The Date Auction (3 page)

“You've probably seen thirty-one-year-old Jamie Thierry on billboards in Times Square,” said the emcee. “He's been making a name for himself in the modeling world for several years now, having recently modeled for Calvin Klein and Dior. We'll start the bidding at one hundred...”

Countless hands shot up.

“One hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred, five hundred.”

The crowd's fervor made Jamie grin.

“Twelve hundred... thirteen hundred... fourteen hundred...”

When the bidders started to slow down, Jamie pulled a trick from his sleeve. When he started plucking at the buttons of his shirt, the women went wild. A few of them even screamed and whistled. When his shirt was halfway unbuttoned, the bids flew in.

“Twenty-one hundred... twenty-two hundred...”

Jamie unfastened the last button, hesitated, then ripped his shirt from his shoulders. His body was a temple of lean muscle, and when his sinewy six-pack was on display, the interest in him soared.

“Thirty two hundred.... Thirty-three hundred...”

Jamie turned around, giving the women a glimpse of his round butt in his tight jeans. When he turned to face the crowd again, he was smirking. He tried to imagine what his brother's expression might look like: probably an amalgamation of envy and disgust.

“The current bid is at thirty-four hundred,” the emcee squawked. “Can I get thirty-five hundred?”

When a woman in the middle of the room raised her hand, Jamie got a good look at her. She might have been in her fifties or sixties—from that distance, it was impossible to tell. Either way, she looked old enough to be his mother.
Not her,
whispered a voice in Jamie's head.
That would be too weird.

“Anyone want to place a bid for thirty-six hundred?” the emcee asked. “For most of you, let's face it... it's your once-in-a-lifetime chance to get a date with a Calvin Klein model. Can I get thirty-six?”

Jamie pursed his lips and suppressed a chuckle. The auctioneer's commentary was unbelievable.

“Very well. Thirty-five hundred going once...”

Jamie kept staring at the old woman who placed the last bid. Okay, maybe she wasn't
old
, but he certainly felt like she was too old for
him
. He hadn't anticipated a vast generation gap between him and his date.

“Thirty-five-hundred going twice...”

The other women had abandoned him.

“Sold! For thirty-five hundred!”

Jamie gave the woman a polite wave before wandering away from the stage. It wasn't the first time he had dated an older woman—Brittney Lord, who he dated last year, was all of four years older than him.
That
hardly seemed like an age difference worth quibbling about. But the woman who paid thirty-five hundred dollars for a date with him had to be twenty years older than him.
At least.

“Nice job, Jamie. You bagged a cougar,” William teased him.

“Shut it.”

“What? Why? She looked like an attractive older woman!” William defended his brother's date. “Who knows? You might have fun.”

“And I might ring your neck.”

“Actually, I think it might be more appropriate to say
she
bagged
you
.”

Harry didn't hear a word of his friends' banter because his thoughts were occupied elsewhere. It was his turn next. Whatever happened, he hoped he could suppress his overwhelming feeling of nausea until it was all over.

“Next, we have twenty-nine-year-old Harry Shaw...”

Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets, drew the deepest breath he could, and forced himself to walk out on the stage.
This is painful,
his mind whimpered.
Completely, utterly and thoroughly painful.

“I'm sure you've heard of him, because this young English actor has been popping up everywhere. Harry has recently starred in the movies True Endings and The Iron Hunter, and he will soon be starring in a remake of Gone With the Wind.”

When the announcer mentioned Gone with the Wind, Harry grimaced. That fact wasn't common knowledge yet. He wasn't comfortable signing on to a remake of such a well-known classic, and he wasn't sure how to hold a candle to Clark Gable. Nevertheless, the crowd seemed interested by the news. The women—and a few men—were murmuring amongst themselves.

“Harry's rise to the A-list happened practically overnight. He is currently number sixteen on IMDb.com's starmeter.”

Harry burst out laughing at that bit of trivia. It was an amusing fact, one he didn't even know himself.

