Page 151 of Revenge Puck

One by one, team members from the player engagement department, along with marketing, begin tossing ideas into the ring—good ideas, but most of them lame.

“Celebrity bartending,” a guy named Stephan offers. “Have the players behind the bar for an hour.”

Whitney nods slowly, tapping her chin. “Liability?”

“Massive,” someone from legal mutters.

“Okay, next.”

“What about a dunk tank?” another voice chimes in.

“For a black-tie gala?” Whitney deadpans, barely unable to contain her eyeroll. “Get real, Rory.”

“Jersey auction,” Annaleise suggests. “We haven’t done that in a while, but maybe we can have them custom-designed by local artists?”

“Good,” Whitney says, nodding to her assistant. “Keep that.”

“What about a ‘mystery experience’?” someone suggests. “People bid without knowing what they’re bidding on.”

Whitney raises a brow. “This isn’t fear factor. Most of these people probably have trust issues.”

Quiet laughter ripples around the table.

Silence follows, and if it were possible to hear people’s brains working, that’s what it sounds like in this room.

“What if we auction off an evening with a single player?” Someone suggests.

My stomach drops so fast, I swear it hits the floor at the idea of Aaron being auctioned off on a stage to another woman.

Whitney doesn’t immediately shut the idea down. “Go on.”

“I don’t know—a date or three with a player?” My co-worker continues. “Dinner? Day out, doing whatever the highest bidder wants to do—within reason, of course. We can have them sign waivers. No one is kidnapping anyone and forcing them to go skydiving.”

A few people chuckle.

Everyone seems to love this idea—of course they do.

It’s a fabulous idea! It’s buzzy, it’s controversial. It will get press leading up to the event, during the event, and after.

It’s brilliant.

The perfect fundraiser.

I’d love it, too, if I wasn’t secretly dating one of their most eligible bachelors.

Technically, if Whitney loves it, Aaron could be on that list.

Technically,I would have no claim to say a word about it.

Andtechnically,I would have to sit in the crowd with a professional smile while women bid on spending an evening with the same man who had his mouth between my thighs twelve hours ago…

Annaleise claps her hands once. “Oh my God, people would lose their minds.”

“Yes, but we’d need player buy-in,” someone from marketing points out. “Not everyone would go for it.”

My pulse hammers with newfound hope.

There is no way Aaron would rubber stamp this for himself; I would bet money on it.