CHAPTER TWO
The ghastly Marriage Match sign shined down on me, daring me to walk through the doors that night. I would be twenty-five soon. By law, women had to be married by that age if they didn’t join the Corporate Army before then. While I was healthy enough for the CA, I had absolutely no fighting skills—other than street smarts. I would last a day in the Corporate Army’s trials.
So marriage it was.
I swallowed down my nerves and walked into the building. The business was closed this late at night, except for one cubicle where the light shone inside.
I walked straight toward the light and stuck out my hand. “Mr. Ethan Striker? Thank you so much for staying late for me.”
The man with the kind, brown eyes stood from his desk. He was a decent foot taller than I was, so I had to peer up at his face. The worker took my hand, and bent, kissing the top of it delicately. As he straightened, he shrugged a shoulder. “It’s not a problem, Ms. Peyton. But you are lucky you called when you did. I was getting ready to leave.”
He gestured for me to sit down in the spare chair across from his desk. Luckily, it was a well-cushioned seat, my body aching after the long, rough day at sea.
While he took his own seat with fluid grace, I explained—as an apology, “I’m a fisherman down at the docks. A storm came in, and it took longer than expected to get back to New City safely.”
Mr. Striker was kind enough not to comment on my smell. I was unable to take a shower before arriving. He simply swiveled his seat and began tapping on his computer board, a hologram appearing between us as he typed. The Marriage Match logo twirled in slow circles, the red heart with a cupid’s arrow through it annoying in its cuteness.
His brown eyes lifted from his computer board, staring directly into my gaze through the hologram. “First, I need you to read through the contract. If you agree, place your hand on the hologram for scanning.”
A contract flashed before my eyes.
But I had already read it before.
I flipped through it briefly, making sure there weren’t any changes, and then I placed my hand on the hologram. Red lines grew around my palm, pulsing on the screen. Then the Marriage Match logo was there again, all alone and twirling.
I sat back and waited patiently.
Mr. Striker detailed clearly, “A few of these questions will be of a personal nature. If you’re ever uncomfortable, just say so, and we’ll skip to another question.”
I nodded and clasped my hands in lap.
The Marriage Match logo disappeared, and a data form appeared, like any other basic form about a person—like at a doctor’s office.
“Full name?” Mr. Striker asked.
“Faith Ann Peyton.”
He typed as he questioned, “Birthdate?”
My lips pinched. “I don’t know the exact date.”
His blink was slow and his hands stalled over the computer board. “Excuse me?”
“I wasn’t born in New City. I was born outside of the city. Far, far outside. My parents died when I was seven. Or, at least, that’s what age I was told when the Corporate Army found me and brought me to New City. New City Orphanage had a doctor evaluate me. She claimed that was my age.”
He cleared his throat, squirming in his seat, not completely believing me. “Do you have paperwork backing this up?”
I quickly pulled a piece of paper—an actual piece of paper—out of my pants pocket. It was a little fishy smelling from today’s endeavors, but it wasn’t ruined. “New City Hall gave this to me as certified proof of my age.”
He took the paper from my hand. His brown eyes skimmed the contents. Mr. Striker’s head nodded slowly. “This will do. This is what all New City citizens have as a birth certificate. Yours is just an approximation, but it will work.”
Mr. Striker quickly scanned the paper and then handed it back to me. His fingers tapped over the keyboard adding my approximate birthdate. Busy with his work, he added absently, “I am sorry for your loss, Ms. Peyton.”
I waved it off, as I always did. “I can’t remember them. And I’m sure they knew the dangers of living outside of a major city.”
What I didn’t include was the fact…that I could remember what it was like after they died. Scavenging the streets for any scraps of food—mainly dead animals. And sleeping under the stars during a snowstorm with only dead tree branches as blankets, their bark scraping my frozen skin with each breath I took. Or the relief I had felt when the CA had finally noticed a bloody little girl wandering a deserted and broken town…
I swallowed hard and focused on the man across from me. His eyes were scanning my features in an all-consuming way. It wasn’t creepy or unsettling. Mr. Striker was looking for something.
Finally, he asked, “I can take a guess at your race, but do you happen to know what it is?”
My chin trembled with barely contained laughter. “Thank you for asking, but I only knew my name when I got to New City.”
His attention went back to the computer board. “I’m marking you down with Hispanic and Asian ancestry.” He paused and glanced up at me. “You’re really quite beautiful, Ms. Peyton.”
I did snicker then, my dark brows lifting. “Are you single, Mr. Striker?” He wasn’t a bad looking man. In fact, he was actually handsome in a refined way I hardly ever saw on the docks.
His head tipped back as his laughter filled the quiet space around us. He shook his head of tawny hair and rumbled with hilarity, “Ms. Peyton, I think we can find a better match for you than me.”
I shrugged one shoulder, not disappointed. “What’s the next question?”
Mr. Striker got back to business. “Height?”
“Five feet, six inches.”
“Weight?”
“One hundred twenty pounds.” I cleared my throat pointedly. “I assure you it’s mainly muscle.”
He snickered, but his eyes turned to the hologram between us. The screen flicked to a different page. “Okay, here are the personal questions. Do you like tall or short men?”
My brows pinched together. “Well, it doesn’t really matter to me. I just want to get along with him.”
He nodded, typing. “Muscular or thin?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Rich or poor?”
I faltered, and then stated truthfully, “Rich.”
His lips twitched, but he continued, “Do you want to be a housewife or do you want to work?”
“I think…I’d like to work.”
