I like charity.

Not a lot of guys in my position do, unless “charity” is the name of a stripper. Most guys, when they get as rich as I am, they just want to hold on to their wealth as much as possible. But to me, that’s so shortsighted and foolish.

We’re all in this world together. Might as well help some people.

Besides, I remember what it’s like to struggle. I remember going to bed without dinner because my parents could only afford one meal a day. I remember the struggle, the stress, and the fucking pain of having nothing at all. I remember all the time and effort I put into getting something, and I wish someone had helped us back then. Most guys like me, they didn’t come from absolutely nothing. They don’t know what it’s like to really want for the basics.

So charity is my thing. I have money, a lot of it, and I can afford to give some away. Which I do, as liberally as possible, sometimes too much if you want to listen to my business manager.

But these rich ass, upper crust charity events, these aren’t usually my thing. As I walk into the banquet hall, I keep to the edges of the room after grabbing a glass of whisky from the open bar.

Fortunately, I’m pretty anonymous in here. Everyone else is a rich business magnate, just like me, and so I can hang around and keep a low profile. I’m not particularly well-known, mostly because I’ve worked to keep it that way. Everyone knows my business and my name, but not everyone knows what I look like. That’s helped me lead a relatively normal life.

And so I blend in wearing my tuxedo and drinking my whisky. I’ve been around this crowd for years now, I’m thirty-nine years old and I’ve been rich for ten of them, but this is only my second charity auction.

I hate these things. They’re not really about the charity. They’re more about the opportunity to network with other rich assholes, maybe to bribe a few politicians, that sort of thing. Sure, there’s a real charity, and they write a check at the end of the night, but the shit that goes on during the event is loathsome.

I’m only here for two reasons. First, my business manager Rick keeps begging me to come to these things, says it would be good for the company. Being here tonight is one way to get him off my back and maybe a little bit to prove him wrong. Second, and more important, what’s being auctioned fascinated me, and I couldn’t help myself.

“Excuse me, ladies and gentleman, please have a seat.” An older woman, maybe ten years older than me, stands at the microphone on the stage. There’s a general murmur and commotion as people move toward their seats around the large banquet tables. “The auction will begin momentarily,” she says, before heading off to the side of the stage.

I find my place at a table in the back. I specifically requested this spot, and I’m glad I did. I don’t recognize anyone at my table, although my neighbor to my right is a large drunk man with a thick beard. He clearly wants to chat, but I’m not in the mood.

The crowd waits, a little restless, until music starts. The woman returns, this time to applause, and beams out at the crowd. I assume she’s the one that organized all this, though I haven’t paid much attention.

“Thank you all for being here,” she says. “And the children of Mercy General thank you as well.” More applause before she holds up her hands. “Our first girl hails from Rhode Island. The daughter of Patricia and Linus Vanderhoot, Layla Vanderhoot loves horses, skiing, and plaid skirts. Come on out, Layla!”

The crowd erupts into wild applause as a small girl with brown hair and dressed in an elegant gown steps out into the stage. She’s probably mid-twenties, pretty but not beautiful.

“Do I hear one thousand?” the woman at the microphone says, and the bidding begins.

It’s a fascinating spectacle. Daughters of the wealthy elite are paraded out onto the stage, one after another, and equally wealthy men bid outrageous sums of money to take them out on dates. The first girl, the Vanderhoot girl, is pretty but fairly plain, and even she fetches twenty grand, a respectable sum. I hope she enjoys talking horses and skirts with her suitor, who is clearly in his eighties and making lewd jokes with his peers.

Winning a date doesn’t guarantee anything untoward, of course. It just means you get to take the woman out on a date, probably chaperoned, for one night. That’s all it is, and it’s supposed to be innocent, but there’s a strange and creepy undertone to the whole thing.

I lean back and watch. I don’t plan on bidding on anyone, and in fact I already wrote a fifty thousand dollar check to Mercy General earlier that morning, so I did my charitable duty. The girls themselves aren’t very interesting, and nobody is really making me want to speak up.

I drink my whisky and then another, observing. I’m here at least, and Rick can’t deny that. I never said I’d fucking socialize or network, although I probably should.

Nine girls come and go, nearly half of the herd. There’s going to be a break before dinner, and then the final ten are going to be sold off. I plan on slipping out before the entrees, since I’ve already seen enough.

But something stops me before I can get up.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Sadie Tillman!”

The crowd claps loudly. I recognize that name. I wasn’t listening when the woman introduced Sadie’s interests, but I don’t care about that.

