“You’re up,” Bianca says, nudging me towards the front of the stage.

I’ve felt frozen in a mixture of fear and excitement since I got out here. But now I force my feet to walk in the direction of the “auctioneer.” I still can’t get over how crazy all of this is.

“Next up we have Rach— wait a second,” the auctioneer says, as he reads his notes.

Bianca walks over to him and whispers something in his ear.

“Standing in for Rachel tonight, we have the lovely Celeste,” the auctioneer continues, after clearing his throat. “She is a nineteen- year- old university student studying political science and creative writing, who seeks a career in journalism. She enjoys playing the guitar and listening to music.”

Rachel must have given him that bio, and it’s not exactly accurate. I haven’t played the guitar since high school. And I already have a job in journalism. I won an award from my school’s journalism department that led to a part-time gig writing for the Phoenix Independent about political ethics.

In fact, if anyone from my job found out I was here— doing this— I might get fired. On the other hand, I think, squinting out into the audience, I’m sure there are some high- up politicians here and that this little gig could lead to a great expose.

“She’s wearing a pink bracelet,” the auctioneer announces, which reminds me that I can’t expose them for much, since I’m only going to be having Valentine’s Day dinner with them. “This is her first time here at The Exchange. We’ll start the bidding at ten thousand dollars.”

I look up at the auctioneer, trying hard not to let my mouth fall open in amazement.

Ten thousand dollars?

Someone is going to pay that much just have dinner with me?

“Here,” someone says, and I locate the man in the audience who is holding up a heart-shaped sign, indicating that he is placing a bid.

He’s staring right at me— as are most of the other men right now, of course, since I’m in the process of being auctioned off— but my eyes immediately lock on his. He’s so attractive.

Rachel was right. These guys are not only rich but also hot.

“I’ve got ten thousand dollars; can I get fifteen thousand dollars?” the auctioneer says, and someone else raises their sign.

I look over to that man but he is short and pudgy. So, I turn my eyes back to the first bidder.

Please, my eyes beg him. Please bid higher. Don’t make me have dinner with that guy.

He smiles at me, his light brown eyes— the color of coffee with cream— twinkling as if he knows what I’m trying to silently convey to him.

“Twenty- five thousand,” he says, without waiting for the auctioneer to increase the bid.

I expect there to be gasps or shocked reactions but everyone acts as if this is normal.

“I hear twenty- five thousand, can I get fifty thousand?” the auctioneer continues, not missing a beat and in fact doubling the price.

Fifty thousand?

“Fifty thousand,” says yet a third man, holding up his sign.

No way. Is this a dream?

I try to remember what Rachel had said about what percentage of the total amount of money bid I get. I wasn’t really listening because I’m only doing this as a favor for her— not the money— and I was more worried about the particulars of the strange arrangement to which I hesitantly agreed.

But if I’m remembering correctly, I think she said I get fifty percent, plus tips. Twenty- five thousand? For having dinner with a stranger?

I look back over at the first bidder and can’t help but add:

With a rich, handsome stranger?

Count me in.

No wonder Rachel works here. I can’t believe she would give up all this money just for Billy. She must be really into him. I hope he’s already proposed to her by now. Or maybe he’s waiting until after dessert.

“One hundred thousand,” says the first bidder, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Although he’s seated, I can tell that he’s tall. His shoulders sit high above those of the men sitting on either side of him, and he has impeccable posture. He has a full head of dark brown, wavy hair. I don’t know very much about suits but his looks very fancy and expensive.

He looks quite a bit older than me— old enough to be my father— but there’s also something sexy about that fact. I never thought I’d be into an older man and I get annoyed by the clichéd stereotype of all the old men and young girls in this city.

But if they’re being paid fifty percent of one hundred thousand dollars, and if the man isn’t that old, but is a sexy kind of old, then I suppose I shouldn’t have been so harsh in my judgment. Or maybe I’m just making excuses. Because I would actually like to have dinner with this mystery bidder. And maybe even more than that.

As the bidding increases— it’s up to one hundred and fifty thousand, and now two hundred thousand!— so does my heart rate. I also notice that I’m becoming noticeably wet.

I shift the position in which I’m standing, as if other people can see how moist my panties are. I’m a bit embarrassed that I’m so turned on by the fact that I’m being auctioned off like cattle, as I’d so sarcastically called it when I was talking to Rachel. But the first bidder continues to be the high bidder no matter who else bids, and I enjoy the fact that he wants me so badly he’s willing to pay any price.

Finally, the bidding is up to seven hundred fifty thousand dollars. The second bidder— the short, pudgy one— seems intent on winning this bidding war.

“Eight hundred thousand,” he calls out, rather meekly now.

He’s holding his sign up, but a bit lower than he usually does, as if he’s getting tired.

Come on, I will the first bidder. You’re almost there…

Sure enough, he stands up, not even bothering to bring his sign with him.

“One million dollars,” he shouts.

Now the men in the audience— and the other women still left up on stage— react like I expected them to in the beginning: sighs and gasps can be heard all around.

The second bidder lets out a flustered sigh.

“Fine,” he says, shaking his head. “You can have her.”

Thank goodness.