Money Shot (31 page)

If it had been a silent auction, he could have plunked down some ridiculous sum and left. Arranged to have the autographed guitar or front row tickets delivered. But he couldn’t escape this time. Even if the women were hideous, Winston wouldn’t be leaving without one. The man couldn’t stand to lose.

James glanced up as another round of applause ended.
Thank God. Let’s get this over with
.

The owner stepped aside and waved at the curtains. “Thank you for coming and happy bidding! May the highest offers win!”

As she stepped off the stage, the curtains behind her parted, revealing a line of women in dresses and men in tuxes. James glanced at each—the coiffed bleached blondes, the clean-shaven men—passing them over without pause. They were all the same socialites he’d seen countless times before. He was about to turn away and head for the bar when he saw her.

Hello sexy
. Dark brown hair cascaded around her shoulders in waves and the velvet of her dress hugged and squeezed all the right places. She smiled, but it wasn’t the beauty pageant preening of the other women. It was genuine. Timid. Natural.

James inhaled through his nose and ran his tongue over his lip. She was everything he always wanted in a woman and could never find. Curvy, sexy, unaffected.
Damn
. He’d forgotten real women existed. Running WaterStone Investments had cut him off from the world. Popped him into an inadequate, gilded bubble.

He cleared his throat and stood a bit taller. A date with her would be worth a small fortune. Thank God he could pay. He elbowed Winston and nodded at the stage. “The hot brunette is mine.”

“The one in the red?”

James glanced over and grimaced. “No. Gross. She looks like she hasn’t had a sandwich since 2002. I meant the goddess over here. Black velvet, two o’clock.”

“No way. I saw her first.”

James frowned and glanced at his friend. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I am. Look at her. She’s a fucking knockout. Mmm. I could bury myself in her tits all night.”

“This is a date auction, not a prostitution ring.”

Winston held up his hands. “I know. I’ll settle for a conversation if that’s all she wants. But I’m going to win a date with her. Whether you want her or not.”

Piss
. Based on the people he’d chatted with earlier in the night, Winston was the only man who could put up a fight. And knowing his partner, no wasn’t a suitable answer. They’d be able to fund a million shelters before either ran out of cash.

“Winston, come on man. You dragged me here, I get first pick.”

“Hey, you want her, you bid.”

“I know how much you make. We can’t outbid each other.”

“You don’t know how much I’m willing to pay. Maybe you want her more than I do.” Winston shrugged and took another sip of bourbon, smirking behind his glass.

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

“And here I thought I was a billionaire.”

“They aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Touché.” Winston plastered on a smile and held out his hand. “Good luck, James. May the best man win.”

James rolled his eyes and shook hands as the auction gong sounded.

“And now, we come to the lovely Miranda Holmes. Engineer by day, Ms. Holmes loves the great outdoors, a good book, and all the animals at Manhattan Paws. Let’s open the bidding at five hundred dollars!”

Miranda gulped and propped up her lips in a smile. The auction had already been in full swing for an hour, with gorgeous model-types going for thousands of dollars. But her? She’d be lucky if she got a single bid. Why did he start so high? No one wants a plump engineer for five hundred dollars.

“And the opening bid goes to number fifty-two.”

Wait, what?
Miranda scanned the crowd, but the bidding paddle was nowhere to be seen.
Huh. Okay
. She smiled again and tried to look friendly. Inviting.

“Can I have six hundred? Yes, six hundred to number fifty-three.”

“And seven hundred? Yes to fifty-two. Eight hundred. Yes. Nine? Okay. How about a thousand, gentlemen?”

Miranda couldn’t believe it. A bidding war. Over her. It might only be a thousand dollars, but she never expected it—

“Ten thousand, please.”

A hush fell over the crowd and heads spun toward the speaker. He held up his paddle. Number fifty-two.
Oh my God
. Short brown hair, debonair tux, smile that screamed I taste as good as I look.
Damn
. A flush spread up Miranda’s chest and she bit her lip. Ten thousand dollars. It was unbelievable.

“Ten thousand to number fifty-two. Anyone else? Ten thousand going once, twice—”

“Twenty thousand.”

Miranda choked and coughed. The man standing next to Mr. Fifty-two held up a paddle.

