“Were you planning to bid on someone, Grandma?” Maybe that’s why she had that mischievous look on her face earlier. Her bidding on someone sounds fun. I never thought about her dating before. Her face turns soft at me calling her Grandma. I’m getting better at it.
“You never know.” She gives me a wink.
“I can’t bid on him.” Shyness hits me thinking about having to bid. I know it’s silly. It isn’t rocket science. All I have to do is hold the paddle up when it’s my turn to bid. My only problem with it is that everyone will be looking at me, and I hate drawing attention to myself. News of me even existing has shined a bright enough light on me.
“You saw him, right?” My cheeks heat. Yeah, I saw him. The man wasn't only freaking handsome, he towered over me, making it impossible not to see him. There was something about him that pulled me toward him from the moment I saw him. “With how red your face is turning I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Grandma!” She only laughs at my shyness.
“You're so different from a lot of the ladies around here.” My stomach drops instantly. I’d been thinking the same thing when we first got here. “It’s refreshing. I would have loved to have met your mother. You turned out so sweet. I could have learned a few tricks from her on parenting.” I don’t know if I want to cry at how sweet that is of her to say or laugh because she’s making a jab at her son.
Before I can try to do either, the announcer comes over the speaker, letting everyone know it’s time to start the audition.
“Let’s get back to our seats. You’ve got a man to buy,” she says, snagging a glass of champagne off the tray from the server that walks by before handing it to me. “Drink. It will calm your nerves. If you realized that you have the attention of every man as soon as you enter a room, you wouldn’t be nervous about bidding. People have been stealing glances at you all night.”
“No.” My eyes drift across the room as Grandma moves us toward our table. We haven't sat at it all night. She’s been too busy introducing me to everyone. I think she has mom glasses on when she looks at me because she thinks I’m the prettiest thing that ever lived. I appreciate her kindness, but I think she’s mistaking the reason why everyone has been looking at me all night.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here tonight. I know you are all anxiously awaiting our annual charity auction. So without further ado, let’s get started.”
We sit down in our seats as the first man comes out onto the stage. He’s cute, but not as hot as my man. No, he’s not my man, I correct myself so my brain doesn't get the wrong idea. He’s the man I’m bidding on because I’m a nice person and some of these women are freaking aggressive.
“What do I have here?” the man next to me says, giving me a smirk. “I’m Sean Campbell.” He holds his hand out for me to take. I do. He holds it for a brief moment. “You don’t have to buy a man, beautiful. I’m more than willing to take you out to dinner anytime.” He leans down, kissing the top of my hand.
“Paislee.” My grandma nudges me. “Don’t even think about it, Campbell. That’s my granddaughter.” My sweet grandma gives the man a look that could kill. He quickly drops my hand. “You're up, sweetheart.”
I jerk my head back toward the stage to see Gant standing off to the side, his eyes glued on Sean before they move to me. Our attention remains focused on each other, and everything else fades away. That is, until the woman across the table screams out her bid.
Another woman screams out a higher bid quickly. These women aren't messing around. I think I might be in way over my head.
Chapter Five
Gant
Marguerite Abbott. That’s who the girl’s eyes reminded me of, and now I know why. They must be related. Marguerite's a nice woman. Her son’s a grade A asshole who has tried to stick his diseased dick in every warm hole from one ocean to the other. He made a pass at Mom at Dad’s funeral, saying that if her bed got cold he’d be willing to warm it up.
At ten, I wasn’t fully grown, but I had the temper of an adult. I punched the fucker in the gut and then stabbed him in the crotch with a fork. It’s safe to say the man hates me, but probably not as much as I hate him. The woman must be his niece, because Abbott only has two sons, and they’re both dipshits.
I wouldn’t let either of the Abbott brothers even breathe near my sister. His daughter wouldn’t be much better. The adage about the apple not falling far from the tree exists for a reason. A niece, though...I rub a hand under my chin...maybe I shouldn’t have given her my card and asked her to bid on me.
“Don’t be nervous. Everyone’s first time hurts,” Petersburg hiccups in my ear, misreading my unease.
“Thanks, man.” He seems a lot less agitated than previously. “You stopped drinking,” I notice.
“Sister called in and is using a proxy.” He points beyond me toward a blob in the crowd that I can’t make out.
“Have her bid for me, too.”
“Thought you were going to get saved by a Disney princess.”
I move him so he’s facing the chairs where Cinderella and the grande dame Abbott is seated. “You see Marguerite Abbott?”
He squints. “Sort of.”
“The woman next to her. She look like Dale or Ralph Abbott to you?” I name both the brothers off.
“Don’t think so but who can tell from here? I didn’t think they had a sister.”
“I didn’t either.” I back away from the curtain and drag Petersburg with me. The stage manager is glaring in our direction.
“Neither of our moms have tried to marry us into the Abbott family, so it must be dicks only in the house.”
“That sounds right.” I don’t bother to correct his assumption, but my mom would cut off her arm before marrying me into the Abbott family. She holds a mean grudge, not that I would be interested in the first place. “I think it must be a cousin.”
“She’s pretty.”
“You blind?” Now the manager is motioning for me to come forward. It’s time to go put my body up for sale. My feet refuse to move.
He scowls. “No. I’m a pilot, for fuck’s sake.”
“She’s gorgeous. Pretty is a word you use for flowers and dogs.”
“Dogs are pretty?”
“Petersburg,” I say in an exasperated tone.
“What?” He throws up his hands. “I can’t see anything from here. It’s too damned dark.”
“Remind me never to fly at night if your hands are on the wheel.”
“It’s a yoke and not really a wheel, and it only moves the nose of the plane, plus we have the throttle.” He motions pushing a shift bar forward.
I throw my hand up. “I got it, Petersburg. Don’t need a diagram.”
“Sounds like you do,” he grunts. “I’ll take a better look after the auction.”
“The hell you will.” I don’t need a bunch of thirsty bachelors panting over my Cinderella. “Find your own damned Disney princess.” I stomp off toward the stage curtains.