“I'll start the bidding at one hundred,” the auctioneer said. “Do I have--”

Hands were flying into the air before he completed his sentence.

100, 200... 500, 600...

Harry wished he could disappear behind the curtain and wait until it was over. He loved the stage, it was in his blood, but he didn't love
this
. As the women clamored for him, he felt exposed, helpless. He wished he was playing a character, someone other than himself.

1,100, 1,200...

He couldn't even bring himself to look out into the audience. His fists were clenched in his pockets, and his gaze was fixed on a knot in the wooden stage.

4,000, 4,500
... the bids were increasing in increments of five hundred now.
Bloody hell, what are these women thinking? I'm not worth it!
Harry shook his head with disbelief as the auction continued.

8,500... 9000...

There were only a few people bidding now, and Harry couldn't bring himself to look at any of them. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why they would want
him
. He wasn't anything special.

Was he?

Finally, they arrived at the last bid: someone paid a whopping $10,000 for a date with Harry Shaw. In his head, he tried to guess how many British pounds that would be. 6000? 7000? Surely his time wasn't
that
valuable! He would have to make it worth the poor girl's while.

He finally stole a glimpse of the young woman who won the date with him. She looked positively normal, absolutely average in every sense of the word. She wasn't pretty, but she wasn't homely. She was a bit overweight, but she wasn't what he would classify as
fat
. If he was being honest with himself, she didn't look like the sort of woman he would date, but he appreciated her interest in
him. She was barking mad, of course, but he appreciated it.

When he reunited with William and Jamie, the three of them were silent for some time. They were all thinking the same thing: William was the lucky one. They all knew William ended up with the prettiest girl, but they were too noble to point out the obvious. For the time being, silence seemed appropriate.

“So...” Harry, whose hands were still clenched in his pockets, shuffled a foot across the ground. “So... I'm glad that's over.”

“
Over
?!” William laughed. “I don't know if I'd say that. It's really just begun.”

William was grinning as he spoke.

Apparently, he was the only one who was excited about the days—
and dates
—to come.

Chapter Three

When he saw his date descending the stairs, Jamie immediately regretted his casual attire. The woman heading in his direction was the definition of elegance. She wore a knee-length white dress, black belt, black pumps, a pearl necklace, and she was carrying a jeweled silver clutch. Jamie, on the other hand, was wearing a simple black t-shirt and a pair of jeans. They were an obvious mismatch, in more ways than one.

As the distance between them narrowed, Jamie was starting to wonder: how was he supposed to greet the woman who paid for a date with him. What would be appropriate? A handshake? A kiss on the cheek? In the end, he settled on a hug. He pulled the lady against his chest for a quick, platonic hug.

“Hi. I'm Jamie. Jamie Thierry.”

“I already know who
you
are,” the woman said, punctuating her sentence with a seductive chuckle. He thought he detected a hint of a Southern accent in her speech. “I'm Eva Stanford.”

“Well, it's nice to meet you, Eva Stanford.” He studied her face for several seconds, letting himself form an opinion of her. For a woman of about fifty, she was still quite attractive. She had wavy golden brown hair, which barely grazed her shoulders. Her eyes were green—or were they gray? Perhaps they were a mixture of both colors; either way, they were very fetching. There were lines on her face, particularly around her nose and forehead, which were telltale signs of her age. Her neck was no longer taut and youthful, but her smile more than made up for it. As she watched Jamie's face, her thin lips were pulled in a constant grin.

“So... where are you taking me, Jamie?”

“There's a nice Italian restaurant not too far from here,” Jamie said. “Do you like Italian?”

“Of course. Who doesn't like Italian?”

“Oh, you'd be surprised.” Jamie was immediately reminded of all the models he had dated, women who were too concerned with carbs to enjoy a plate of pasta. Flashing a polite smile at Eva, he opened the door to his taxi. “It's nothing too fancy. I hope you're not disappointed.”

“I don't care about fancy,” Eva said, demonstrating more of her charming Southern accent. “I'm a casual kind of girl.”

