by EM BROWN
“No pressure, though,” Sam had added. “If there should be an opening here, I will definitely give you a call. You were my favorite student in class.”
“There weren’t that many of us,” she had said, referring to the course on the intersection of journalism and public policy that Sam had taught as a guest lecturer.
“Still, I could see you were talented. But going undercover can be dangerous. You know that, right? And you’ve never done anything like this before.”
But Kimani didn’t feel as if she had much of a choice. And it wasn’t just about landing a job with a paper.
“I am sooooo excited,” whispered a beautiful and petite blond standing next to her.
Kimani couldn’t help but take in the young woman’s boobs, which were practically spilling out of her pink skin-tight dress, and wonder if they were real since they were so large compared to the petite frame they were attached to.
“I’m sooooo ready to fall in love with a billionaire,” she said, blue eyes sparkling.
Kimani cleared her throat, hardly able to believe her ears. “Does the Scarlet Auction have a matchmaking component?”
“No, but in all the books I read, the girl and billionaire always fall in love.”
Kimani studied the blond and decided she couldn’t be much older than eighteen or nineteen years old. Should she attempt to burst the young woman’s bubble and warn her that the bidders weren’t all going to be Prince Charming?
No, she wasn’t here to offer her own opinions. She was here to understand how the Scarlet Auction worked and to make connections with the subjects, which had not gone as she had wanted. The women had been isolated from one another until now, just as they were about to head on stage for the bidding. She would have to follow up with the other participants afterwards. Hopefully one or more would be willing to go on record with their experiences.
“They’re not all billionaires,” said a brunette behind them.
“Close enough,” replied the blond. “The Scarlet Auction doesn’t just let any rich guy attend. He’s got to have a net worth of at least nine figures, so you’re not going to find ordinary millionaires.”
“What’s wrong with ordinary millionaires?” asked a slim woman with olive skin and long black hair. “A million dollars is probably more than I’ll ever see in a lifetime.”
There were just under two dozen women present, all between the ages of eighteen and thirty, beautiful and primped as if they were participating in a beauty pageant instead of an auction. Kimani herself had straightened her hair—which she usually didn’t like to do because it was more effort than she had time for—and then used a curling iron at the ends. She needed to get selected or there would be no story. So she had traded her glasses for contacts and tried to make herself as appealing to as many men as possible.
“I heard a virgin at last month’s auction got a bid of one hundred thousand dollars!” another woman said.
“That’s why I’ve been saving myself for this moment,” the blond said as she tugged at one of her long golden curls. “Virgins always get the higher bids.”
“Did any of you get to finish reading the contract and nondisclosure agreement?” Kimani asked, recalling that she had been given only fifteen minutes to review over twenty pages of legalese in small type and dozens of footnotes.
“If the auction is being held in California, why is arbitration held in Florida?” Kimani had asked after reading one of the clauses in the contract.
“The parent company is located there,” an attorney had responded coldly.
When the fifteen minutes were over and she had objected that she hadn’t finished reading, she had been told if she didn’t sign, she wouldn’t get to participate. So she had signed, telling herself that, NDA or no NDA, and no matter how many intimidating lawyers they shoved in her face, she had a right to report abuse and assault.
“Why would I want to read a boring legal document?” the blond returned. “The lawyer covered all the important stuff.”
“You’re not worried?”
Kimani wanted to blurt out how her roommate, who had participated in the Scarlet Auction, had ended up covered in bruises.
“Showtime,” announced an older woman. “Remember your stage assignments, ladies.”
Kimani was assigned to stand stage left of the podium and noticed that the blond virgin was stage right. Kimani’s roommate, Marissa, had explained that the virgins always stand stage right.
“Eww, these guys are so much older than I thought they would be,” the brunette whispered to Kimani.
“Most billionaires are,” Kimani whispered back. She made sure the broach with the hidden spy camera was secured to her choker.
“And not very attractive.”
“The guy in the middle row is cute,” said another woman.
Kimani scanned the crowd of mostly older white men and one lone woman in her forties to find the one dubbed “cute.” She gathered her fellow participant was referring to the guy with wavy brown hair flanked by a shorter man with a receding hairline and a tan-skinned Asian. They sat a little too far back for the camera in her broach to capture their faces well, but maybe with some technical wizardry, an image specialist could enlarge the footage enough to be clear.
“We will begin the bidding with item number one,” declared the woman at the podium.
Item? Kimani shook her head. This was so much worse than Marissa had described.
The people in the audience all had bid cards, which they held up when they wanted to meet the price announced by the auctioneer. The blond virgin was sold to the cute one for eighty-thousand dollars. The young woman looked ready to jump for joy.
We’re being sold like livestock. Kimani shivered. What’s wrong with these people?
The thin woman with long black hair was sold to the only Asian man in the audience, and the other friend of the cute one had purchased a redhead. Kimani was the last one to be bid on.
At first, no one raised their card. Kimani flushed a little. The lack of bids couldn’t have been because of her appearance. She was young enough—twenty-five years old—and attractive, with her light mocha skin and naturally long eyelashes. She kept herself in shape through running every morning but still had curves in the right places. Maybe this crowd just wasn’t into her type.
