by Xavier Neal
“No, Rae! I really will! But it won’t be this week….See, it’s my grandparents’ wedding anniversary, and I got them this great gift, but unfortunately, it made me max out my credit card and-”
The abrupt, firm placement of Regan’s dark chocolate colored hand on my shoulder shuts my mouth. “Look, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to put good back into this world or wanting to do things to make others happy, Syd, but you gotta remember that you deserve good shit and happiness, too.” She drops her hand and reaches for one of the white paddles displayed on the table. “While I secured you a ticket, I didn’t get you a seat at the same table as your sisters.”
A good-natured grin appears on my face. “Because there wasn’t one, or because you don’t want me to sit anywhere near them?”
“Let’s not digress,” she nonchalantly brushes off the concern. “Find any open table and have a seat. You already missed the dinner portion, though between us, you should be glad you did. Water scorpion anything is disgusting.”
“Lobster, Rae. Normal people call it lobster.”
The corner of her lip lifts in a sneer.
I actually love it. My father used to make an amazing stuffed lobster tail….Not as amazing as the filet mignon he was known for, but still really good.
“We’re about to start the bachelor auction-”
“In which I will make extra loud noise, especially for Raphael.”
“Exactly. Because if I have to listen to him whine through another dinner with our parents about how unattractive the female population finds him in comparison to his best friend, Joey, we’ll have a murder, suicide situation on our hands. You got me?”
My lips press together to stop the snicker from slipping free.
If only she knew Joey couldn’t care less since he only has eyes for her. It’s absolutely adorable to watch him try not to trip over himself when she’s around. Not sure if she knows it or actively ignores it. I mean, he is her big brother’s best friend. Talk about a sticky situation.
“Dessert will follow promptly after, and they’ll announce the winners of the silent auction items. You don’t have stay for that, but it’s already been paid for, and they’re serving fried ice cream.”
“My favorite,” I quietly coo.
“Mmhm and a raspberry tart or something to go with it.”
“I love tarts.”
“Explains why you still speak to your siblings.”
The comeback cracks my jaw a bit.
They are not the nicest or easiest people to love, but they are my sisters. I have to love them even when they don’t love me.
“Most importantly, remember, any obvious motion with that paddle and I have to count it as a bid. Please, don’t accidently bid on anyone. Neither of us makes that type of money.” She gives me a wink and heads towards the hallway located behind me.
She’s totally exaggerating. Oh, no! Not on my end. I definitely don’t make anything close enough to even afford a ticket to this thing. Purchasing a ticket was actually going to be my charitable donation for the year. Regan on the other hand, possesses a great job, brings in an incredible amount of money, and has a loving family that would support her financially if she needed it. What? Jealous? Well….No. Fine. Maybe a little. More so about the family thing as opposed to the others. I love my jobs despite the fact they don’t have me swimming laps in gold plated pools. And I love my mom, so much. And my grandparents, both sets, are a huge part of my world, but….Never mind. No need to talk any more about money or family. We should probably go find a seat, huh?
Gripping the paddle along with my clutch purse, I stroll towards the open ballroom doors where the other guests are mingling. The night under the stars theme is breathtaking. There are numerous round tables covered in black cloths that seem to have the faintest shimmer to them. They have candles placed in the center to instill the feelings of romance. The chairs are cloaked with the same fabric but have white bows attached around back. Lights are dangling from the ceiling and elegantly draped along the stage to further the dreamy imagery.
Slowly, I veer to the right where the piano is being played in hopes of finding an empty seat towards the back.
Most people don’t wanna sit too close to where the music is coming from because then they can’t hear what their friend or date is saying. When you don’t have either, it’s the perfect spot.
My eyes wander around the room in curiosity. The room is packed with what appears to be wealthy women, and dead center are my two sisters giggling, obnoxiously loud, with a woman I’ve seen plastered on the cover of tabloid magazines in Birdie’s apartment.
You know, before she rips out the pages to line them in her birdcage. I forget if that woman’s a model…or an actress…or a singer? With a face that beautiful, I’m gonna place my money on model.
Being lost in my own train of thought causes me to accidently collide with a solid structure and nearly fall backwards. In one swift movement, his grip is tightly wound around my biceps, and I’m squeaking in surprise.
Slick, Syd. Real slick.
“Shoe girl?” a gruff voice grunts.
My eyes settle on a vaguely familiar face I met earlier today.
God, he’s even more terrifying up close. What? No! Now’s not the time to admire how he has a whole tall, dark, and broody thing to him that you find attractive! Beautiful blue eyes aside, I’m so scared he’s going to roar in my face and then feed me to his bear buddies that my heart is literally trying to Morris Code 9-1-1!
