Auctioned to Him 3: Back to the Yacht

by Charlotte Byrd

  Well, I’ve known Ellie only a week, I’m already falling behind in my duties. There hasn’t been one scandal and my public relations manager is at a loss as to what to do. I mean, she does get paid a pretty penny to keep my name clean even if I do everything in my power to dirty it up.

  “I’m sort of seeing someone.” I try to explain when she questions me on the phone.

  “You are? Who? Is it the heiress to the Warrenhouse fortune?”

  She rattles off a few other promising possibilities - women I’ve been linked to during the past few months. But I keep saying no, no, no.

  “So, tell me. I mean, this is huge news.”

  “No, it’s not.” I shake my head. “It’s not news at all. I don’t want it public. We don't want it public.”

  I correct the word I to the word we because I actually have no idea how Ellie would respond to any of this. And I don't want to spring it on her. I need for things to remain as normal as possible between us because I’m terrified of breaking the spell that she has put me under.

  “Listen, I can’t talk about this anymore. I’m spending the weekend on the yacht again. I’ll be in touch afterward.”

  After hanging up abruptly, my thoughts turn back to Ellie. She’s actually going to the yacht party again. I thought that she would, but I wasn’t completely sure. I know that going to the last one was a big deal for her. Very out of character. That’s one of the reasons why I like her so much. She is very much unlike all the typical girls that I tend to meet.

  And I do like her. No, that’s not the right word, is it? It’s more like love. I already told her that I’m falling for her. But that was a lie. A big lie. I’m in love with her. And I think I’ve been in love with her since the first night that we spent together. I just haven’t told her yet. It’s too soon, right? I mean, we just met. I don’t want to freak her out. I don't want to come on too strong. And yet, this is how I feel. And I also know that I’m a coward for not telling her the truth about my feelings.

  I open the banking app on my phone. Speaking of Ellie, I still owe her the rest of the money for the week she has agreed to be mine. The week didn’t go exactly as planned, but I’m a man of my word and I always pay my debts. Somewhere in the back of my head, I get a nagging feeling of insecurity. What if she’s only spending time with me because of the money? I know she has never done anything like this before, but that doesn’t mean that the money isn’t alluring. Enticing. Captivating. What if this whole thing has been a game? What if it’s just pretend? I transfer the rest of the balance I owe her and toss my phone on the couch. I guess this weekend I will find out for sure. I’m not paying her any more money to be with me. So, if she continues to act just as interested and our connection remains strong, then what I’m feeling is real and authentic. And if she doesn’t? My heart drops a bit. I guess it has all been a charade and I’ll have to pick up the broken pieces of my heart and move on with life. What else is there to do?

  Just then, my phone rings. My heart skips a beat at the thought that it might be Ellie. But when I glance down at the screen, I see that it’s Alexis. My ex-wife. Fuck. I don't want to pick up, but I know her too well. She’ll just keep calling.

  “What do you want?”

  “I just wanted to tell you that you're an asshole.” She starts talking almost immediately. This is her natural state - rushed and out of control. Whenever you enter a conversation with her, it feels like you've been in it for quite some time and you’re always playing catch up.

  “What is it now?” I ask.

  “I come to you for help and you just turn me away. I mean, what kind of friend does that?” she asks.

  “Alexis, it’s not my fault that your husband took off on you and Rory. He’s an asshole. But I told you that a million times. I also told you to leave him a million times. I said I would help. But do you listen? No, of course not.”

  “Whatever.”

  I don’t know what else to say. Alexis’ modus operandi is drama. She needs constant stimulation in her life to give it meaning. I didn’t understand that when we were married. I tried to calm her down. I tried to make peace. But that’s not what she wants. She wants something more exciting. And I’m just not the person to give her that anymore.

  “I’m busy,” I say after a moment of silence. “I have to go.”

  “Why can’t you just be there for me? Don’t I mean anything to you anymore?”