All I care about is the woman who walks out on stage.

She’s probably twenty years old, about five foot five to my six foot four. She has dark hair, midnight black, down to the middle of her back and thick. I can see her deep green eyes even from my spot toward the back. She’s wearing a blue dress, shimmering slightly in the ballroom spotlight, that hugs her ample curves. She looks a little overwhelmed as she smiles and waves hesitantly, and instantly I feel something stirring inside of me, something I didn’t expect.

She’s fucking gorgeous. I know the Tillmans, they’re old fucking money, the kind of people I despise. But Sadie herself doesn’t seem like the other rich girls. She’s not plain, far from it. She has a fascinating, beautiful look to her. That raven black hair is so interesting compared with the usual blondes and brunettes you see. She’s not extremely done-up, and doesn’t need to be. She’s clearly naturally beautiful, if a little shy.

“Do I hear two thousand for Sadie?” the woman says.

Several paddles raise, and there’s laughter across the ballroom. The bidding continues, and I can’t stop staring at Sadie.

She’s alluring. Fucking gorgeous. How is a girl like her standing up on that stage, among these fucking animals? She’s a goddess and we’re the mortals tasked with worshipping her.

I want her. The thought hits me like a sledgehammer. I want her badly, have to have her. My attention is suddenly pulled back to the woman on the stage.

“Do I hear forty?” she asks, and another paddle raises. “Forty-five?”

Silence from the crowd. I frown, looking up at Sadie. She’s worth so much fucking more than forty-five thousand dollars.

I don’t know what comes over me, but I raise my paddle high in the air.

“Ah, the gentleman in the back,” the woman says. “Do I hear fifty?”

My opponent raises his paddle.

“Fifty-five?”

I raise my paddle.

“Sixty?”

He raises his.

“Sixty-five?”

“One hundred thousand,” I call out, raising my paddle.

There’s a stirring and a general murmur. The man I’m bidding against turns to look back at me, and I finally get a sense of him. He’s younger than everyone else here, younger than me. I think I recognize him, but I can’t be sure from the distance, and he quickly turns back.

“Two hundred thousand,” he says to the woman.

She looks taken aback. “Well, now, this is very generous.”

Sadie herself looks incredibly nervous, but she keeps smiling. I know she can’t see me, not with the spotlight in her eyes, but I don’t care.

I have to have her.

“Half a million,” I call out.

There’s an uproar as people cry out about the absurd amount of money. Sadie looks nervous. The drunk man next to me laughs and claps me on the back.

I don’t care about any of that. I only have eyes for Sadie, and I want this more than anything. The money doesn’t matter to me.

“Well, this is unprecedented,” the woman says. “Do I hear five hundred and ten?” There’s silence, and my opponent doesn’t move. “Going once, going twice, sold to the gentleman in the back. You are incredibly generous and the children of Mercy General thank you.”

I give a little nod to the crowd as they cheer and clap. I hate being the center of attention like this, but I can’t help but think it was worth it.

Sadie stands on the stage for a moment, frowning out at the crowd, trying to spot me. But she’s quickly ushered off, and dinner begins.

“Mr. Waller.” The woman from the stage approaches me. I stand and shake her hand. “My name is Belinda Stitcher.”

“You know me,” I say to her.

“Of course. I was the one that invited you.” She beams and I don’t like her smug look, but it doesn’t matter. She leans toward me, directing me away from the table and the crowd. “Listen, that was a lot of money you pledged.”

“I wanted to win,” I say.

“Good, very good. And we appreciate it. But, ah, it’s not a binding thing. See what I’m saying?”

I shake my head. “I follow through on my promises. Where do I write the check?”

She blushes. “Of course, of course. No need for that now. Stay, enjoy yourself.”

“I’m going to head home,” I say. “Contact my office about the girl and the check.”

She frowns. “Surely you want to stay for a free meal at least? You’re so generous.”

“Contact my office,” I say again, glancing back at the room. “And tell the girl that Gavin Waller won her. I’m very much looking forward to meeting her.”

Without another word, I hurry away. Partly because I want to get away from that crowd, and partly because I don’t want to meet Sadie, not yet at least. I want to meet her on my terms, on a date of my choosing. Besides, I feel like I’ve made a fool of myself, bidding so much on her. That’s going to give the rich a lot to gossip about.

I don’t care though. All I can think about as I head home is Sadie Tillman, gorgeous and embarrassed, looking like something I’ve never seen before.