Page 9 of Auctioned To Be Mine

It wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no, either. I would absolutely take it.

“I’ll have everything over to her by tomorrow morning,” I said. I kept my voice even. I did not allow myself to exhale with relief. Not yet. Not in front of him.

He nodded once and picked up his fork, apparently deciding the conversation portion of the evening had concluded. Back to the salmon he was taking a chance on.

I reached for my water glass and took a long, slow sip. I didn’t want to get drunk. Had to keep things sober.

Betty was going to be so relieved if he said yes.

He swallowed his fish down with a large gulp of wine. “Don’t you ever wish the universe would just give you a sign, either yes or no?” he asked.

The answer came immediately.

The fire alarm screamed to life and every sprinkler head in the ceiling burst open at once, unleashing a wall of icy water that dumped over me before I even had time to register what was happening.

The dining room exploded into chaos.

Women shrieked. Men swore. Chairs scraped and tipped. Glass shattered on the floor. And then it was a stampede toward the door. I grabbed my bag off the back of my chair and ducked my head against the spray. My hair was clinging to my face. I was soaked through in seconds, the fabric of my dress heavy against my skin.

Jack Montana was gone.

He simply wasn’t there anymore. He had evaporated like he’d never been there at all. I didn’t even see him leave. He bailed without a second thought about what might be happening with me.

What a gentleman.

The doors became a bottleneck. People shrieking and shoving in an attempt to get out. A woman with a soaked fur stole nearly knocked me sideways trying to get past. The alarm was so loud it was inside my skull.

I turned and went in the other direction. Every restaurant had a back door. I put my head down and moved against the tide, pushing through the swinging kitchen door. No one was there to stop me.

The kitchen had already emptied out. I was looking for the door and found it. I pushed it open and stepped outside. The narrow alley that ran along the back of the building was filled with cooks and waitstaff. Some of them were clearly trying to figure out what had happened. Others were laughing it off and lighting up cigarettes.

I pushed my soaked hair out of my face and looked around, trying to orient myself.

Jack Montana was gone. The dinner was over. The conversation with his publicist was now entirely dependent on whether he was the kind of man who honored vague agreements. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he’d orchestrated the fire alarm to get out of giving me a definitive answer. Based on everything I knew about him after less than an hour in his company, I was certain it was something he’d do.

I was completely drenched. My dress was clinging to me in a way that was probably illegal. Or indecent at the very least. Now that I was out of the direct water spray, my curls were springing to life. My shoes were ruined. They were consignment shop shoes but they were good ones and they were toast.

And even though our meals were interrupted, I was certain there was a bill with my name on it. A bill with Jack Montana’s wine order on it.

I pressed my back against the building and closed my eyes. Shit, shit, shit.

I opened my eyes and pulled out my phone to check for damage. The screen lit up. Waterproof case. Best twelve dollars I’d ever spent.

I was composing a text to Betty in my head. I needed to prepare her without panicking her. All was not lost. I did mostly get an okay from our celebrity pick. We could still talk to his publicist. I had a feeling I knew what was going to happen. Jack would tell his publicist to tell us no because that was the kind of coward he was.

Laughter caught my attention. It felt off. Wrong. Not like the staff laughter. I looked up and scanned the area in search of the culprits.

They were standing maybe fifteen feet away near the edge of the dumpsters, two of them. It didn’t take a genius to figure out they were related. Brothers likely. Same height, same build, same dark hair, same jaw. One of them was animated, gesturing with his hands, telling a story that the other one was finding genuinely hilarious.

It was the bulldozer who had knocked me on my ass earlier.

He was soaked through, same as everyone else, but he’d stripped off his jacket and was holding it in one hand. The white button-down shirt was absolutely plastered to him in a way that left very little to the imagination. The fabric had gone completely translucent across his shoulders. His chest was on full display. Of course, he was all hard muscle. Flat stomach. Defined pecs. No wonder I bounced off him. He was a wall of muscle.

He slicked his hair back from his forehead, and my God, it looked like an ad that should be on a billboard. Or a porn site.

The sound of his laughter carried all the way to where I was standing, wet and furious. It made my blood pressure spike. He thought it was funny. Of course he did. Men like that always thought everything was funny when it wasn’t happening to them. Or in his case, even when it was. He was soaked to the bone and still laughing like he’d won something.

I hated him a little for that.