The Billionaire's Challenge

The Billionaire's
Challenge

By K. Matthew

Text
copyright 2012 by K. Matthew

All
rights reserved.

No
part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written
permission of the author.

I
stood on stage, dolled up like all the rest of the fake bitches lined
up next to me. Why had I agreed to this? Overtime, I had to keep
reminding myself. This may have been a charity function, but I damn
sure wasn't doing it for free. Still, standing under the hot overhead
lights that beamed down on us, being auctioned off like pieces of
meat, I was quickly beginning to regret my decision to play along.

The
annual Auction a Secretary for Charity party. It was the first time
my boss was able to participate—the first time her small PR
firm had made enough money to merit attending such an event.

When
she had pitched the idea to me, I cringed inside. “Why not ask
Charlise?” I quickly referred her to the perky
nineteen-year-old intern who had recently been hired. Now that girl
could make some real money for charity. Such a young pretty thing.
Why my boss wanted to send frumpy nearly thirty-year-old me was
beyond comprehension.

“
Charlise
isn't my secretary,” Mrs. Eddison reminded me.

“
We
could always pretend.” I tried not to look too enthusiastic
about the idea.

“
Come
on Mia, it will be fun,” she assured me. “You'll get to
get all dressed up and have your hair done and your nails done and
meet very rich men. Who knows, maybe you'll even land a wealthy
boyfriend.”

Not
likely, I thought. Even though it had been seven years since my nasty
divorce, I still pretty much hated men. All of them. Rich, poor,
attractive, ugly, smart, dumb. They were all worthless to me. Pretty
to look at, well, some of them at least, but not worth my time.

And
as for the hair and nails thing, she must not pay much attention to
me. I could count how many times I wore my hair in anything but a
ponytail on one hand. And the number of times I'd had my nails done
in my entire life was zero. I had never been a girlly girl. It just
wasn't my thing. Too much work.

If
Mrs. Eddison hadn't given me an allowance for such things, I never
would have had them done. Even after all the primping and pampering,
I still didn't feel much like a princess. In fact, the heat from the
lights above were making me feel a lot more like a melting wax
sculpture. The layers of makeup painted onto my face, oily and
uncomfortable, were already beginning to sweat off. My long black
hair, normally straight and lifeless, was starting to itch from the
heavy amount of hairspray that was necessary to keep it in the tight
curls the hairstylist had somehow managed. I could feel the bobby
pins that pulled it away from my face slowly slipping out of their
original positions. By the end of the night, I would look a mess. I
was sure of it.

Focusing
on my discomfort was the only thing keeping an anxiety attack at bay.
There I was, at least five years older than any of the other
secretaries, and the heaviest one by far. I was certain all the other
bosses had been smart enough to pick their most attractive employees.
There was no way all these girls were secretaries. The one to my
right looked like Malibu Barbie with shining blonde hair, big boobs,
and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. To my left was a girl
who could have easily been a super model. I wondered if Mrs. Eddison
now realized the mistake she had made by sending me instead of
Charlise.

The
announcer or speaker or whatever he was—the man who was going
to auction us off like cattle, took a stand at the podium and began
his long drawn-out speech, thanking the guests for coming, talking
about the history of the auction, and what charities it benefited. I
was busy staring out into the crowd, feeling too embarrassed for even
being there to listen to any of it. I could already imagine that I
would bring in the least amount of money. It was the same sick
feeling I got in grade school, knowing that I would be the last to be
picked for any of the sports teams because no one thought I would be
good enough. My eyes prematurely began to water, and I felt a strong
urge to leave the stage. That wasn't an option though, not if I still
wanted to have a job the next day, so I sucked it up. Odds were, I'd
end up with a kind elderly gentleman. Most of the men in the room
were old, hungering for the company of a youthful woman. The handful
of younger men would probably be fighting for the girls who stood at
my sides. They were certainly the most beautiful in the
room—guaranteed to win large sums for their charities.

Calm
down
, I told myself as the bidding began for the girl at the end
of the line.
You'll get the lowest bid, go out with a sweet older
man, get a good free meal and a ride in a fancy car that you'd never
be able to afford, pretend to enjoy yourself, and then go home and
cry yourself to sleep, dreading your crappy underpaying job the next
morning. Well, aren't I a big ball of cheer.

Naturally,
when the bidding got down to Malibu Barbie, the money began to fly.
As predicted, she got picked up by a young handsome businessman who
was probably looking for more than a casual dinner. How lucky for
her, I thought as I listened to the round of applause when she had
raked in a whopping seventy-five thousand dollars for St. Luke's
Childrens Hospital.

Then
it was my turn. As the auctioneer announced my name, I stepped
forward, letting my thoughts drift down to the three-inch heels that
I was wearing. They were horribly uncomfortable, even though they
weren't that tall. I never wore high heels. They just didn't make
sense to me, walking around on your toes with an unnatural arch in
your foot.

