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“Camille Cardo. A pleasure to meet you,” she says, as she looks us over. Her gaze lingers on me. “Both of you.”
“Likewise,” I tell her, unsure of what to say to her. Callie is a high-class woman who comes from a good family. A beautiful, preppy girl next door, if that door belonged to a home on Nantucket.
Camille is something else. White, very thin, with glimmering long brown hair that wreaks of money. Her bright green eyes smile even when she doesn’t. There’s something exotic about her, and I can’t put my finger on it.
She knocks back her drink. “That should get me ready for the next auction.”
“There’s a second auction?” Callie asks.
“Yes, and I’ll be taking part, so I’m glad they carry my brand of whiskey. Helps to set the mood.”
Now, I’m the nosy one. “Set the mood?”
Her red lips form a perfect O and she stops herself from speaking for a breath. But then she smiles. It’s feline and seductive, and if I were a man, I’d be on my knees for this woman. She is wild—it’s written all over her. But she tells us, “Never mind. Forget I mentioned it.”
Callie laughs. “As if we could now. Come on, you can tell us. We don’t know anyone here, anyway.”
“The auction is …” She leans forward to speak quietly. “Rather illicit. It’s not for you.”
I’m halfway to rolling my eyes, but curiosity is a beast. “Camille, we’re lawyers. Pretend you gave us a dollar so you have attorney-client privilege.”
She laughs musically, then sighs as she smiles. “Very well, then. I suppose I can tell my attorneys anything. This evening, I will be auctioning myself off to some gentleman who will pay an exorbitant fee for my … time.”
“You’re a sex worker?” I whisper, fascinated. I’d always wanted to meet one, but had been too scared to call one up. Not that I wanted to use their services. The idea of sex as an occupation had always intrigued me, though.
“That is one way of seeing it. But I work one night a year, so it’s hard to call it that.”
“One night a year? That’s too good to be true.”
She smiles. “You know, they would eat the two of you up at the auction. You have a … freshness about you.”
Callie frowns, and I’m not sure if I’m flattered by that depiction or not, but my curiosity has grown into a full thirst-for-knowledge.
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Chapter 5
ANDERSON
“This is lame. Wanna bounce?” Tag McAllister asks.
“You say that about anything that doesn’t involve speed or women,” I say, brushing off his whining. We’d come to the bar to dawdle until we could make a well-timed exit. Too many people knew me for us to leave early.
Word would get back to my father, and I’d hear all about it. I could hear him now, “Anderson, your actions reflect on the firm, and we are known for our charity work. When you leave early, it reflects poorly on our family…” He’d go on and I’d tune out, and it would blow up into another argument about familial duty. What I wanted in that regard was immaterial to the old man. It didn’t matter that I was bored by the law, or that he knew it. I had responsibilities.
I’d heard the lecture my whole life. Hearing it again was not worth leaving a few hours early.
“Nothing worth bidding on,” Tag mutters. “The weather girl is pretty enough, but they always have that plastered, mannequin look to them. Not my thing.”
“You’d be bidding on a lunch with her. Not fucking her.”
He laughs. “I’d hit it in an hour, tops.”
“You’ve always been so sophisticated, Tag. Hard to imagine why you’re single.” The truth is Tag was my best friend from childhood, but our styles had diverged in high school in that I grew up, and he opted not to. Not that he needed to. As the youngest son in his family, no one expected much of him.
Not like me.
He shakes off the comment with a laugh. “Single by choice, my friend. Why tie myself down—wait. That doesn’t sound so bad.” He waggles his brows, then laughs harder.
