I’m too upset to eat anything, so I stand under the multiple showerheads until the water beats me numb.

All the while, I long for Connor to make me feel as alive and hopeful as I did last night. If he would just give me a reassuring word, tell me that I’m good enough, beautiful enough, classy enough, it would mean the world to me...

Is there still a chance that his anger will cool off and he’ll come around?

I dip my head under the assault of water and rest my hands on the marble wall. Truthfully, I might actually prefer the temperamental fire in Connor to the side that has already cooled toward me; at least I know how to respond to his heat. All I can hope is that he was only putting on a detached act for his dad, pretending as if he could care less about what people think when he actually does care about the girl-next-door rube in the tabloid pictures.

Is it possible he doesn’t know what to do with the feelings he might have for me?

I turn off the water. Maybe I’m being ridiculous, and I shouldn’t even entertain the idea of fighting for something that might not even exist.

After moping out of the shower, I get myself ready, then put on my short robe and go to the walk-in closet to decide what to wear. As I take a lovely, silk designer cocktail dress from where it’s hanging, I feel Connor enter the closet. The prickles that tear over my skin never lie.

He’s fully suited up in his tailor-made navy jacket and trousers. His gray tie adds even more frost to what’s already in his gaze. He’s just as imposing and removed as he was on the night we met, and I press the dress to me as if it’s a shield of some sort.

Is he only angry about the trouble I caused him or is he also ticked off that I was eavesdropping on him?

Before he can rip into me, I do it for him. “I shouldn’t have listened in on your conversation with your father, Connor. It was rude and unacceptable.”

I sound like such a strong woman right now, but I’m not sure how that’s true when every passing moment in his presence makes me crumble a little more inside.

His voice is as level as a snow-covered surface. “Based on how I’ve been indulging you, I’m sure you felt perfectly at home eavesdropping. I haven’t been able to say no to you even when I know the shit will end up hitting the fan.”

I widen my eyes. I knew he couldn’t say no to me, and it looks like it’s indeed a first for him.

He waits until this one little bit of happiness fades from me. Shivers rain through me just because of the way our gazes meet.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t say no to taking you out in public and exposing you to the unforgiving spotlight I told you to expect,” he says. “Somehow, you persuade me to always say yes, but there’ll be no more of that, Allyson.”

Here it goes, I think. He’s going to kick me out.

But he only stares at me, and I hug the dress on its hanger as if it can actually offer some comfort.

He’s tense, a wall of ice. “You heard my father, so it’s no use talking around this. In spite of all my best laid plans to circumvent the expectations that are put on me, it’s clear that I will never get what I want.”

And what do you want? Again, I stay silent.

“I answer to too many people,” he says. “I have too many responsibilities and commitments that rely on my being ‘perfect’ at all times.”

“Perfect?”

He’s getting irritated, but I’m not sure it’s solely because of me.

“‘Perfect’ includes succeeding in every way,” he says, “always having the ‘best.’ And you already know that means dating and courting ‘the best.’ Maybe you didn’t believe me when I told you about the demands on my life before, but do you believe me now?”

“Yes.”

This truth seems to push us farther apart, even though neither of us has moved an inch. But I sense the resentment in him…and a bit of rebellion, too. Is that why he took me out in public, as a major screw-you to everyone?

My throat constricts around my words, making it hard to say them. I swallow hard and then speak, my voice quivering. “My family has certain expectations for me, too, although it’s nothing like your experiences. I don’t run a massive company, and I don’t have to please anyone who’s invested in me, but…”

“You feel my pain. Is that what you’re telling me?”

His words slice through me, and I cringe.

Connor looks up at the ceiling, as if I’m testing him without even meaning to.

Don’t tell me to leave, I think, emotion dragging me down. Please don’t.

Then he cools even more, jamming his hands into his trouser pockets, putting up his own shield that I know so well.

“For years,” he says, “I’ve given my family and the media what they want. I’ve been that American Prince they’ve asked for—wildly successful, showy while remaining inscrutable. I made great efforts to be the man women want to fuck while remaining the guy other men want to be. Ever since I was old enough to date, I carefully selected the women I go out in public with, and when I leave them after a date or two, it’s always been due to my so-called wandering eye. No one ever knew the truth about why I love them and leave them.”

“Why is the truth such a secret?” I can’t believe I have the guts to ask. But if he’s going to throw me out, I want to know.

A bitter smile pulls at his mouth. Then he says, “You already know this secret that I keep deep down where no one can find it, Allyson. Girls like you are my secret.”

I hold the dress close to me until I realize that it, too, is a part of Connor’s carefully constructed façade. Everything he bought for me, every moment I’ve stayed holed up in his penthouse is a piece of it. I hang the garment back up and allow my hand to linger on the soft, silky fabric. A dream.

“Girls like me,” I repeat.