“
Let
the bidding begin,” the man said, drawing my attention to the
crowd. I didn't look at any of their faces, but rather over them,
straight to the back of the room. I was so nervous and embarrassed
that I didn't even want to see who was bidding for me.

Not
surprisingly, a kindly looking elderly man started at a low bid.
This
is it
, I thought.
This will be my only bid, and the night will
go as predicted.

Another
man bid, equally old and equally low. Then the two men fought back
and forth a few times, just for show. By the time the auctioneer
said, “Going once, going twice,” the bid was up to
thirteen thousand dollars, the lowest bid for any of the girls. My
heart sank to the point that I thought I was going to vomit. It took
everything inside of me to remind myself that this was all for
charity, and as long as I brought in some money, then I had done a
good job. Still, it was emotionally crushing to know that I was again
the last kid to get picked for the sports team.

Just
as the auctioneer began to say, “sold,” another man stood
up, belting out a surprise bid of one hundred thousand dollars. My
eyes about popped out of my head. Not only was it the highest bid of
the night, but this man was also young and exceedingly attractive.

“
Sold,
to Mr. Fabel of MemeBoards,” the auctioneer announced, which
was met with many gasps throughout the crowd. The girls beside me
gave me hateful looks, but I was too awestruck to notice.

At
first, I hadn't known who this stranger was that had shocked the
crowd by offering the most money for the least attractive girl, but
as soon as I heard the word MemeBoards, his entire profile came into
mind. Garret Fabel, twenty-four years old, owner of one of the
world's top most social networks—the only one that could
contend with Facebook. This guy was beyond rich, beyond younger than
me, beyond gorgeous, and beyond single. It took everything in me to
keep the smug look off of my face, despite knowing it had been a pity
bid for publicity. There wasn't a woman in the entire room who didn't
want to go on a date with him, I was sure. But it was going to be me.

My
smugness wore off as soon as the auction was over, replaced by fear
of being won by such a prominent man. All eyes would be on us for the
rest of the evening. Our date would probably even get media coverage.

Finally,
the auction was over, and it was time to step down from the stage. My
heart choked me as my eyes landed on Garret Fabel's immaculate smile.
He was breathtakingly beautiful with his blonde hair stylishly
tousled and brushed forward, perfectly accentuating his deep-blue
eyes. Garret looked more like a model than a businessman in his black
Armani suit.

He
offered me his hand as I came down the last step, and I was honestly
afraid to take it, but I knew better than to refuse. I hated being
touched, even worse now, because I knew that as soon as my skin
touched Garret's, I would blush as red as the dress I was wearing.
Nothing would be able to stop it.

“
My
lady,” he said as I descended from the final step and made the
fatal mistake of looking him in the eye. Here it comes, I thought,
and I instantly averted his gaze, feeling the warmth flush my cheeks.
I could only hope that the makeup would hide it.

“
That
was a very generous offer, Mr. Fabel. I'm sure the American Cancer
Society is very appreciative of it,” I tried to sound as
genuine as possible.

“
Thank
you, Mrs. Harrison.”

“
It's
Miss Harrison,” I corrected him quickly, then felt my cheeks
might burst into flames because of.

“
Miss
Harrison.” Garret smiled warmly. “Both of my parents died
of cancer, so I think it's the perfect cause for my support.”

“
So
did mine,” I replied, digesting this new knowledge about him.

“
Shall
we.” He ushered me into the crowd.

It
was ten times scarier mingling with the wealthy people than it was
standing up on that stage for display. Naturally, Garret did all the
talking while I stood aside, giving brief answers when I was asked
questions and smiling the rest of the time. No one was interested in
me anyway. It was all about him.

Finally,
it was time to depart for wherever he planned to tolerate my company
for the rest of the evening. We climbed into the back of a white
stretch limo, and I felt my heart racing once more at the prospect of
being alone with him. Soon, the doors were closed behind us, and I
was trapped with impossibly beautiful Garret Fabel.

“
Well,
that wasn't much fun for you, now was it?” he asked as the limo
began driving towards our destination.

I
felt suddenly sick by the wide array of things that question could
imply. “Why would you think that?”

“
Because
it wasn't much fun for me.” He smiled, looking down at the
floor. “I'm not usually one for such formal events, but I can't
pass up charity.”

“
You
seemed a natural at it.” I did my best not to sound like I was
kissing too much ass.

“
When
you go to enough of them, it becomes second nature to know how to
act. So, you work for a PR company?”

I
had forgotten they mentioned the company I worked for during the
auction. “Yes, we specialize in local celebrities.”

“
It
must be interesting talking to so many important people.”

“
I
don't think that being a celebrity makes someone important.”

Garret
laughed at this, and I instantly felt bad for saying it, though I had
no idea why.

“
So,
where are we going?” I asked.

“
The
Tower of the Americas,” he replied, looking out the window.