  I hang up the phone. No, you don’t, actually. That’s what I think, but it’s not something I can say out loud. I’m not that cruel. There was a time when I was desperately in love with Alexis. She was tall and beautiful and full of life. She’s still tall and beautiful, but what I used to think was her exuberance was just a desperate attempt to fill her life with drama. And I don't have time for that. I need my life to be calm and predictable. At least, when it comes to relationships. Well, not really relationships. I don't really know what I need in a relationship. The truth is that I haven’t been in one since I was with Alexis, and I’ve used women mainly to have a good time with. Sex. Food. Fun. More sex. That’s all I’ve really had since Alexis. Until I met Ellie.

  Chapter 1 - Ellie

  When we head back to the yacht…

  Caroline is the type who usually arrives everywhere fashionably late. But not this time. Tonight, she’s rushing me. Telling me to hurry up. Yelling at me and only making me move slower. Unlike other girls, I can’t even shop with other people well because I need to focus on picking out clothes and that takes a lot more resources from me than other normal girls.

  “What the hell is taking you so long?” Caroline stands in my doorway. Her bag is already packed and she’s wearing the dress and heels that she will be wearing out. Meanwhile, I’m still in my pajamas and slippers.

  “Listen, I told you. I need to think, okay? We still have half an hour before the cab gets here.”

  She rolls her eyes and mouths whatever. She finds me tedious and boring. I know that. She wants to pre-game, meaning that she wants to do a few shots to calm her nerves. I know she’s nervous. So am I. But she doesn’t believe me. Even though I’ve been to the yacht before and participated in the auction, that doesn’t mean that I know what I’m doing. She has been to the yacht before, too. This isn’t all new to her. I mean, I would never even have met Aiden if I hadn’t gone to the party with her. But something about that night made me braver than Caroline. While she’s always the one having one-night stands and going home with strange men and going away for weekends on a whim, she didn’t want to be auctioned off that night. Come to think of it, I don't really know why I actually did it except that it felt like it would be an exciting thing to do. You see, if you live long enough as a boring, predictable sort of girl, you end up craving something different. Something fun. You want the world to see you as someone else. Or maybe you just want to see yourself as someone else. It’s not all the time that you actually have the ability to surprise yourself.

  Fifteen minutes later, my bag is finally packed. I take a small makeup bag with me and check my hair in the mirror. I change into a pair of skinny jeans and boots and a tight-fitting, but warm jacket, which is cut in such a way that it makes my butt look amazing.

  “What the hell? You’re not wearing a dress?” Caroline asks. She’s dressed in a lacy, black number, which is sleeveless to boot.

  I shrug.

  “The weather is getting colder,” I say. “It’s not summer anymore.”

  Unlike most twenty-something girls in Manhattan, I’m somewhat of a wimp. These girls will wear stiletto heels and strapless dresses in the dead of winter when it’s like twenty degrees out and snowing. They’ll take a few shots to warm up and then leave their apartments without so much as a long sleeve shirt to keep them warm. No, I could never do that. Not in college, not now. I’m cold practically all the time as it is, even when it’s not February in New York City. And even though it’s only September and the days are still pretty warm, I’m worried that I’ll be cold on the yacht. Bes
ides, I look hot. Just not dressed up. Jeans and a nice-fitting top are always my go to outfit. It makes me feel safe. Not too overexposed.

  “Ah, whatever. It’s not like there’s time to change,” Caroline says, opening the door to our apartment. She has already called the cab and it’s waiting patiently for us downstairs.

  “I’m so excited,” Caroline whispers to me in the cab. She never talks at full voice in cabs. I’m actually not sure which is ruder. I mean, it’s not like the cab driver can’t hear her even if she whispers. He just can’t hear her as well.