“And twenty thousand for number fifty-three.” If it could be possible, Mr. Fifty-three was even hotter than his opponent. A short beard covered his jaw and he carried himself with a poise that only confidence could buy. Miranda’s knees went weak and she wished she had a railing to hold.

As the announcer paused, she could hear the murmurs of the crowd. Her cheeks blazed scarlet and she tried to act calm and in control, but she was hanging on by a thread. Things like this didn’t happen to her. Was it all a scam? Were they kidding? Bidding in pesos?

“Okay…” The announcer cleared his throat and continued. “Twenty thousand going once. Twice. Would you care to counter, sir?”

The announcer looked at Mr. Fifty-two and so did every person in the crowd. Miranda held her breath.

After a beat, the man responded. “Yes. Fifty thousand dollars, please.”

Miranda stepped back in shock and Dawn scrambled onto the stage before grabbing the mic from the flabbergasted announcer. “Thank you, sir. So that’s fifty-thousand for number fifty-two. Would the gentleman with number fifty-three care to counter?”

Miranda watched as the two men turned to each other. From across the room, she couldn’t hear a word, but she could tell it was intense. They stared each other down, all vigor and sex, and she squirmed where she stood. She almost hoped it came to blows. At last, the two men turned and Mr. Fifty-three spoke up.

“It seems we’re at a bit of a stalemate. I’d like to propose an… unusual compromise. We’ll donate two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to the shelter.” The crowd gasped in sync and he held up his hand for silence. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Ms. Holmes goes out on a date—with both of us.”

What?
Miranda shook her head. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for her best friend’s shelter. And all she had to do was go out on a date with two men.
Holy shit.

Dawn didn’t even look her way. “Sold. To numbers fifty-two and fifty-three. Thank you, gentlemen. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

As the auction gong sounded, Miranda struggled to breathe. She could never live up to a quarter million dollar hype. She was just a lowly engineer who had a two bedroom apartment and a cat. Not an heiress, a debutante, anything. Just plain old Miranda Holmes.

She glanced up and Mr. Fifty-two winked.
Oh, God. This couldn’t get any worse.

“Gentlemen, come on up and claim your date.” Miranda swung her head and gaped at Dawn. Claim their date?
Nononono
. She was supposed to have time to prepare. Breathe. Do a shot.

Dawn glanced over and Miranda pleaded with her eyes.
Give me an out! A mini pep talk. Anything!
But her best friend only smiled and turned back to the audience.
Great. I’m on my own
.

“Ms. Holmes?” She turned to see her winners standing at the edge of the stage.
Wow
. Up close they were…way out of her league.

“Yes. Miranda.”

She stepped forward and held out her hand. Mr. Fifty-two took it and raised it to his lips. “Winston Stone. It’s a pleasure.” He pressed his lips to her knuckles and Miranda swallowed down a wave of giggles. Men with sexy brown hair that fell over their eyes and devilish smiles didn’t take her hand. Or kiss her knuckles.

“Likewise.”

“Here, let me help you down.” He gave her hand a gentle tug and Miranda stepped toward the stairs, attempting to navigate and be graceful at the same time.
How would Cinderella do this? Right, stare straight into his eyes, step into the air, find the stair
.

Lose her balance, slide off the stage. Oh no!
Instead of a graceful princess, she turned into a bumbling idiot, missing the stair completely. Before Winston could catch her, she was falling. Off the stage, toward the ground, and into a serious pair of arms.

“Hello.” His voice slid into her ear like liquid smoke and Miranda gasped. “Good thing I still play rugby. Winston would never have made that catch.”

The man put her on her feet and she turned to face him. Mr. Fifty-three. Where Winston was smooth and suave, he was rugged and sinful. Trimmed beard, broad shoulders, piercing blue eyes.
Mmm. Hello to you too.

He leaned in and brushed his lips across her cheek. “James Waters. Pleased to meet you, Miranda.”

“Thanks for catching me. Not exactly the intro I was going for, but it worked, I guess.” As she glanced at both men, awareness of all the other eyes locked on the three of them made her blush. “So, any chance you boys have enough money left to buy me a drink?”

James laughed and slipped his arm around her back. “Of course. The bar’s this way. You coming, Winston?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Chapter Two

“You can’t be serious. Packaging is anything but exciting. I mean, it pays the bills, but that’s all.” Miranda sipped her champagne and shook her head. Her lush auburn curls bounced around her shoulders and James fought the urge to run his fingers through them.