Raging Hard(129)

The night had dragged on without incident, mostly just people complaining that pencils had broken or asking inane questions about the different things they could bid on. Since I more or less didn’t know any answers, I started amusing myself by making up elaborate stories for whatever item people were asking about.

Basically, I was bored. And I was trying to do anything I could to keep my mind off Lincoln.

I watched as Jules and Lincoln disappeared back into the crowd, the camera crew following his every step, as I waded back onto the floor.

“Excuse me, miss?”

I turned toward an older gentleman and his wife. Based on the number of diamonds she was wearing, these people were seriously loaded.

“Yes, sir?”

“This package here. This . . . restaurant package. What exactly is that?”

“Well, sir, that’s an exclusive package of the hottest restaurants all over Boulder. It gets you a private room and private tastings with each chef, plus as much wine as you can drink.”

He nodded and murmured appreciatively, glancing at his wife.

“Very good. Very good. I think I’ll bid on this one.”

“Thank you, sir. Your money is going to a great cause.”

Before he could ask me anything else, I walked away quickly. I felt a little bad that I had just lied to him, but I was pretty sure at least one part of what I had said was true. Plus, it really was a good cause, whatever that was.

“Okay, guys, five minute notice!” Jules said over the headset.

That meant things were wrapping up. I glanced at my watch and was surprised three hours had already flown by. I moved through the people and began passing along the word.

When it was done, we shut the books that held the bids and carried them up to the stage. Once there, Jules began to read out the winning bid amounts and the generous donor’s name if they weren’t anonymous.

At that point, though, I was already sipping my second glass of wine and ignoring the whole thing. I was ready for the boring, crappy night to be done with.

Until something Jules said pulled me back.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Who won the date with Based Carter?”

Some scattered cheers and applause could be heard, and I glanced around the room for Lincoln but couldn’t find him.

“Let’s see here . . .” Jules said, looking over the bid. “Okay, this is fantastic. With a winning bid of five thousand dollars, Miss Misty Springer is the winner! Misty, come on up here.”

Misty Springer? Sounds like a stripper

, I thought ruefully.

And then Misty walked onstage, and I nearly gagged. Stripper was probably pretty accurate. She was blond, had huge fake breasts, and was wearing the shortest dress I had ever seen. Her heels were maybe nine inches high, and she giggled and waved at the crowd like she was accepting an Oscar for Best Prostitute.

I couldn’t take it. Of course Lincoln was going out on a date with someone like her. Of course she had to be young and pretty and easy looking. I threw back my glass of wine, tore the earpiece from my ear, and dropped it right there on the floor.

I turned and walked out.

I didn’t bother thinking about it. I just left. I was done with the night, done with Lincoln, done with everything.

The cool night air hit me hard as I shoved open the front door and stormed outside. I hadn’t realized how warm it had been inside. I suddenly felt like I could breathe again. I walked a few paces toward the parking lot, anger and frustration welling up through me.

“Hey, Aubrie?”

I turned toward the voice and recognized Brent, one of Lincoln’s camera crew guys.

“Hey, Brent,” I said, stepping toward him.

He smiled at me, dropping a cigarette on the ground and stubbing it out with his foot.

“Cutting out early?”

“Yeah. Thought I’d beat the traffic.”

He came a bit closer to me, but he looked unsteady on his feet. Is he drunk?

I thought to myself, suddenly nervous.

“Very clever. You’re a pretty clever girl.”

“Uh, thanks, Brent. Shouldn’t you be working?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Takin’ a break. Sick of filming that asshole anyway.”

I blinked. “Okay. Well, have a good night.”

I turned to leave but he took a step closer.

“Hold on, hold on. Where you off to?”

He was definitely drunk. His words were coming out thick and slurry and his smile was dumb and empty.

“Home.” I started walking.

He jogged to catch up, matching my pace. “Want to do something fun instead?”

I glanced around the parking lot. Nobody was around.

“No, thanks. I’m tired. I should just head home.”

“Okay, yeah, I hear you.”