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  The cab driver drops us off at the familiar nondescript office building. It’s the same place where we helicoptered out of last time and we go through the motions like experts. The security guard inside nudges us toward the elevator and tells us to head to the top floor. This time, the roof isn’t particularly windy and I can enjoy the view a little more. New York is lit up in all directions, except for the water, which is pitch black. The helicopter pilot helps us with our bags and hands us earphones to wear inside. Within a few moments, we are flying high above the skyline. The skyscrapers look like models now, something that a little kid would play with. And the people below are practically non-existent. They’re as small as ants.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Caroline asks.

  “Yes!” I scream so that she can hear me. Caroline pulls out her phone and takes a few selfies. But I decline. I don't feel like faking a smile now. My stomach is in knots over the anticipation of what is about to happen.

  Since it’s already dark outside, I know that we are flying over water but there is only blackness below us. Somewhere in the distance, I see a few lights and feel the helicopter get into position. A few minutes later, we land.

  At the entrance to the main living room, a familiar face greets us. Lizbeth, the woman who greeted us before and ran the auction. She is just as tall and beautiful as I remember. She’s again holding a silver plate with glasses of champagne. The man in an impeccable tuxedo next to her helps us with our bags.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Ellie,” Lizbeth says, showing us to our stateroom. “You will not be sharing a room this time. The rooms are right next to each other though.”

  Wow, we’re moving up in the world, I want to say, but I keep my mouth shut. Lizbeth shows Caroline into her room and the man in the tuxedo drops off her bag. She tries to tip him, but he refuses to accept anything.

  “You are guests of Mr. Black,” Lizbeth explains. “And guests of Mr. Black do not tip. Besides, everyone working on this yacht is generously compensated.”

  I nod, slightly relieved by this fact. I suddenly remember that I did not tip the guy last time and was already feeling bad about that. In restaurants, I always tip twenty percent no matter what kind of service I get. Why? My aunt, my mom’s sister, got pregnant in high school and worked as a waitress at a low-rent diner all of her life. Unlike other places of employment, waiters are not required to be paid a minimum wage. Employers only have to pay them $2.13 per hour because the rest of their wages are expected to come from tips. But the problem is that if the diner or restaurant isn’t busy, then they usually don't make even minimum wage. So, I always tip waitresses twenty percent, but I have no idea how much I’m supposed to tip cleaning people in hotels, and butlers, and other staff for things like turndown service and helping with bags. It’s mainly because I never really stay in places that have offered those services before.

  “The cocktail party has begun. Feel free to join us when you’re ready,” Lizbeth says, opening the door to my room. The man in the tuxedo drops off my bags and I let out a sigh of relief because I don't have to scramble and worry if I’m leaving him enough of a tip.

  “Oh my God!” Caroline bursts into my stateroom. “How gorgeous is this place?”

  I walk around my room and take it all in. It’s just as beautiful as the last room we shared, but different. The fact that it’s called a room is a misnomer. It’s actually a one-bedroom apartment with a large sitting/living room area and a separate bedroom. I run my fingers over the fine Egyptian linens and follow Caroline as she shows me into the bathroom and gushes over the marble his and hers vanity. Back in the sitting room, I make note of the soft lighting that creates a mood of opulence and luxury and then go out onto my private balcony and look out onto the vastness of the ocean.

  “This is amazing,” I say to Caroline. She nods excitedly, fixing her makeup.

  “Shall we?” she asks, taking me by the arm. My heart skips a beat, and I follow her out to the cocktail party.

  Chapter 2 - Ellie

  When we go to another cocktail party…

  When we get to the main cabin on the yacht, the place is filled with young, attractive people. The guys are in their twenties and thirties and dressed in expensive tailored suits with starched white collars and cufflinks. At the bar, I order a mojito and Caroline gets a martini. After a few sips, my nerves calm down a bit and I relax in the swivel chair. Caroline gets busy chatting up the two hot guys positioned right next to us, but I look around the room for Aiden. My hopes go up every time a new person enters the room, but forty minutes and two drinks later, he’s still not here. This isn’t unusual, of course. He didn’t come to the cocktail party last time either. But it’s still a bit of a letdown.

