The Marriage Auction: Book One(9)
I had on a plain white ribbed tank, the same I’d slept in, and no bra. I immediately shoved my arms into the one decent black blazer I owned, slipped it over the tank, and closed the button at the front to hide my braless breasts.
In my hands I held my favorite pair of black patent-leather stripper heels. I tossed the shoes to the floor and tugged my hair out of the messy bun. I slipped on the shoes, thankfully without falling on my ass with how fast I was moving, bent over and shook my hair out, then stood up. My hair fell into a sheet of golden messy bed-head waves that would have to do. I didn’t have makeup on, but from what I understood, today we were getting assessed by the beauty team before tonight’s auction. That meant I didn’t have to do my makeup—so point for me. I quickly balled up my pajama shorts and tucked them into my ratty purse before slinging it over my shoulder.
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to the unmarked offices of The Marriage Auction. All they’d given us originally was an address. Now I knew what was behind the sleek glass entry doors and wasn’t surprised to find Madam Alana waiting for me in the reception area wearing another fierce suit. This one a chic cream color. Her legs were shiny and golden, as though she’d just been sunbathing, though I knew better. That shine came in a bottle. We had the same stuff back at the strip joint. Except she didn’t look like she was about to go ride a pole, but maybe a rich CEO.
“Ms. Dawson, do you always arrive to your engagements after the scheduled time?”
I frowned. “Are you askin’ if I’m always late? If so, then no. I swear, ma’am. But I didn’t hear the wake-up call from the front desk and the alarm clock contraption that was on the bedside was too difficult to figure out.” I inhaled and continued on a rush. “Every time I messed with it, music came on. Then there were these drunk guys that shared the wall with my room, and they were up all hours of the night partying, so I put in ear plugs to get a good night’s rest, and then…”
She held up her hand to stop me from continuing. “You woke late. I understand. No need to go into further detail. Follow me. Your stylist awaits.” She snapped her fingers and took off at a brisk walk down the long hallway. I quick-stepped after her because the woman was damn fast on those high heels, and I knew how to walk in stilettos. Technically, I knew how to rock a pole in sky-high platform stilettos too, but I’d neglected to put the stripper part of my job on my application. I didn’t think a rich man wanted an exotic dancer on his arm, so I kept that info to myself. I just hoped it didn’t get me into a heap of trouble when it came out. Not that I’d be telling anyone.
I figured it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission in regard to that bit of my history. Maybe I’d tell my future husband once I was chosen, if we became friends. I imagined we’d become friends if we were getting married and planning to have sex, but I didn’t know any rich people. Even the heavy tippers back at the strip joint didn’t have millions. They might have owned the local mechanic’s garage or a Subway sandwich shop in the second town over, but they didn’t have suit-wearing, city-type money.
Madam Alana opened a door at the end of the hall and brought us into a huge, open room. Within the space I could hear hair dryers going. My fellow candidates were sitting in their own individual chairs, and each one was talking to a different person dressed all in black. I followed Madam Alana to the one empty chair.
“Beatrice, this is Ruby. She needs the works. And I mean everything. Please make sure you take all her measurements.” Madam Alana looked at me with an assessing eye. “Ms. Dawson, is your entire wardrobe like this?” She pointed up and down at my ratty jeans and discount blazer.
“Um, I don’t put a lot of effort into my clothing as I wear a uniform at work and normally jeans and a tank during my time off.”
Madam Alana tapped her glossy red lips, but none of the color transferred to her finger, which I found super impressive .
“Ensure she has at least two weeks’ worth of clothing, Beatrice. We’ll add it to her bidder’s tab.”
I’m certain my eyes bugged out as I swallowed slowly. “But, um, what happens if I don’t get chosen?” I whispered so only the two of them could hear.
Beatrice snorted and started laughing as Madam Alana smiled coyly. She dipped her head conspiratorially, and I wondered if she did that to appease me.
“Ms. Dawson, I’ve seen you in your underwear. Your body is flawless. There isn’t a heterosexual man alive who wouldn’t want you.” She held my chin between two of her fingers. “You aren’t wearing a stitch of makeup and your face rivals that of the model Elsa Hosk. I have no doubt you will be chosen this evening. Have a little faith in your beauty, my dear.” She patted my cheek in a loving manner that felt motherly.
My cheeks heated at her compliments. “Thank you.”
“Just be on time in the future. Your chosen mate will not appreciate untimeliness, and it is a direct reflection on our company’s offerings. Understood?” Her tone had a bit of a warning within it. This woman meant business.
I nodded. “Definitely. You can count on me.”
She pressed her lips together and seemed to look deeply into my eyes as though trying to find my soul. “I do believe I can,” she agreed smoothly.
Man, I wanted to be like her. All sleek, sophisticated, and uber elegant.