won’t let me adopt. I’ll wallow. I’ll—

“Three thousand,” calls Jamie with the most ridiculous attempt at a rich person accent I’ve ever heard. It’s like something between British and constipated.

I nudge her so hard she jumps. “What are you doing?” I demand through clenched teeth.

“Helping you grow some balls. Besides, if you don’t buy a date with him?” She shakes her head. “I’d kick your ass and take that check out of your unconscious hands to buy it myself.”

“Wow,” says Heather. “It looks like Mr. Rivers has some admirers!”

The crowd chuckles at that, but the woman who placed the first bid doesn’t look remotely amused. I look to the stage and catch Tristan’s eyes boring into me. What are you waiting for? I can practically feel the words burning in his mind.

“Ten thousand,” says the woman who placed the first bid. There’s a collective gasp followed by an excited murmur among the crowd. I lean forward to get a better look at her. She’s pretty. Very pretty. Maybe in her twenties and the kind of woman a guy would oogle whether he was with his girlfriend or not. Classic head-turner. She’s wearing a black dress that proudly displays half her boobs, as if she needed any help drawing eyes.

Maybe she’s an ex of his. He could have given me the check because he knew she’d be here to bid for the date. It might explain why he picked someone as average as me, too. It would probably look more suspicious to his ex if some knockout won the bid. A surge of cynical disappointment fills me. Of course. He just said what he had to say to get me to feel important. He’d probably ditch me instead of actually taking me on a date anyway.

All the sadness I’ve been feeling about the adoption wells up inside me and transforms until it’s nothing but hot, fiery anger toward Tristan. It’s not a logical kind of anger. It’s just blind, redirected energy because I can’t do anything about being denied my request to adopt Braden. But this? I can do something about this. I can watch the confident asshole on stage sweat when he realizes he picked the wrong woman to give a blank check to.

“Fifty thousand,” I say loudly.

Even more people gasp. A few have actually pulled their phones out to film what’s taking place.

Heather clears her throat, but her hesitation is quickly followed by a greedy glint in her eye. I see her squinting toward where I’m sitting to get a look at me, but I think I’m far enough away and in a darkened section of the room to keep her from actually making out my face. She doesn’t spend much time in the section of the building where Jamie and I work, and chances are she has never even paid us any attention the few times she has been in our department. There’s still a chance she could recognize me, so it’s a relief when she looks back to the other woman.

“I just want to remind all of our bidders that the second-highest bid will win if the winner’s funding falls through for any reason.”

I grin. She’s wondering if someone is just messing with her. I don’t know about the other woman, but my brief internet stalking of Tristan tells me he’s definitely good for the money.

“Three hundred,” says the other woman.

Jamie raises her eyebrows. “This is crazy,” she whispers. “Did he really say to bid whatever it took?”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “But somehow I don’t think he thought the price tag would be this high.”

“Get him, girl,” says Jamie.

For a moment, I start to wonder if I’m taking it too far. A moment of impulse pushes that idea down and I find myself calling out the next bid before I’ve taken time to think it through.

“One million,” I say. My voice carries across the room, which is shocked into silence.

Heather makes a very unfeminine sound in her throat that echoes into the microphone. “O-one million dollars,” she says faintly. “For a date with Tristan Rivers.”

She doesn’t even ask if someone wants to bid more because the woman who was bidding against me is angrily picking up her bag and storming out of the room.

“We have a winner,” she says.

There’s scattered applause at first that turns into a roar as everyone stands and turns to look at me.

My cheeks flood with warmth and I look down at the blank check in my lap. “He’s going to kill me,” I say.

“Yeeeah,” agrees Jamie. “I’m going to actually say that’s a possibility. If you want to run for it I can cause a scene to cover your escape.”