Sold at the Auction(29)

I sighed. Abby was crazy, booking two, sometimes three dates per night. I  mean, this on-line dating stuff is too easy almost, you can get a dozen  dates with just few clicks of the mouse. But seriously, an emergency on  Valentine's Day? And now her problem was becoming mine.         

     



 

"Please Marie," she continued. "I promise I'll help you on that 3-D model for Design 101."

I have to admit, my friend knew my weakness. I'm an aspiring graphic  designer and my animation class was the bane of my existence, throwing  me for a loop with every new project. Meanwhile, Abby was already taking  upper-level courses in the field, creating stunning graphics like  second nature. I needed her help desperately and so I sighed in assent.

"Okay fine, but what do I have to do?" I asked. "Should I study your Match.com profile? I don't know, do my hair like yours?"

"Oh yeah, absolutely," my friend gushed. "Definitely read my profile,  I'll send you a copy of our chat transcripts too. Not that we really  talked about anything," she said hastily, "just your usual getting to  know you type stuff."

Okay, fine I could do that. So I'd watched while Abby sorted through her  closet, throwing one outfit after another onto the floor of our dorm  room, discarding this or that for being too old-fashioned, too ugly, too  blah, until she came upon a lavender cocktail dress.

"This is it!" she crowed, holding up the skimpy outfit to the light.  "It'll look amazing on you, whenever I wear this I get so many  compliments," she confided.

But I was already shaking my head no.

"Abs, you know that's not me," I said slowly. "I'm a tomboy, the only  time I wear a dress is when I absolutely have to, and definitely not  something like that," I said. "More Laura Ashley, floral, long, that's  my style."

"Oh please, Marie," my roomie scolded. "You can't go out on a date  dressed in Laura Ashley, what is this, the eighties? You need to show  some skin, be daring, coy, exotic."

But the dress before me didn't even have enough fabric to cover my curvy  form it seemed like. Despite my tomboy ways, I absolutely don't have a  tomboy figure. I'm big in the bust, with rounded hips, luscious thighs,  and a juicy, delectable ass. The dress would be unbearably tight across  my Double Ds, and it was short, probably stopping only a few inches  below my crotch. No way. I wouldn't even know how to put on a dress like  that.

But my friend wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Seriously Marie!" she pooh-poohed, "it'll be fine, just try it, if it  fits me it'll fit you. I have big jugs too, you can't imagine how good  this dress makes your ta-tas look."

And so I'd given in and was sitting at the hotel bar now, squeezed into  an outfit that made me look like Jessica Rabbit. Plus, Abby had slipped  me a pair of four-inch nude stilettos, lengthening my legs even if I  could hardly walk in them.

"You won't have to walk!" she assured me. "Just change your shoes when  you get off the subway, the hotel is only one block away," she  instructed. "Sit down at the seat third from the left and wait for a  good-looking guy to approach you. Here's his picture," she said,  thrusting her laptop in my face.

And I'd gasped at the photo. "Jonah" was astonishingly handsome despite  the brooding expression in his profile photo. Dark, almost raven hair  left stylishly long, the edges trailing over his collar, with a set of  deep, penetrating blue eyes. I could see from his bio that he was six  two, one ninety, and liked to work out. Definitely my type  –  any girl's  type, for that matter.

"But why don't you want to go out with him?" I'd asked, taken aback. I  mean, Abby was desperate to find a boyfriend and it seemed unlikely that  she'd skip over a gem like this.

"Oh I want to," she flushed. "But  …  I dunno, Phil kinda promised me some jewelry," she confessed.

Ah ha, so the cat was out of the bag. Abby wasn't hoping to get back  together with her ex, Phil had betrayed her too many times. But he was  luring her back with the promise of some bling  …  I just hoped it was  expensive enough to justify my involvement in all this.

So here I was, pretending to be Abby while meeting a stranger for the  first time. I figured it couldn't be too hard, they hadn't chatted on  the phone so my voice wouldn't be a giveaway. Plus, I'd read their chat  transcripts and it had been reassuringly general, just stuff about  shared interests, how expensive NYC was, that kind of thing. I could  make up factoids as I went along.

