Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (6)
His tense shoulders drop. “Good, so you know her winning wouldn’t be good. I’ll pay for it, but since I’m a part of the organization, I can’t bid. Will you do it?” he asks again.
I fidget with the paddle, just as Lana shouts, “Two thousand!”
Did she say two? As in thousands of dollars? The amount Aiden typed is more understandable now. However, I’m not confident that my mouth could perform the motor function necessary to say that number out loud.
At another table, two older women whisper, paddles in hand like they’re preparing for war. “Twenty-two hundred,” someone else interjects.
A trickle of relief cools my panic as I turn to Aiden. “Someone else might outbid her. He seems pretty popular,” I say, desperate for an out.
Aiden nods. “Hopefully, but if not, I will need you to bid.”
“Twenty-five,” a woman shouts, only for two equally eager women to raise the amount. My jaw drops with each increase, and my palms get sweaty when I realize I’ll have to raise my paddle pretty soon.
The auctioneer repeats the number, eyes scanning the room for more.
“Twenty-eight.” Lana’s smooth voice carries an authority that has the overeager women backing off. Uh?oh.
“Wow! Twenty-eight hundred dollars, ladies and gentlemen. Can we top that?”
Elias stands there with an air of confidence, dark hair perfectly styled, and his muscular form cloaked in an expensive suit. It’s no mystery why these women are throwing around two grand for one dinner with him.
Yet, I can’t ignore the subtle tightness in his body as tension radiates off him in waves. He manages to stare ahead, doing his best not to engage with a very smug Lana.
“Going once ...”
Aiden nudges my paddle, and I swallow, scrambling for an excuse. “I don’t even know him,” I whisper.
“Going twice ...”
“Please?” Aiden shoots me a killer straight-teeth smile that has me chewing my lip in contemplation. Damn, he’s good.
I sigh, knowing Sean would berate me for refusing to help his idol. My arm shoots up. “Five thousand!”
Elias Westbrook whips his head around to look at me. I force a wobbly smile as more people stare, but I can’t seem to look away from the deep brown eyes that survey me with curiosity and a hint of recognition.
The auctioneer goes around the room three times before he smacks the gavel. “And sold to the beautiful woman in black!”
I won. Holy shit, I won.
THREE
ELIAS
SHE IS NOT someone’s grandmother.
Aiden knocks into me as I make my way offstage. “I did good, huh?”
Good?
Her brown hair is pulled up into a bun, a loose curl framing her heart-shaped face and hazel eyes. She’s darting glances around the room like she feels out of place—that makes two of us—as she pulls her full bottom lip between her teeth. My gaze drifts to the silky fabric of her black dress, held up by two thin straps and her perfect posture.
That’s not something I’ve ever noticed before about a girl, but her upright position accentuates the length of her neck and makes her appear somehow graceful even as she sits.
Then her bright eyes catch mine, and I look away. I shouldn’t be looking in the first place.
It’s been four years, maybe five, since someone has caught my eye, and this perfectly prim-and-proper girl should not be the one to snatch my attention so easily. No one has challenged the rules I have for myself, not even in college, where I practically lived in a party house. But my mouth still feels dry.
“You couldn’t find anyone else?”
Aiden scoffs. “If you want to complain, I can call your not-so-secret admirer over.”
I shake my head, unwilling to look over to where Lana is probably stewing.
“You should thank her. She did you a favor,” he reminds me.
With reluctance, I move to her table, my heart thumping. It’s then that Marcus Smith-Beaumont slides into the chair beside her and hands her a slice of cake, and I freeze in place.
There is no way I managed to get a date with the one person who seems to know the man who despises my very being. I’ve been dodging him the entire event, and after the lecture Coach threw at me an hour ago, I know if Marcus Smith-Beaumont sees me, I’ll be in for another one. With him, it won’t be a gentle warning.
Pivoting, I head straight for the terrace, but I’m stopped by our goalie, Socket, who’s just now coming off the stage after being auctioned after me. There’s an elderly woman in the crowd who eyes him eagerly, and I assume that’s his date when he waves and winks at her.
“Where are you off to, Westbrook?”
I clear my throat. “Getting a drink.”
He raises a brow, but thankfully he doesn’t question me, and I slip outside for some air. The server comes with a tray of drinks, and I opt for water. I need something to cool down whatever is happening to my insides.
I’m sipping on the ice water, forearms pressed against the balcony, when there’s a tap on my shoulder. I turn to the same head of brown hair, the same heart-shaped face, the same hazel eyes that caught my attention earlier.
She smiles. “Hi, I’m Sage Beaumont.”
Beaumont? Crap, is Marcus her father? I’m going to kill Aiden.