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CHAPTER1
The doctor’s office is decorated in understated wealth. The walls are painted a warm cream, with accents of rich green and muted blue. Soft classical music flows from cleverly hidden speakers to create a feeling of serenity. Not that I’m feeling serene. My pulse is frantic, but I’m trying to exude the same façade of calmness as the room encourages.
Fresh flowers are displayed on a marble table in the center of the room. A stylish receptionist sits behind an antique desk. I know it’s old and expensive—the desk, not the receptionist—but I don’t know if it’s a Louis the Fifteenth or some other French dude’s name.
“Curtis,” I whisper, nudging my best friend’s shoulder with mine. “What type of table is that?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Curtis whispers back, but looks over at the receptionist’s table nonetheless, shakes his head and turns toward me, an eyebrow arched. “An expensive one?” he deadpans.
It’s a pity Curtis and I didn’t make it as a couple. He is beautiful—almost too pretty to look at. He has sharp, high cheekbones, soft skin, big brown eyes, and the darkest, silkiest black hair I have ever seen. He has a slight build, but he’s toned. When we first met in classes at college, I thought he looked a little like Aladdin from the original Disney movie. We hit it off and tried dating, but the spark and fun we had on dates didn’t take flame the first time we kissed. So, we became best friends—without the benefits.
“You’ve got all your documents? Signed and ready?” he asks as he clutches his white envelope tighter in his fist.
Placing my hand over his clenched fist, I say, “You know you don’t have to do this with me, right? I’m a big girl.”
We’ve been having this same discussion for the past month—since we got our acceptance letters for the Merriweather college auction. “You’re not the only one with crippling student debt, Elle. And Merriweather Auctioneers has a fantastic reputation. Even if it feels a bit like the black market,” Curtis says, glancing down at his envelope.
“Mister Price, Doctor Katz will see you now,” a nurse announces from the small hallway to our right.
“Guess it’s my turn …” he says, his eyes clouded with doubt.
“Don’t worry so much. It’s gonna be amazing.” I squeeze Curtis’ hand before he stands to follow the nurse to the doctor’s office. His expression is skeptical, like he can’t understand why I’m so excited to be doing this. But I am—excited, that is.
I’m ready to start my own life. I don’t want to owe anyone anything. My family is one of the million middle-class families across America, but I saw the financial pressure sending my brother to college put on my parents. They constantly argued over money and my dad had to take on a second job to help pay the tuition, and I didn’t want to do that to my parents when I started studying.
Trying to help myself reach a financial goal and helping my family where I could was what drove me to find out how much I liked working with numbers and budgets, and what eventually made me decide to study accounting. There’s just something about numbers and knowing how to manipulate them to make life easier that fascinates me.
I’d always wanted to study at Yale. Coming from a small town in Maine, I longed for the hustle and bustle of the big city—and I did it on my own. I got a loan and started working, part-time, at a small pizzeria near my apartment to help pay the rent.
Life in the big city isn’t like the rom-com movies my mom and me used to watch when I was little. So, when I heard from other seniors about a hush-hush college auction that was an easy way to pay your student loan, I investigated and decided that I wanted to complete my business degree—debt-free—with Merriweather Auctioneers.
They’re one of the oldest auction houses in New England and the company that organizes these ‘secret’ college auctions. They have an excellent reputation, and not everyone who applies to be auctioned off is accepted. They have a shit-ton of rules that the participants need to follow and stringent medical exams they must pass, not to mention requiring participants to sign a non-disclosure agreement.
This doctor’s appointment is the second step in getting ready for the auction next week. Curtis and I have been accepted, and now we are getting our medical examination out of the way before we sign the final documents at the auction house next Friday.
Merriweather House is nestled somewhere near Mount Marcy in Vermont. We are traveling up by train early Friday morning to Lake Placid, where a car will be waiting to take us to the resort.
From the brochure we got about the auction house in our acceptance letter, the resort looks a bit like the big hotel from the movieThe Shining—minus Jack Torrance, hopefully.
It’s going to be incredible—
“Ms. Cartwright, Dr. Fischer will see you now,” a pretty nurse calls, and I get up, gathering my backpack. This is one test I know I’m going to ace. I haven’t been with anyone for the past year, unless you count my trusty vibrator, so no pesky STIs for me.
I am ready to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Sell my body for one night for a shit-ton of cash.
CHAPTER2
God, I’m tired. I need caffeine, stat! But sitting in the back of the black Mercedes-Benz passenger van with six other people, I’m not going to get any of the life-supporting liquid until we arrive at Merriweather House.
I stifle a yawn and gaze at the other ‘acquisitions.’ I’m sure that’s what you call objects being auctioned off. Everyone in the van is gorgeous. We’re three guys and four girls, all around the same age, between twenty-one to twenty-four years old. Surprisingly, we don’t all look the same. It’s like the organizers were looking for different types of people to cater to a wide variety of preferences. Some are model thin and tall, others are more pixie-like—and then there’s girls like me, all tits and ass. The guys are the same, someone for everyone’s tastes. Curtis is the dark-haired nerd, and the other two are more athletic.
The only sounds in the van are the wheels humming and the soft music playing from the front. We’re all silent, nervous about tonight. Since climbing into the van my excitement has morphed into nerves, and most of us are looking at our phones and trying to distract ourselves. I only recognize one other person besides Curtis—Merissa Lawton. She is as fake and plastic as the blonde Barbie doll she resembles. I’m sure that the men at the auction will pay close to, if not a million dollars for her since she’s society’s definition of beauty, but I’d heard that only virgins fetch that price.
God, a million dollars. What I wouldn’t give to get that—well, nine-hundred thousand dollars after Merriweather took their ten percent. Still … I could have a totally different life after tonight. No more wondering if I can make rent or if I will have enough money to visit my family over break.
“Woah.” Curtis’ soft exclamation distracts me, and I look out of the tinted window to my right to see what’s caught his attention.
Up ahead is nothing short of a mansion. The building is covered in white wooden cladding and has two wings that branch off symmetrically from the double front doors. Manicured lawns and stately pine trees line the drive.