Jamie was shaking his head with disbelief. Her chic outfit was as far from casual as it could possibly be. He slid into the taxi beside her, closed the door, and breathed an inward sigh of relief.
This isn't as awkward as I thought it would be,
his mind whispered words of relief.

“So, Eva, where are you from? I noticed you have an accent.”

“So you noticed I'm a hillbilly?”

Her reply had him chuckling. “No, not a hillbilly. It's cute.”

“
Cute
?” Eva gave him a playful slap on the arm. “Look at you, trying to flatter me already! You're not trying to get into my pants, I hope?”

“I wouldn't dream of it. I'm too much of a gentleman.” He flashed a cheeky grin. “Besides, you don't have pants. You're wearing a dress. At the moment, it would be physically impossible to get in your pants... unless, of course, you were from the UK.”

“Why's that?”

“I think
pants
means
knickers
there, but I'm not sure. I'll have to ask my friend Harry about that. So...” they had wandered so far off topic, he had to repeat his question. “Where you are from?”

“I was born in Arkansas, but I grew up in Georgia,” Eva said. “Either way, I think that accounts for why I'm a hick.”

“You're not a hick,” Jamie defended her. “You look like a very classy lady.”

“Do I?”

“Absolutely.”

Eva clicked her tongue in admonition. “
Tsk tsk tsk.
I knew it! You're a bad boy, Jamie Thierry. All these compliments right from the start... now I
know
you're trying to get in my pants.” When she saw his raised eyebrow, she added, “My
dress
. You're trying to get under my dress, aren't you?”

“A classy lady, and a
sassy
lady,” he accused her. “What am I going to do with you, Eva Stanford?” Their instant rapport had him smiling wider and wider as time elapsed. In truth, he was a bit worried their age gap was going to stilt the conversation. Fortunately, she seemed like a pleasant woman with whom to chat.

“So, what else do you want to know about me?” Eva asked. “We should treat this like a real date, don't you think? Ask each other questions? Get to know each other better?”

“What do you mean,
treat it like a real date
?” Jamie repeated her words with a pout. “It
is
a real date!”

“Never mind the fact that you're here against your will?”

“I'm not here against my will,” Jamie corrected her. “I'm happy to be here. You seem like a nice lady.”

“Nice lady...” Eva sighed as she parroted his words.
Nice lady
sounded like something a five-year-old would say to a neighbor who gave him a bag of sweets. “Well, you seem like a nice boy.” she gave him a neighbor lady reply, and she even patted him on the head. Eva hoped he would pick up on her sarcasm.

Sarcastic or not, her hand tingled when she touched his hair. Rich, brown and slightly curly, it seemed like an immaculate thing to touch.

“So, what do you do for a living, Eva?”

“I'm a teacher.”

“Oh really? What do you teach?”

“High school English.”

“Awesome.” She knew he was trying to be polite, but his reply sounded a bit apathetic. “When I was in school, English was one of my favorite subjects.”

“Really? Hmm.” Eva tried not to sound too surprised, but she had expected him to be a dense male model. “What did you enjoy about it?”

“Writing. Reading. Believe it or not, I was kind of a nerd back then,” Jamie admitted. “I'm
still
a nerd. I read. A lot.”

“Oh, really? Wow.” She wouldn't have guessed as much. In her experience, bookish men rarely had chiseled features and sculpted bodies.

“It's true. You can find me in Central Park almost every weekend, book in hand,” Jamie said. “I'm a big nerd.”

“What's your favorite book?” She was testing him. A gorgeous guy like Jamie Thierry couldn't possibly be a bookworm, could he? Surely he was exaggerating! Otherwise, he would be too good to be true.

“
Catch-22
,” he said. “I like a lot of dark comedy, especially Chuck Palahnuik.
Fight Club
is a popular movie, but the book is totally underrated.”

“I've never read it. I'll have to check it out.” Unbeknownst to Jamie, her gaze had fallen to his lips. What would it be like to kiss such a beautiful, beautiful man, she wondered. If it was possible, she would have spent another thousand dollars for a kiss.