Prince Player(130)

“Excuse me, ladies and gentleman, please have a seat.” An older woman, maybe ten years older than me, stands at the microphone on the stage. There’s a general murmur and commotion as people move toward their seats around the large banquet tables. “The auction will begin momentarily,” she says, before heading off to the side of the stage.

I find my place at a table in the back. I specifically requested this spot, and I’m glad I did. I don’t recognize anyone at my table, although my neighbor to my right is a large drunk man with a thick beard. He clearly wants to chat, but I’m not in the mood.

The crowd waits, a little restless, until music starts. The woman returns, this time to applause, and beams out at the crowd. I assume she’s the one that organized all this, though I haven’t paid much attention.

“Thank you all for being here,” she says. “And the children of Mercy General thank you as well.” More applause before she holds up her hands. “Our first girl hails from Rhode Island. The daughter of Patricia and Linus Vanderhoot, Layla Vanderhoot loves horses, skiing, and plaid skirts. Come on out, Layla!”

The crowd erupts into wild applause as a small girl with brown hair and dressed in an elegant gown steps out into the stage. She’s probably mid-twenties, pretty but not beautiful.

“Do I hear one thousand?” the woman at the microphone says, and the bidding begins.

It’s a fascinating spectacle. Daughters of the wealthy elite are paraded out onto the stage, one after another, and equally wealthy men bid outrageous sums of money to take them out on dates. The first girl, the Vanderhoot girl, is pretty but fairly plain, and even she fetches twenty grand, a respectable sum. I hope she enjoys talking horses and skirts with her suitor, who is clearly in his eighties and making lewd jokes with his peers.

Winning a date doesn’t guarantee anything untoward, of course. It just means you get to take the woman out on a date, probably chaperoned, for one night. That’s all it is, and it’s supposed to be innocent, but there’s a strange and creepy undertone to the whole thing.

I lean back and watch. I don’t plan on bidding on anyone, and in fact I already wrote a fifty thousand dollar check to Mercy General earlier that morning, so I did my charitable duty. The girls themselves aren’t very interesting, and nobody is really making me want to speak up.

I drink my whisky and then another, observing. I’m here at least, and Rick can’t deny that. I never said I’d fucking socialize or network, although I probably should.

Nine girls come and go, nearly half of the herd. There’s going to be a break before dinner, and then the final ten are going to be sold off. I plan on slipping out before the entrees, since I’ve already seen enough.

But something stops me before I can get up.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Sadie Tillman!”

The crowd claps loudly. I recognize that name. I wasn’t listening when the woman introduced Sadie’s interests, but I don’t care about that.

All I care about is the woman who walks out on stage.

She’s probably twenty years old, about five foot five to my six foot four. She has dark hair, midnight black, down to the middle of her back and thick. I can see her deep green eyes even from my spot toward the back. She’s wearing a blue dress, shimmering slightly in the ballroom spotlight, that hugs her ample curves. She looks a little overwhelmed as she smiles and waves hesitantly, and instantly I feel something stirring inside of me, something I didn’t expect.

She’s fucking gorgeous. I know the Tillmans, they’re old fucking money, the kind of people I despise. But Sadie herself doesn’t seem like the other rich girls. She’s not plain, far from it. She has a fascinating, beautiful look to her. That raven black hair is so interesting compared with the usual blondes and brunettes you see. She’s not extremely done-up, and doesn’t need to be. She’s clearly naturally beautiful, if a little shy.

“Do I hear two thousand for Sadie?” the woman says.

Several paddles raise, and there’s laughter across the ballroom. The bidding continues, and I can’t stop staring at Sadie.

She’s alluring. Fucking gorgeous. How is a girl like her standing up on that stage, among these fucking animals? She’s a goddess and we’re the mortals tasked with worshipping her.

I want her. The thought hits me like a sledgehammer. I want her badly, have to have her. My attention is suddenly pulled back to the woman on the stage.

“Do I hear forty?” she asks, and another paddle raises. “Forty-five?”

Silence from the crowd. I frown, looking up at Sadie. She’s worth so much fucking more than forty-five thousand dollars.