  I haven’t talked to Aiden since he insisted on me coming to the party and I am not entirely sure where we stand. He paid the rest of the balance he ‘owed’ for spending the week with him, even though he didn’t really owe it to me. The week didn’t really go as either of us had planned, and I wouldn’t have minded if he had not paid the rest. Still, he’s a man of his word and my bank account grew by quite a bit as a result.

  The odd thing though, is that his transferring the rest of the money to me actually brought about more questions than answers in my mind. I mean, where do we stand now? Will there be another auction tonight and do I sit it out? There’s no way I’m going to participate and go to the highest bidder who isn’t Aiden. But why would he want to pay for my presence again? Frankly, I don't really want him to. I want to be with him because he wants me and I want him, not because of any monetary exchange or requirement.

  With all of these questions weighing heavily on my mind, I struggle to make conversation with the guy who is desperately trying to chat me up. He’s telling me about his time at Princeton and I simply stare into my drink and nod along, wondering how much he will be spending on a girl tonight, or if he will be participating at all.

  When Caroline and the two guys she has been chatting with join our conversation, I overhear the rumors that are going on about what’s going to happen on the yacht later.

  “I heard that there will be a masquerade ball,” one of the guys says.

  “No, I think there’s going to be a dinner first,” the other one says.

  “Well, actually, Ellie here has been to one of these before,” Caroline says with a coy smile and a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

  “Really? What happened?” The guys demand to know.

  I shake my head and shrug, but Caroline doesn’t let me get off that easily.

  “Actually, they had an auction. Girls who were willing were auctioned off to the highest bidder,” Caroline says. “Hope you guys brought your checkbooks.”

  That definitely leaves an impression as they start to talk among themselves. A part of me is annoyed with Caroline for telling them about the auction, but another part isn’t all that surprised.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a man by the other side of the wall. He’s definitely easy on the eyes and even more attractive than the rest of the hot men around here. There’s a serious brooding look on his face and he looks familiar. Suddenly, it occurs to me that I’ve seen him before. He was one of the men I talked to last time. His dark piercing eyes stare into my soul and I can tell that he remembers me, too. He brushes his fingers through his dark chocolate hair and makes his way over to me. When he gets close, I lose myself
in the brilliance of his eyes; they are the color of the ocean.

  “Ellie, right?” he asks in his low voice. He has a strong square jaw and an elegant nose that is a perfect fit for his face. I search my mind for his name, but can’t come up with anything.

  “Blake Garrison.” He extends his hand to me.

  “Oh, that’s right,” I say, shaking his hand and wondering how he knows my name. We have talked before, at the last party, and his stare was just as disarming then as well.

  And then it hits me! That’s right. Of course. He’s the guy who wanted a private word with me. He’s the one who told me that I shouldn’t be at the party. It was a warning of sorts. A warning I still have no idea why he gave.

  “Weren’t you the guy who told me that I shouldn’t be here last time?” I ask, crossing my arms across my chest.

  He nods and winks.

  “And why was that again?”

  “Just didn’t think that this sort of party was a good fit for a girl like you,” he says after a moment. I clearly took him aback by confronting him.

  “And what do you know about me?”

  “You seem like a nice girl, that’s it.”

  “Well, I am. But maybe nice girls can have a good time, too. Besides, it’s very presumptuous of you to make that kind of statement to strangers. Don’t you think?”

  Blake shrugs and orders an old fashioned. He’s ignoring me. Goading me. It’s incredibly irritating.

  “Well, I had a good time anyway,” I say. “And that’s why I came back.”

  “Yes, I see that.”

  “And clearly, you had a good time, too. Since you’re back.”

  Blake takes a sip and shrugs nonchalantly. “I guess you could say that.”

  “Why else would you be back?”