“Why don’t we start the bidding at five thousand,” said the auctioneer.
The lone woman in the audience raised her card.
“Ten thousand? Do I see ten thousand?” asked the auctioneer.
A card went up from a man who had already purchased the brunette. Kimani perked up at the idea that she wouldn’t be alone.
“Fifteen thousand?”
The woman raised her card again.
“Twenty thousand? How about twenty thousand for this exotic beauty?”
Kimani stifled a gag. Just think of the job, she told herself. If written well, maybe the story would even be worthy of consideration for the Pulitzer.
“All right,” Sam had relented when she declared she was doing the story one way or another. “I’ll support you in any way I can—unofficially, of course. Who knows, maybe you could be the next Alex Dolan or Nellie Bly.”
“Thirty thousand.”
Kimani started and saw that the cute one was holding up his card.
“Thirty thousand. Do I have thirty-five?” asked the auctioneer.
No one raised their cards.
“Thirty thousand going once...twice...and sold to gentleman number fourteen.”
Kimani did a quick calculation in her head. The women got to keep forty percent of the bid at the end of the week, so that meant she could pocket twelve thousand dollars, provided she didn’t violate the terms of the contract or NDA. That was pretty darn good money—equal to three months of work for Kimani. But even so, was it worth spending a week having sex with a stranger?
She didn’t plan on having sex, though. She was here to get her story. She’d stick it out for as long as she could to ge
t as much info as possible because Sam said the story would be worth infinitely more if she could get actual names, but they had agreed that if there was any danger to her person, she was to get out ASAP. As soon as the guy laid a finger on her, she’d explain she was chickening out and call it quits. The auction had made her put up two thousand dollars as a nonrefundable “processing fee,” paid in cash, which Sam had fronted for her. But the loss of money would be more than made up for by the story.
At the end of the auction they were ushered backstage, where each woman was led away by a staff member.
“Can you believe it?” squealed the blond. “I just made forty thousand dollars!”
“You get to keep forty percent,” Kimani reminded her kindly.
“I know!”
“If the bid was eighty thousand, you get to keep thirty-two thousand.”
“Oh. But that’s still amazing! I just saved myself years of work!” She held out her hand. “I’m Claire, by the way.”
Kimani shook her hand, wondering if Claire was her real name. It had fallen from her lips, there was a good chance it was. “Nice to meet you.”
Claire waited expectantly.
“Oh, um, my name is...Montana,” Kimani said.
“Ladies, your limo awaits,” said a female staffer. “Follow me.”
“A limo!” Claire grinned from ear to ear.
“Where are we going?” Kimani asked the staff member.
“That’s up to your Master.”
Kimani bristled at that last word. “But don’t we get to go home first? I was going to change out of this dress—”
“Your week begins now.”
“But—can I at least grab my bag?”
“I have your belongings here with me.”
The woman ushered them to the back of the theater where a stretch limo awaited. Claire eagerly bounced inside. Kimani eyed the limo driver, who held the door open, wondering if this was someone she could trust to help if things went awry, but she couldn’t tell. He didn’t meet her gaze. Her pulse quickened as she wondered if she should step into the limo.
“Did the guy—” she began.
“You mean your Master?” the staff member supplied.
“Yes, did he mention where we’re going?”
“That doesn’t really matter, does it? Your contract says that’s for him to decide.”
Kimani hesitated. She didn’t have enough story material yet. When she had discovered the bruises Marissa had tried to keep hidden a month ago, Marissa had refused to admit anything at first. Kimani had persisted, but though Marissa had finally relented and told Kimani the truth, she had refused to say anything on the record. No amount of badgering, cajoling or bribing from Kimani could change her mind because she was convinced she would have to repay the twenty thousand dollars she had made from her participation in the Scarlet Auction.
“I didn’t go through that for nothing,” Marissa had told Kimani angrily.
At that, Kimani had backed off. It was obvious Marissa was in a lot of pain and just wanted to move on with her life.
But Kimani couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right that a man could beat Marissa up like that and get away with it. After a few more days of failing to convince Marissa to speak up, Kimani had decided that if Marissa wouldn’t come forth, she would find someone who would.
Taking a deep breath, she got in the limo.
CHAPTER THREE
“You missed out, cuz,” Jason said over the phone. “The women at the auction were dope. I got myself a little Thai hottie. We’re heading up to Jake’s cabin in the morning. You wanna ride with?”
Ben stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city from the bedroom of his penthouse in Pac Heights. “I’m not up to spending a week with Jake and Derek. I just spent a month overseeing the plans for our new luxury resort in Thailand and visiting our investments in Germany. I’ve got this political committee to set up for our uncle.”
“Oh, right. What’s he running for again?”
“Mayor of Oakland. I don’t have the patience to dick around with Jake and Derek.”
“But Jake signed some amazing ballers, and if your dad is serious about recruiting foreign talent for the Golden Phoenix, Jake’s your best bet.”