But it was 8:15 p.m. now and Jonah still hadn't shown. Maybe he was  late? Maybe the whole thing had been a hoax and Jonah didn't even exist?  I'd heard of worse on dating sites. I picked up my purse, getting ready  to go when a deep voice rang over my shoulder.         

     



 

"Another drink for the lady  …  Abby is it?" the man asked.

And I spun around to melt into the bluest eyes I'd ever seen.





CHAPTER TWO


Jonah




The girl was gorgeous. And I mean hands-down, take-your-breath-away,  rip-your-heart-apart beautiful. She had a body like Venus, ripe in all  the right parts, sheathed in a lavender dress, complimented by creamy  skin and gleaming chestnut hair.

I admit, my expectations had been low. With online dating, you just  never know -- I'd been on dates in the past with women whose pictures  were ten years out of date or who looked like they'd swallowed a whale  before showing up for drinks.

So when I got a look at the girl from the doorway, I'd momentarily halted in my tracks, unable to believe my luck.

Abby was looking around shyly, clearly somewhat ill at ease in the  luxurious hotel. I liked her already. I'm not really one for fancy  places, despite the billions I have to my name, so I like girls who can  see beyond garish trappings to what really matters, the conversation and  the connection. I'd only picked the Carlyle Hotel because it's close to  my apartment.

And the wide-eyed wonderment that she displayed was right up my alley. I  could see her studying the drink list, marveling at how expensive that  shit was, and then asking discreetly for a glass of house wine, probably  the cheapest option available.

Plus, she looked really young, and I mean, less than twenty-five. Her  match profile said she was a quarter century, but the girl before me  couldn't have been a day over nineteen. How strange -- most women shave  years off their age, not add to it.

But I was already late because of a stupid meeting that'd gone over at  Cambrian Corp., my company, and was determined to start this off on the  right foot.

"Another drink for the lady?" I rumbled to the bartender. And the girl  turned, fixing me with the biggest deep brown eyes I'd ever seen.

"Oh hi," she said shyly. "I'm Ma- Abby."

"Jonah," I said smoothly. "Pleased to meet you," I continued, shaking  her hand. The small fingers between my big ones were smooth, soft,  gentle and trusting, with unpolished nails. Hmm, a girl with no  artifice, who didn't have a standing appointment for mani/pedis at her  local Korean spa. Another rarity in Manhattan.

"So how has your day been?" I asked casually, standing next to her bar  stool. The guy next to me was effectively boxed out, giving me a nasty  look, but I didn't care. Hey, if he hadn't approached within thirty  seconds, then he was a loser and deserved to be shut out. Mano a mano,  my friend, each man for himself.

"Oh my day's been good," she said shyly, flushing. "I think I mentioned  to you I'm in school still? I know, twenty-five is kinda old to go back  for a degree but I'm looking to re-tool my career and get into graphic  design. So I had class today, worked on my project, just the usual."

"Sounds interesting," I remarked. "And what are you looking to get into?  Designing book covers, greeting cards, company logos, that sort of  thing?" Cambrian could use a new logo, maybe I could hire her.

But the girl smiled and clarified.

"No, I'm going to be an animator, my dream job would be to work for  Pixar or DreamWorks, it'd be so amazing to do Star Wars or even Kung Fu  Panda," she said with a wry look. "Kids movies pay really well, believe  it or not."

And I nodded my head, duly impressed. Women in NYC always have jobs,  everyone here works due to the high cost of living. But it didn't sound  like Abby was looking for a free ride from a rich man  –  she'd gone back  to school at considerable expense to elevate her skills, help her get a  foothold in a very competitive niche.

"And do you have a portfolio?" I asked smoothly. As CEO, I'm always  looking for talent and good people are good people, no matter how you  meet them. I was curious about this girl now, not just to be polite, but  as a real person, someone with possibility.

"Of course!" she laughed lightly. "I've been working on it for years  now, it's my pièce de resistance. Of course if it sucks," she confided  lightly, "I'll be devastated and probably have to commit suicide."