Alexa grasped the stress ball a tad tighter, feeling the foam rub against her skin. Yes, the cowboy had more money than he knew what to do with. But he also had the contacts. Maybe he was some bored billionaire who wanted a new hobby. “I know who he is now. He’s the man who will help me retire.”
If she added a male virgin auction to her portfolio, she’d end her career with a bang. She’d say goodbye to House of Alexa, move to Spain, and never look back. Live, for the first time in her life, without worrying about past secrets and the nothingness of her personal life. She’d become someone else—again, for the last time. A new name. A new beginning.
“You’ve talked about retiring, but are you really sure you can be done with all this?” Jackie asked, making a circular gesture with her index finger. “To say goodbye to the thrills of life as Madam Alexa? Girl, you’re not even thirty.”
“I’ll be okay. I’ll find other…thrills.” She sat the ball on the desk and lifted her hand to her neck. She touched the patch of blemished skin, the discreet scar she’d kept as a reminder of the life she’d left behind. A shiver raced down her spine. That fifteen-year-old girl had suffered, but her stepfather could no longer harm her.
“Whatever. I can’t picture you just chillaxing at a nice beach somewhere.”
“Maybe I’ll go to the mountains,” Alexa lied. The thrill of starting over had a rippling effect through her, reenergizing her resolve. She’d reinvented herself a few times in the past twelve years. But now, damn it, she’d earned the right to leave it all behind—permanently.
She’d vacationed in Spain enough times to fall in love with the country and begin learning the language. She could visit some of the charities benefiting abused women and children she’d secretly made sizeable donations to—and, under a new name, even work for them.
Jackie gave her a knowing smile, then sipped some tea. “Maybe.”
Alexa sucked in a breath, picked up her cup, and drank a generous amount, wishing the hot liquid would melt away the niggling doubts.
A second later, she exhaled, dropping her shoulders, and set the cup down. Before she’d become Madam Alexa life had been different. Each time, she said goodbye to her life, to her surroundings, and her friends. Would she be able to say goodbye to Jackie forever? In the past eight years—since she’d started her auction—Jackie had been her wing woman and friend. Her reliable assistant.
She’d stayed in Nevada longer than she had anywhere else—since she’d left Florida.
The intercom from the entrance sounded, and Jackie dashed to the window, peeking through the blinds. “He’s here.”
“Okay. Go fetch him. Bring him to my office.”
“All right.”
She ran her fingers through her hair, tossing it to the side. Of course this would be a meeting with a man she didn’t trust. A man she had no sexual interest in. Her pulse skittered, the sign her own body didn’t fall for the lie she’d been telling herself since the previous day.
She smoothed her hand down the red dress. Maybe I should have picked the blue pantsuit. She tapped on the desk, impatient. These stupid little conundrums would get her nowhere. The dress complemented her curves without restraining her airways and the cut above the knee offered some modesty.
“Madam? He’s here,” Jackie announced, popping her head into the room.
Brooks Taylor entered the room, a small smile forming on his lips. Her stomach fluttered, her heart throbbing in all her pulse points. She’d never perceived her office as compact, but his presence dwarfed the space. Well more than six feet and with broad shoulders that stretched every bit of his short-sleeved shirt, Brooks epitomized a modern day Adonis. When he smiled, his eyes creased a little, and wrinkles formed on his tanned face—a bit weathered, giving him that added charm factor. How old was he? Early or mid-thirties?
“Howdy,” he said, in his unmistakable Texan accent.
His baritone was deep, sexy, and had the power to squeeze her insides. “Have a seat.” She gestured to him, internally demanding her girl parts behave.
He walked up to the chair across from her, sat on it with the same ease as their first meeting, like he owned the place. “What’s your answer, Alexa?”
She squared her shoulders. “I want sixty percent. I have a lot of leverage and know the ropes. For all I know, you may be some rich man with daddy issues who’s bored and wants to drag your family’s name through the mud.” The online research had pointed at his upbringing in an old money, traditional Texan family.
“Seems like you know me already.”
“Therefore, sixty percent or no deal.”
He stood and then paced her office, restless, his body betraying the casual confidence his face displayed. “All right. Sixty percent it is.”
She crossed one leg over the other, shifting in her seat. Should she stand, like him? She didn’t want to give him the upper hand, but standing close to him meant pushing in the scent of spicy, manly notes of wood and bamboo. Meant dealing with his proximity and denying all the signs her body threw at her with the subtlety of a cannon. “We need to discuss logistics. Where do you think we’ll find a virgin male over the age of eighteen?”
“I own farms all over Texas, sweetheart,” he drawled. “Talk to foremen all the time. I can find a couple of church-going, strapping young men who haven’t done the deed yet.”
“I’m not a sweetheart,” she said, annoyed at how her blood went on a low simmer. “Nevertheless, I have to agree to the choice. If anything, my opinion weighs more than yours. I’m a woman and know what women want.”
“And I’m a man. And know a thing or two about pleasing women,” he said, and even though his voice sounded casual, his stare pinned her to the spot. She sucked in a breath and reached for her stress ball, squeezing it until her knuckles whitened.
“I’ll take that into consideration. I have a packed schedule with the selection process of my weekly auctions…but I can trust my assistant to step up while we look for the right guy for the job,” she said, flicking on her screen.
He scratched his chin. “Good. I was thinking…a month.”
“A month?” She laughed. “That’s hardly enough time to create buzz, and how on earth are we supposed to find the right man and the potential female buyers—”
He winked at her. “Don’t worry about the women.”
She tapped her fingers on her keyboard. If Brooks thought he’d just breeze through logistics, he had another think coming. “Well, it’s my job to worry. I’ll have you know, Mr. Taylor, I take what I do very seriously. So if you think you can snap your fingers and I’ll agree with whatever, you’re wrong.”