The lounge was dim and mostly abandoned, the gaudy zebra stripes of the booths shining white and ghostly in the dark. I moved to one of them and sat down, crossing my legs at the ankle and sitting up straight so my breasts would thrust out. I had to look like the quintessential Personal Assistant, the one who would Do Anything to Make Her Employer Happy. I wanted Mr. Ward to think I was lovely and pliable, even though I'm anything but, on both accounts. Getting a thousand dollars or two knocked off my debt was worth it, though. What's a little exploitation among unequals?
In an attempt to look nonchalant, I turned my phone on and casually swiped through my catalog. There were twenty-five pieces in all—well, twenty four, now—and each of them was slated to bring a decent price in. If we were lucky we'd end up with at least fifty thousand dollars for the charity, and I had to be content with that. That I was going to have to turn the heat off in my apartment for the next three years was simply the natural consequence of my own partial fuck up.
I sighed, watching the beautiful pieces of art pass me by, slipping up the screen, and I wished I was out of debt. And better paid. I'd have given quite a few pesos for some of these pieces...
A clearing throat had me looking up. For a moment, I was blinded by the flash of my screen still scored across my vision. Then it cleared, and I found myself staring at my blond Batman.
He towered over me, staring down at me with his weird, mischievous smile plastered on his face. He was scoping me out. I hate feeling like meat.
“May I help you?” I asked him icily.
“Miss MacElroy?” he said. “I am Malcolm Ward. You... wanted to see me?”
Even his voice was full of suggestion. Here was a man who liked to get what he wanted, and I was almost glad his pretty vase was smashed.
I stood up so he wouldn't be towering over me any longer, but that was a miscalculation, because he was very, very tall. He still towered over me. But I'm not a shrinking violet. Project, I thought. Don't let this jackass think he can walk all over you.
I looked him directly in the eye and ignored the little shiver that ran up my spine at the contact. “I am sorry to inform you, Mr. Ward, but your donated lot has met with an... incident.”
He quirked a brow. “An incident, Miss MacElroy?”
“Yes,” I said. “Specifically, an incidental floor. It has met with an incidental floor. I apologize, but it did not survive the meeting. I, of course, take full responsibility for this. Please tell me how much I owe you so we can work out a payment plan.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you saying the vase was destroyed?” he said at last.
No use beating around the bush about it. “Yes,” I said. “It has been destroyed. Like I said, I take full responsibility. If you would like to sit down, we can work out a plan to resolve this debt, and then we can go on our way.”
He didn't respond immediately. Instead he tilted his head and studied me. Again I felt the cool appraisal of his gaze, slipping over my face, lingering on my lips, traveling down to my cleavage—my damn cleavage! why did I think it was a good idea to show it off, again?—and then further down. Where his gaze touched me, I grew hot, then cold. His frank assessment gave me the willies, as if he were deciding just which part of my body he should... do something to first. I was only forty percent curious as to what that something was. The other sixty percent of me was telling me to run very fast in another direction.
And I was in this guy's debt.
#p#分页标题#e#
I sure do know how to pick 'em.
Out in the ballroom, the emcee was announcing the third lot. The third lot, already! I needed to rush backstage to assess the rest of the lots and make sure everything was in place. Annoyance flared in me.
“Stop ogling me and let's get this done with,” I snapped. “I have a lot of work to do.” See? I'm terrible at public relations.
Mr. Ward raised his brows again. “Very well, Miss MacElroy. I will be quick. The vase, while beautiful, held little importance to me, and its monetary value has most likely been recouped already by my vast investments, so the money is, for lack of a better word, immaterial to me.”
Was he letting me off the hook? Oh my god, I wasn't going to have to pay him thousands of dollars? I couldn't stifle the relieved smile that broke across my face and I opened my mouth to thank him, but he held up a hand.
“The chief value of the vase was in what it would have fetched for the charity tonight,” he continued. “Where I had placed a piece on the auction block to be auctioned off, there is now... nothing. Something must replace it.”
I blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?” I said. “Do you have something else you can auction off?”