The brittle smile is still there, another part of his armor. “I have no physical interest in supermodels who make their livings projecting just as much of an image as I’ve had to. Same with actresses and heiresses. We all use one another without admitting it.” A serrated beat passes. “In turn, I use the girls from Highest Bidder to fulfill my real needs—the ones no one knows about.”

“Girls next door,” I say again. “Women who are inexperienced in romance and sex. Virgins.”

“You could say I have a certain kink about that.”

“This is more than a sexual kink.” I’m not mean about it, just truthful. “You bid on women who would be seen as below you in terms of social status, girls who have some…”

“Innocence. Women whose attitudes are refreshing and not jaded. Girls who help me relax and get away from the bullshit of the spotlight.”

Is that all I am to him—a temporary escape—or is it somehow possible I could be even more?

“Highest Bidder keeps your secret safe,” I say.

He barely nods, and the chill in the closet doesn’t warm up in the least. “You saw what happened when I took you out. The public, the media, and my family don’t want me with what they call ‘average girls,’ and if I were to ever step out of the bounds they set for me again, they wouldn’t hesitate to tear me and any woman who doesn’t meet their standards to shreds.”

Highest Bidder, I silently add, allows him to satisfy his cravings without the trouble. Without having to own the reality of who and what he truly wants.

He hasn’t taken his hands out of his pockets, hasn’t relented at all. “The site is what I consider a temporary fix for my sexual appetites, giving me access to the women I’m actually attracted to.”

“That’s why you don’t believe in true love—because that’s not what Highest Bidder sells.”

He takes that in without a word. Then he runs his gaze over all the clothing he’s bought for me, as if each piece of designer wear is a brick in a wall.

“In any case,” he says, “how many people really find someone they care about while being sexually attracted to them? Throw in the fact that my family and the public would have to respect and accept any woman I committed to, and you have one big not-happening of a situation. As far as love is concerned, odds are low that anyone in the circles I run in will find it. I’ve damned well never counted on it, so I always settled for the sex.”

He’s still so on guard that I think there’s got to be more. And there is.

He locks his gaze on me again. “Even if I found someone I truly loved, I wouldn’t want a life in the spotlight for them. I couldn’t make them endure an existence in which they’re constantly judged and put under the microscope and found wanting.”

Was I right when I guessed that he didn’t want this for me, that his resistance wasn’t solely about his own image?

Is he telling me something about how he feels without really telling me?

Is it love he truly wants but his situation won’t allow him to have it?

He has me running in mental circles, and when I slow down, I realize that it’s agonizingly clear that he hates this public pressure. Then again, based on this wall he’s put up around himself, he’s become resigned to this life, and I’m sure after I’m gone, he’ll bid on another girl like me. Then another.

Despair spirals down inside me. There’s no way he can feel anything for me, or that it would ever matter if he even did. He’s trapped, more trapped than anyone I’ve ever met. Which is odd, considering he seems to have all the freedom in the world.

“All of the freedom and control you project is just an illusion,” I say. “You’re stuck just like everyone else.”

“We’re all stuck. It’s the human condition. We’re all victims of having too much money or not enough, families who care too much or not at all. Are you different?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.

I think of all the texts and calls I’ve been ignoring from my family and friends this morning, all the pressure I’ve been under. “It doesn’t have to always be this way, Connor.”

If he was tense before, he’s absolutely rigid now.

I don’t let up. “Maybe I’m the only person out there who can understand your position. Our families think they want what’s best for us, but they don’t know any better. They love us, and from where they’re standing, they don’t want us to ruin a good thing, whether it’s a boyfriend I was always meant to marry or a life full of riches and success for you.” I laugh softly. “At least, that’s what they keep telling me as far as Robbie is concerned.”

A muscle jerks in Connor’s jaw before he says, “That little shit isn’t good for you.”

Another warped sense of hope lights me up. Is that jealousy I sense?

But Connor recovers his cool. “You’re very good at calling me out on everything, Allyson. I’ve never gotten a Highest Bidder girl who does that. I haven’t hired anyone who insists that I crawl out of my secretive shell.”

Hope rises even higher, but then I see that Connor hasn’t moved a muscle, and I doubt everything all over again.

“The trouble is,” he says, “that I have my secrets for good reason. Now, after being flamed in the media, you know that, too.”

And, just like that, all the terrible comments I read online, all the nitpicky observations about how average I am, come back to haunt me.

A viper’s nest, Connor called it, and he’s right—I feel stung by hundreds of deadly bites.

“So what happens next?” I ask him. “Are you sending me back to Hicktown?”

He doesn’t think that’s funny. In fact, it’s as if he’s fighting something within himself, and the breath catches in my lungs.

“I’m not sending you anywhere,” he finally says. “Not unless you want to go.”

But even if he wants me to stay, Connor isn’t offering me true love, only a few more days as his dirty little secret, and with a heavy heart, I realize that this is all I’m ever going to get.