Billionaire Bad Boys of Romance 1(6)

The applause died down. “Very good,” the emcee said. “I believe this lot is a date with Miss MacElroy. A meal of your choosing, or some other activity, negotiated between you and this ravishing woman.”

Ravishing? More like ravaged.

“Let us open the bidding at a thousand dollars!”

A thousand fucking dollars? I tried not to let my shock show on my face, but then again the pieces selling here were worth two thousand minimum.

“I have a thousand. Good, do I have two—I have two thousand. Who wants—three thousand. Four thousand. Five! Five thousand...”

The blood drained from my head. I forced myself not to squint against the bright lights, seeking out who was bidding on me. It wouldn't have worked anyway. I could see nothing, blinded and dazzled and being auctioned off like an object. My smile hurt my face.

“Six thousand. Wonderful. Seven. Eight. Eight thousand. Do I see nine? Nine thousand? Nine thousand! And how about ten? Ten? Ten? All right. Going once. Going twice. Sold, for nine thousand dollars!”

Nine thousand, I thought numbly. That was almost two months salary. Nine thousand dollars.

Who the fuck has that kind of money? I thought. Who the fucking fuck has nine thousand dollars to throw away on a date with a downtown tramp?

“Congratulations, Mr. Malcolm Ward, for purchasing your own property,” the emcee said. The room erupted in laughter as the emcee turned to me and handed me the number of my buyer. Malcolm Ward. Stunned, I waved at the crowd and then walked off stage, my legs shaking.

Bought by Malcolm Ward. The guy who wouldn't stop staring at me like a creeper and told me that because I owed him, I had to go up on stage and be sold. And who then bought me. What a shithead.

Why, then, did my heart pick up its pace at the idea of going out on a date with him?

Maybe I just hoped he'd give me an opportunity to throw a glass of wine in his face.

Yeah. That was it.





Chapter Two

Felicia found me before the auction even ended.

“What happened?” she cried, running into the Edison lounge where I was gulping down my well-deserved vodka and vodka with a vodka chaser.

“Only the most terrible thing that possibly could happen,” I told her, slamming back my chaser. I smacked the shot glass onto the bar and shuddered. The liquor sent warm fingers through my stomach, making the muscles of my body unclench at last, though given what I'd been through tonight I wasn't so sure that was a good thing. I rarely indulged on the job because I'm a pretty dramatic drunk. And I was feeling pretty damn dramatic right then.

“I'm being serious.” She stomped her foot. Her long, pale golden evening gown, overlaid with black lace, shimmered with the movement. “Why didn't you tell me something had happened to one of the pieces? Why didn't you tell me you were going to end up on the auction block? I wouldn't have blown my money on that Warhol if I'd known!”#p#分页标题#e#

“Well, I didn't even know until about three seconds before I ended up on stage,” I told her. “Someone was carrying the vase barehanded, I bumped into them and... I took the fall for it. And the guy who owned it told me to auction myself off since I owed him!”

“Yeah,” she said, giving me a funny look. “Malcolm Ward.”

“That's the one.”

Her mouth twisted. “You don't know who he is?”

I don't know who any of these people are and up until I have to remember someone's name I don't care. I shook my head.

“The guy who just bought out NovaTech,” Felicia said.

I stared at her blankly. I don't follow the world of business and I try to forget anything I do learn as soon as possible. I'm just here for the free food and the job.

“Billionaire Malcolm Ward. Warden Industries. Don't you remember the guy who forcibly French-kissed the Italian Prime Minister last summer after the PM made those remarks about rape?”

Holy shit, I thought. “That's the guy?”

“The one who did donuts in his limo in Central Park? The one who performed an impromptu and totally filthy rendition of Drop It Like It's Hot on Letterman? The one who conducted a hostile takeover of his former best friend's company and then fired everyone and put a clown college in their old building? Yeah. That's the guy.”

Okay, I had heard of Malcolm Ward, although, to be honest, I thought he was just a movie star who'd recently taken up a coke hobby and was just flaunting it around. This guy actually owned a company? Or companies? And made money off of them despite the fact that he was patently nuts? Perhaps my initial assessment pegging him as Batman wasn't too far off. I wondered if he liked to dress up in rubber.

An eccentric billionaire. Well. At least our date wouldn't be boring?

“So you said you'd auction yourself off and he bought you?” Felicia said, breaking into my thoughts. “I don't like that.”