CHAPTER TWO
With trembling hands, Kimani Taylor adjusted her simple black cocktail dress with spaghetti straps as she waited behind the stage where the auction was to be held. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
But she had made it this far, though at various points, she had thought to back out. There were the legal documents she’d had to sign with four different attorneys watching; the invasive questionnaire asking when she had lost her virginity and how many sexual partners she’d had in her life; the physical exam; and finally an interview with a woman asking about her sexual habits and preferences, even whether or not she engaged in any BDSM.
“The more amenable you are, the more likely you will get bid on,” the woman had told her.
Kimani shook her head. She didn’t care about drawing the highest bidder. Her plan was to get bid on, get to know her “buyer” and the other participants of the Scarlet Auction, pull out before any sex actually happened, then write the scoop that would land her a job with the San Francisco Tribune.
“It’s too risky for our paper to take on,” the Tribune’s editor, Sam Green, had told her. He had seemed very intrigued when she had first pitched the story but had since consulted the in-house attorney.
“But as a freelancer, I can take it on,” Kimani had replied. “I’ll get the story and you can decide afterwards if it’s worth printing.”
“We could use an exposé. Our paper hasn’t had anything like this before. If you can hit a homerun with your story, there’ll be a job here for you.”
Kimani had hardly been able to contain her glee at such an opportunity. Newspapers across the country were downsizing, and competition for reporting positions were at an all time high with many seasoned journalists having a hard time landing a job. Given she was only a year out of journalism school, she needed an edge, a scoop worthy of being noticed.
“No pressure, though,” Sam had added. “If there should be an opening here, I will definitely give you a call. You were my favorite student in class.”
“There weren’t that many of us,” she’d said, referring to the course on the intersection of journalism and public policy that Sam had taught as a guest lecturer.
“Still, I could see you were talented. But going undercover can be dangerous. You know that, right? And you’ve never done anything like this before.”
But Kimani didn’t feel as if she had much of a choice. And it wasn’t just about landing a job with a paper.
“I am sooooo excited,” whispered a beautiful and petite blond standing next to her.
Kimani couldn’t help but take in the young woman’s boobs, which were practically spilling out of her pink skin-tight dress, and wonder if they were real since they were so large compared to the petite frame they were attached to.
“I’m sooooo ready to fall in love with a billionaire,” she said, blue eyes sparkling.
Kimani cleared her throat, hardly able to believe her ears. “Does the Scarlet Auction have a matchmaking component?”
“No, but in all the books I read, the girl and billionaire always fall in love.”
Kimani studied the blond and decided she couldn’t be much older than eighteen or nineteen years old. Should she attempt to burst the young woman’s bubble and warn her that the bidders weren’t all going to be Prince Charming?
No, she wasn’t here to offer her own opinions. She was here to understand how the Scarlet Auction worked and to make connections with the subjects, which had not gone as she had wanted. The women had been isolated from one another until now, just as they were about to head on stage for the bidding. She would have to follow up with the other participants afterwards. Hopefully one or more would be willing to go on record with their experiences.
“They’re not all billionaires,” said a brunette behind them.
“Close enough,” replied the blond. “The Scarlet Auction doesn’t just let any rich guy attend. He’s got to have a net worth of at least nine figures, so you’re not going to find ordinary millionaires.”
“What’s wrong with ordinary millionaires?” asked a slim woman with olive skin and long black hair. “A million dollars is probably more than I’ll ever see in a lifetime.”
There were just under two dozen women present, all between the ages of eighteen and thirty, beautiful and primped as if they were participating in a beauty pageant instead of an auction. Kimani herself had straightened her hair—which she usually didn’t like to do because it was more effort than she had time for—and then used a curling iron at the ends. She needed to get selected or there would be no story. So she had traded her glasses for contacts and tried to make herself as appealing to as many men as possible.
“I heard a virgin at last month’s auction got a bid of one hundred thousand dollars!” another woman said.
“That’s why I’ve been saving myself for this moment,” the blond said as she tugged at one of her long golden curls. “Virgins always get the higher bids.”
“Did any of you get to finish reading the contract and nondisclosure agreement?” Kimani asked, recalling that she had been given only fifteen minutes to review over twenty pages of legalese in small type and dozens of footnotes.
“If the auction is being held in California, why is arbitration held in Florida?” Kimani had asked after reading one of the clauses in the contract.
“The parent company is located there,” an attorney had responded coldly.
When the fifteen minutes were over and she had objected that she hadn’t finished reading, she had been told if she didn’t sign, she wouldn’t get to participate. So she had signed, telling herself that, NDA or no NDA, and no matter how many intimidating lawyers they shoved in her face, she had a right to report abuse and assault.
“Why would I want to read a boring legal document?” the blond returned. “The lawyer covered all the important stuff.”
“You’re not worried?”
Kimani wanted to blurt out how her roommate, who had participated in the Scarlet Auction, had ended up covered in bruises.
“Showtime,” announced an older woman. “Remember your stage assignments, ladies.”
Kimani was assigned to stand stage left of the podium and noticed that the blond virgin was stage right. Kimani’s roommate, Marissa, had explained that the virgins always stand stage right.
“Eww, these guys are so much older than I thought they would be,” the brunette whispered to Kimani.
“Most billionaires are,” Kimani whispered back. She made sure the broach with the hidden spy camera was secured to her choker.
“And not very attractive.”
“The guy in the middle row is cute,” said another woman.
Kimani scanned the crowd of mostly older white men and one lone woman in her forties to find the one dubbed “cute.” She gathered her fellow participant was referring to the guy with wavy brown hair flanked by a shorter man with a receding hairline and a tan-skinned Asian. They sat a little too far back for the camera in her broach to capture their faces well, but maybe with some technical wizardry, an image specialist could enlarge the footage enough to be clear.