The Golden Phoenix basketball team was sponsored by the Lee Family Corporation, and Ben’s father was intent on building the team into a contender for the Chinese Basketball Association title.
“And dicking around with them is fun.”
“They’re overgrown teenagers,” Ben said. “You’re a Lee. You don’t have to hang out with dipshits like them.”
“You’re starting to sound like an old fart.”
Ben groaned. He didn’t want to have this conversation with Jason, who was almost six years younger and the closest thing to a brother to Ben.
“Come on,” Jason urged. “It’s going to be a fun week, and if you’re tired from working, you need a vacay. If you don’t have a girl, maybe Jake will lend you one of his.”
“Jake has more than one?”
“Totally! I didn’t know you could bid on more than one. If I had known that, I would have gotten a second one. There was this pretty hot Korean...”
Ben tried to ignore the tug at his groin. He needed a good fuck and had contemplated making a visit to the pretty blond who lived three floors below, but she reminded him a little too much of his mother, a German Russian his father had met on a diplomatic trip to Berlin.
And Ben, who liked to spend most of the year in San Francisco, didn’t want complications with neighbors. He had that in common with Jake. Sometimes he just wanted a fuck for fuck’s sake and nothing else.
Maybe he should have gone with them to the Scarlet Auction.
Jason made a final pitch. “Besides, I rarely get to see you anymore, so it’d be great to hang together.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ben recalled what his uncle, Jason’s father, had said to him once:
“You are the eldest of the number one son,” Uncle had said. “It is your duty to look after your siblings and cousins.”
“I’ll go,” Ben decided, “but I’ll get myself up to this cabin.”
“Awesome! See you soon.”
Ben hung up and threw himself on his bed. Fuck. A week with Tweedledee and Tweedledum.
Unzipping his pants, he pulled out his cock and tugged. It wasn’t as good as pounding pussy, but it would have to do for now. Tomorrow morning, he’d call his security detail, Bataar, and arrange a sparring match. That would alleviate some of the pent-up energy and frustration. Fucking was more soothing, but like masturbating, sparring would have to do.
KIMANI COULDN’T SHAKE the queasy feeling building inside her as the limo headed north on US 101. Marissa hadn’t mentioned being whisked away directly from the auction to her bidder’s place of choice. She talked about being locked up in a nice house and submitting to sexual acts she wasn’t comfortable with. Sex, and even BDSM sex, was part of the bargain, Marissa had explained, but there were no safe words, and even if there were, she doubted her ‘Master’ would have cared.
It had made Kimani sick to hear it. At first, Marissa had played off her injuries like they were nothing. If Kimani hadn’t accidentally walked in on Marissa just as she was getting out of the shower, she would have never known about the bruises, which Marissa kept hidden beneath layers of clothes.
“They’re just old bruises from the BDSM club I go to now and then,” Marissa had said.
But when Kimani had pressed for details, Marissa’s answers were increasingly suspicious.
“I bet Master has a mansion in Marin County,” Claire prattled. “Or maybe he’s meeting us at some fancy restaurant like The French Laundry.”
Kimani would have loved the destination to be the famed Michelin-starred restaurant in Napa Valley, but she suspected that wasn’t the case. She reached into her hobo handbag for her cell to text Sam what was happening.
“Hey! Where’s my phon
e?”
She rifled through her purse, pulling out her glasses, ChapStick, notepad, and pens that had built-in audio recorders. Her canister of mace was missing, too.
Her heartbeat shot up. She turned to Claire, “Do you have your phone?”
Claire looked into her sparkling clutch. “Mine’s missing, too. Oh, well, I don’t really need it. I told my friends I was going away to a spa for some ‘me’ time.”
Kimani tried not to panic. She tapped on the window separating her and the driver.
“Where is it we’re going?” she asked as nonchalantly as possible to the driver.
“No hablo ingles,” he replied.
Shit. Kimani willed herself to relax. Panicking wouldn’t help her out. Sam knew where she was and what she was doing. If he didn’t hear from her in some time, he’d get worried and do something.
Focus on getting the story.
“We are soooooo lucky,” Claire cooed. “We got the hottest bidder. At first, I was really scared that the fat old guy in the front row was going to win me. I mean, I was not going to lose my virginity to that guy. I’d rather forfeit the two thousand dollars I put up, and getting that money wasn’t easy. I’m still trying to pay off these girls.”
Claire squeezed her boobs.
“Finally decided to take a cash advance on my credit card.”
Kimani winced. The interest on that couldn’t be pretty, but with over thirty thousand dollars coming her way, Claire shouldn’t have trouble paying back the cash advance and the boob job.
“So what made you decide to do the Scarlet Auction?” Kimani asked as she settled in the leather upholstery across from Claire. She thought about clicking on one of her audio-recording pens, but she only had three of them with her and wanted to adhere to journalist ethics. She couldn’t record without the source’s permission unless lives were at stake, the information could not be obtained in any other way, or the story would suffer irrevocably without the information.
“Who wouldn’t?” Claire responded. “How else can you make forty thousand in just one week? I mean, it’s tons more than Julia Roberts made in Pretty Woman!”