My heels tapped across the lobby floor with a quick pitter-patter. It almost sounded like a woodpecker, pecking, pecking, pecking away. Inhaling deeply, I gripped the large antique brass handles of the ballroom door, straightened the necklace with the tiny gold feather pendant around my neck, and then hauled it open. A few strides later, I rejoined Khloe and Sophia, who were sipping their drinks and chatting.

Abruptly, a shrill echo struck my ears. Everyone impulsively flinched, some covering their ears to block the sound. Then a tall, awkward gentleman with thick black frames and a square jaw began tapping on the microphone.

“Hello? Check, one, two . . . Hello and good evening. I’m Lyle Abbot, and on behalf of the Eco-Developers Foundation, I would like to welcome everyone and thank you all for joining us for such a great cause. We’ve got a lot planned this evening, so, without further ado, I’d like to introduce a dear friend, a man who has truly shaped this industry. Please give a round of applause for our guest auctioneer—Mr. William Winthrop.”

The crowd broke into applause. Mr. Winthrop stood up and made his way toward the stage. The back of Jameson’s head remained stock-still. He didn’t clap along with the crowd. When the applause died down, Mr. Winthrop’s deep voice echoed throughout the room.

“Thank you, Lyle. That was quite an introduction. How is everyone doing this evening?” He paused for an instant, adjusting the microphone, and then resumed his speech. “It’s a great honor to be the auctioneer this evening. So, let’s get down to it. There’s a long list of items tonight. I’d like to just dig in and start. Here. We. Go.”

Sophia leaned across Khloe’s lap and whispered to us both, “I want the painting Kathleen Patrick donated. They had it on display at a gallery last month.”

Tommy eyed Sophia. “You’ve been to the Crystal Moss gallery?”

Sophia’s hand fluttered to her chest. “Uh . . . yeah. I mean, yes, I have. You’ve been there before?”

Tommy ran his tongue over his teeth and shot her small, lopsided grin. “It’s a great gallery. A few of my pieces have been shown there.”

They locked eyes, appearing to forget that other people were around. Their intense energy was broken by Mr. Winthrop’s bellow that the first item up for auction was a pair of three-karat diamond studs donated by a local custom jewelry company called Diamond Days.

As everyone at the table made small talk, I counted down the seconds until the Kaleidoscope Building was announced. Jameson remained distant, which was a relief. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the stage once, clearly making a point of not turning around. If he had attempted to take a gander in my direction, I would have reached across the table to give him the second slap of the evening. God knows he deserved it. Why did he mention the rules? Did he think we’d pick up where we left off?

Fuck him. Fuck his rules. Why was he so damn hot? Why did I let him kiss me? Was I losing my fucking mind? Or maybe I had a moment where I wanted him to do some of those bad things to me.

No! You are not, I repeat, NOT sleeping with him, Eden.

Over the speaker system, Mr. Winthrop’s enthusiastic auctioneering snapped my attention back. “Our next auction item is very special. Rarely do we auction off property, but it is fitting for such an occasion. We’ll start the bidding for the Kaleidoscope Building at one hundred thousand dollars.”

Mr. Davenport and Jameson looked at each other. What was that? The Kaleidoscope wasn’t about to go to anyone else. Especially not Jameson.

This was my chance to show my bosses I could run my own project. I raised my paddle.

“A hundred thousand dollars. Can I get a hundred and fifty?” Mr. Winthrop said without even a slight flinch.

Jameson shifted in his seat. The expression on his face was the tell-all kind. His pupils narrowed, his jaw tightened, and the heat of his scowl was fierce enough to set an entire forest ablaze. I should have been wary of his frown, but I didn’t care. The vein in his neck throbbed, which was all the more rewarding for me. I bit back a smirk.

And there it was, the simmering darkness. The other side of him, one no one really knew. I could only describe it in simple words: an eclipse. Jameson, a burning ball of fire who could be consumed by brilliant black. It’s what drew me to him. The filthy, dirty, dark man he truly was rarely came to the surface. He let me see that side of him once, and while fleeting, I knew it always lingered there, seething beneath the surface.

Jameson briskly grabbed his paddle off the table and mouthed the two little words he’d used to ignite our feud: “Game on.”

I narrowed my eyes. He promptly hoisted the paddle into the air.

I was not about to lose. There was too much riding on this. When Jameson turned back to face the stage, I impulsively raised my paddle, provoking a gasp from both my friends. Under my breath I whispered, “Take that, bucko.”

Again, Jameson rotated his body around to face me, his eyes flickering with menace, but the dark glare meant to scare me off only fueled my need to win. If he thought he had this one in the bag, he was dead wrong. Without wavering, he lifted his arm, flapping the paddle toward the stage.

With a bit of disbelief in his tone, his father announced, “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Do I hear three hundred thousand?”

“J. R., what are you doing?” Tommy asked in a hushed breath. His attempt to be discreet wasn’t effective, but it pinged my brain that something was off, as did Tommy’s furrowed brow and the crinkles around his eyes. I couldn’t figure out what was worrying him—they certainly didn’t need the extra cash.

“Bidding,” Jameson bit back. “And don’t fucking call me that.”

I peeked at Khloe, who was observing me like I was her favorite telenovela. “What are you doing, Eden?” she murmured, tilting into my shoulder.

“Getting that promotion,” I said as I raised the bid even more.

She lowered her voice even more this time. “You don’t have that kind of money.”

“I do. I’ll explain later.”

“We have three hundred thousand. Do I hear three hundred and fifty thousand?” Mr. Winthrop picked up the pace, shouting out numbers like a pro. His words came out rapid and brash, swifter than bullets. He would have made a seasoned Sotheby’s auctioneer proud.

Jameson didn’t waste a second, firing his paddle into the air. The other guests at the table were holding their breaths, eyes darting back and forth between Jameson and me. Our fiery battle had generated more attention than I’d anticipated.

Before his father could bellow out the next bid, I stuck my number above my head, hoisting the cardboard above me like a flag for all to see.

The hum of my blood pumped within me, drowning out the gasps from the crowd. I wanted this so bad I could taste it. A victory over Jameson would be monumentally delectable, particularly one so public.

Mr. Winthrop named another hefty amount. Jameson scowled at me then twisted, shouting, “I’ll give you five hundred thousand!”

My chest rose and fell more quickly as the bid grew. Jameson fidgeted with his phone, grinning at me as he took a swig from his scotch glass. We were each determined to win no matter how high the bid went.

My adrenaline vibrated harder, faster, louder. I leapt to my feet, calling out towards the stage, “Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Jameson pushed his chair back, his voice rugged when he barked back, “One million!”

“One point five million!” I shouted.

Jameson glared at me, his paddle waving well above our heads. “Two million!”

“Three!”

His nostrils flared a second time, and his brow creased into a deep vee, its edges sharper than a knife. “Five million!”

I would have needed a stack of Benjamins taller than this hotel to match Jameson’s bid, but all I had was the godawful inheritance my gutless father left me, which came to a grand total of four million twenty-two dollars.

Six hundred and fifteen days ago a lawyer contacted me. Five hundred and ninety-eight days ago the trust transferred to my name. Since then, the guilt money had sat there, mocking me. I had never intended to touch it, but then this opportunity arrived and I figured it would be for a good cause.

Five million. I never imaged the bidding to exceed one million, let alone five. Every nerve ending on my body quaked. My skin was raw, burnt, charred. The asshole had me by the throat, and all I could manage was to blink in disbelief. FUCK!

“Five million going once, five million going twice, five million going three times . . .” Mr. Winthrop waited a few beats before he bellowed, “Sold!”