But just not as a fisherman for the rest of my life. That was backbreaking work. My body would wear down by the age of forty if I stayed in the sea profession.
“Do you have any hobbies?”
“I like to read?”
“Is that a question or an answer?”
“An answer,” I nodded firmly.
There wasn’t a whole lot to do when you were in the New City Orphanage. It was either get caught up in the drama that came with so many children, teens, and early adult women…or spend time by yourself. I’d rather spend time by myself than dunk my head into a silly “tragedy” that occurred every day somehow with the women I knew.
“What attribute do you notice first on men?”
“Um…their hands.” Weird, I knew that.
He cleared his throat, and then stated, “Have you had sex before?”
“Yes.” A slight blush painted my cheeks.
“Do you prefer one man or two men?”
My eyes rounded in shock. I gasped, “One.”
The questions didn’t stop.
“Have you ever been with a woman sexually before?”
“No.”
Red. My cheeks were flaming red on my tan skin.
“Have you ever been pregnant before?”
My heart rate slowed down. I relaxed again.
I answered easily, “No.”
“Would you like to have children?”
“One day, maybe.”
“Are you on birth control?”
“Yes.” I tapped on my silver bracelet, showing him the proof I was good for a few more months.
He nodded his head. “Do you have any special requirements for a husband?”
I was silent for a long moment, staring off to the side. When I answered, it was with complete honesty. “I would like a man who is kind. A man who is funny. A man I don’t mind sleeping next to every night.”
His fingers tapped furiously on the computer board, and then he stated, “Do you have any specific religious beliefs?”
I shook my head. “No.”
Mr. Striker’s brown eyes met my own brown eyes. He smiled and sat back in his chair. “The only thing left is your medical release.”
I tapped on my silver bracelet again. “Do you just want me to transfer it to Marriage Match’s system?”
He nodded an affirmative. “Once that’s in, we’ll start the bidding.”
I brushed my fingers over my bracelet, watching the data of my medical release hover through the air…and then sink into the hologram before me.
Mr. Striker eyed the release, noting the approved notes at the top. Then he tapped a key. One single key on his computer board—a single peck of his finger to change my life forever.
The bidding began.
“It’s already happening?” I asked in shock.
My heart pounded in my chest as pings of red shot onto the hologram, each new one knocking the other down. Dollar amounts appeared in red then shoved away, disappearing. The amount continued to rise, higher and higher. My jaw was hanging as I saw what men were willing to pay Marriage Match to bring us together—until death do us part.
“It’s all part of the program, Ms. Peyton. There are many men in New City who sign up with us, each receiving an alert right now, and you’re seeing the ones who are interested and the ones who are dropping out.”
I gulped and pressed my right hand to my mouth—damn, I smelled like fish. But I rambled, “When does it stop?”
“Ultimately, if there’s a maximum bid made that’s set by Marriage Match that could stop the bidding. Though, that rarely happens. Let’s just say it’s a lot. So typically, the bidding should be through within two days when all eligible bachelors have tapped to show that they’ve seen the alert and whether they wish to bid or not.”
My eyes were drying out. I hadn’t blinked for a while.
I blinked.
“Wait.” Mr. Striker sat forward quickly. His eyes sparked with interest on the hologram. “This man’s filthy rich. He may hit that max bid. Let’s see what he does.”
“Where?” My eyes darted over the hologram.
He pointed to a red dot up in the corner.
“Number seventy-three?” I asked, sitting on the edge of my seat now.
He nodded, his eyes unmoving on the number.
The hologram flashed red—the entire screen.
I jerked back on my seat at the sudden change.
Then words flashed across the screen…
MAXIMUM BID MET. BIDDING IS CLOSED.
The little heart logo twirled above it.
“Oh my,” I gasped. With urgency, my attention met that of the man across from me. “Seriously?”
A grin plastered itself on his handsome face. “Seriously.”
Absently, in the far reaches of my mind, I wondered if he got a commission on that bid. He sat straighter in his chair, the smile never leaving his face. The man was damn pleased with the outcome.
Even as he started typing on the computer board again, he still grinned. “Marriage Match you the winner’s information. Home, number, and name. Under the contract you agreed to, you must meet him within twenty-four hours. Only one bag is allowed for personal items, so he’ll know you need more clothing—if you require it. That’s all covered in the Marriage Match fee, which he’s already paid.”
My mouth bobbed, still completely numb inside. “That man didn’t even see a picture of me! How can he bid that much?”
Mr. Striker snickered. “There was a photo of you. It was in your medical file. All medical files have them.”
“Oh.” I nodded, though it was a bit mechanical in nature. “I forgot they took that picture.”
“Did you hear me about the guidelines?”
“Yes. I have to meet him within twenty-four hours. Only one bag allowed.” My eyes widened as reality wrapped around my entire frame, terrified shivers racing down my spine. “I’ll be married soon.”
Mr. Striker’s lips curled up at the edges with humor. “Unless you die before your twenty-fifth birthday, then yes, you’ll be married soon. Congratulations. You’re officially engaged!” He pointed a sharp finger at me and winked. “Just don’t die first. He paid good money for our services. I don’t want our company getting a bad reputation if one of our gals loses her head before the wedding bells chime.”
I stared. Unblinking. “I’ll try not to die.”
“Good plan, Ms. Peyton. And you got yourself a winner!” He paused and then clapped his hands. “Picture time! It’s standard procedure when a maximum bid is met.”
I sighed and peered heavenward. “Okay.”
“I’ll send it to you, too. You must have a token of this very happy day in your life.”
Happy day?
More like… Scared. Shitless.