Filthy Beast(67)

I look out into the crowd, and suddenly I spot Milo. He’s sitting toward the front, grinning at me, as he raises his paddle to bid. I keep smiling, feeling mortified and embarrassed out on the stage. I hate being looked at like I’m just a thing to be bought and sold, but I can’t do anything about it. I can’t embarrass my family by backing out now.

Milo bids again and suddenly I’m struck by the intense desire to run. I don’t want to go out on a date with him. He’s close to my father and brothers, and he’s always around the house. He’s short, barely a couple inches taller than me, with thinning hair and this goofy smile. My mother once said he looks like his family, inbred and without manners. I hate the tone of that joke, but there’s some truth to it.

Milo bids again, a pretty large amount, and I feel intense dread deep inside of me. I expect him to win, when suddenly someone else bids, someone in the back.

I strain to see, but the lights are too bright. I can’t spot him. But I do see Milo’s face and he’s angry.

They get into a bidding war. I can’t believe the numbers they’re throwing out, and Milo is getting more and more angry. It gets all the way up to one hundred thousand dollars, more than anyone else has gone for, and I can see that Milo’s anger is shifting into shock.

I nearly faint when the man in the back bids half a million dollars. Milo’s expression is absolutely priceless, though, and I already know my parents are furious. The hostess counts down, and the strange man wins. I try to catch another glimpse of him, but I can’t see, and the room falls into an uproar of excitement. I’m ushered off the stage, and into the warm embrace of my family.

Except there’s nothing warm about my mother.

“That bastard,” she says, furious. “Who does he think he is?”

“Low class,” my brother Michael says. He’s my eldest brother and we’re not close.

“Poor Milo,” my mother says. “He really wanted to win. Did you see him bidding, Sadie? Milo has his eye on you. I think you should be proud.”

“Sure,” I say to her.

“Half a million though, sis. That’s pretty fucking good.” Peter grins at me. He’s only two years older than me.

I laugh and shrug. “I guess I’m worth it.”

“Yeah, right.” He makes a face. “You’re two hundred thousand, at best.”

“Cut it out, you two,” my mother snaps, and Peter grins at me.

He’s the only person in my family that I actually like. He’s not quite a black sheep, not like I am at least, but he doesn’t buy into their ultra rich and conservative attitude. He likes to laugh and have fun and enjoy life much more than my very stuck-up and conservative father and mother do.

“Who was he, anyway?” Michael asks.

“I couldn’t see,” I admit.

“I didn’t catch it, either,” my mother says. “Hold on, let me find Belinda. She’ll know. Maybe we can somehow fix this.” My mother storms off, leaving me with my brothers. My father is somewhere in the dining hall, no doubt shaking hands and making business connections.

Michael frowns at me for a moment. “You should stand up straight,” he says, before turning away and looking at his phone.

I sigh and Peter makes a face, mocking our older brother. I can’t help but laugh.

“You did good up there,” he says.

“Really?” I ask him. “I felt like I was going to puke.”

He shakes his head. “Seriously. The other girls all looked like frightened deer. You just looked like a nervous deer.”

“Perfect. That’s what I was going for.”

“Come on,” Peter says. “Let’s catch a glimpse of your suitor.”

I follow him around the corner, leaving Michael to himself. We step through a door and head into the main ballroom. It’s crowded as servers carry dinner plates to each guest. There’s probably half the net worth of America in this room right now, which strikes me as absurd and silly. It’s a bunch of white, old, privileged men, hoarding their money, and only giving some to charity in exchange for buying a young woman’s attention for a night. It’s crass and lewd and I hate it all over again.

Peter grabs a drink off a passing tray and winks at me. We walk along the edge of the room, looking at the guests.

“There’s your boyfriend,” Peter says, nodding. I follow his gaze and spot Milo chatting with a group of men.

“Come on,” I say, hurrying away.

Peter laughs. “Don’t want to see him?”

“I’m afraid he’ll propose.”

“I wouldn’t blame him. Poor guy. Looked like he might puke when he lost.”