He helps steady me back onto my feet at the same time an intimidatingly gorgeous woman snaps from behind him, “Do you not break enough shit for me to replace?”
The man growls, and I say a silent prayer to The Cosmos that it’ll allow me to survive the next few seconds of my life.
His body slightly shifts towards her, and he tips his head towards me. “She’s not broken.”
Her chestnut eyes steal a glimpse of my figure before humming her agreement.
Is her coffee colored skin actually glowing, or is that just the lighting? And is she a model? Face and figure like that she has to be, right?
“Plus, shit shouldn’t be so fucking fragile.”
“Yes, Brock. Kitchen chairs shouldn’t be so fucking fragile.”
A cocky grin appears on his face. “Didn’t hear you bitching about it when you were bent over and-”
“Mixed. Company.” She viciously bites.
Being torn between my fascination and fear has me incapable of fleeing.
They’ve got so much of a connection between them that it’s mesmerizing… But so is the fact they’re both equally frightening. I don’t think I’ve ever met a pair of people more beautifully horrifying.
Brock lets his stare drop down to me. “What are you doing here, shoe girl?”
“Why do you keep calling her shoe girl?”
“She’s the chick I was telling you about earlier. The one Chance was kicking himself in the nuts over.”
A wide smile sweeps my face.
His name was Chance….Kind of funny, right? We met on random chance. We’re at the same charity event by chance. Not to mention life really is just one long journey of missed and taken chances given to you by The Universe….What a perfect name to go with his perfect body….
The woman sporting a stunning rose shaped engagement ring hums again, although this time it feels more menacing. “Is that so?”
Before I have the chance to reply, Brock demands his answer again, “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think she’s doing here?” She snaps on my behalf. “The same shit all the other hungry, horny, and unhappy with their marital status women are. To give to charity, which in most cases starts at home.”
My mouth twitches to get a word in when Brock grumps, “That’s not why you’re here.”
“No. We’re here protecting an employee and supporting a friend. I don’t need a pity date to help save the homeless-”
“Wales,” I whisper.
/>
“-any more than I need a pity fuck.”
Wow. And she was worried about his crass language.
The sentence rushes out of me in hopes of squishing the building tension. “My friend is the auction host.” When their eyes both settle on me once more, I add, “I’m not here to bid. Just somewhat silently support the cause.”
Her eyebrows rise. “And why not? Married?”
“No.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?” Brock tosses out the possibility.
“That’s a no, too….” I fidget with the objects in my possession. “I can’t really afford to bid even if I wanted to. I could barely pay for the ticket to get into this place. Like I had to save for weeks to cover the cost. Never in my life have I ever just had an extra five hundred bucks lying around and even if I did, I’d probably use it to take Birdie on one of those bird tours she hasn’t been on in years.” My mind momentarily roams away from the conversation, but I do my best to promptly pull it back. “I technically didn’t pay for the ticket yet, but I will! I mean, like I had most of the money saved, and then Birdie needed groceries, and my car needed an oil change, and then I ended up needing groceries.” Shaking my head at the way my life always seems to slide downward, I mumble more to myself than them, “Definitely, gonna pay Rae back this time. I can’t be the shitty broke friend all the time. That’s just…wrong, right?”
Their stoic expressions spiral me into a new realm of panic.
Did I really just dump all that out on total strangers? Well, not exactly total since we’re all connected to the same energy force, but you know what I meant. Ugh. This is the bad shit that happens when I don’t get a midday meditation break. Rambling. Embarrassment. And an uncentered focal point. What’s crazy is had I taken my midday meditation break I wouldn’t have been in the shoe store with my mom, but given how rare it is she has time to see me outside of work, I try to take every opportunity I get.
“Where are you sitting?” The woman inquires.
Thankful she took a turn to speak, I quickly answer, “Haven’t found a seat yet, I-”
“Sit.” She points to one of the empty chairs at her table. “Now.”
The lack of offering in her tone has my feet inching towards a seat. “But what about the other guests at your table? Won’t they mind?”
Brock pulls the chair out for me at the same time she answers, “There are no other guests. The entire table is mine.”
My jaw plummets. “You bought the entire table?”
Shit’s not cheap at five hundred dollars a ticket!
“French likes her privacy,” he informs and slides into the seat beside her.
“French,” I quietly repeat. “And Brock?”
He nods.
“And we aren’t going to call you shoe girl all night, so here is the moment in the conversation where you identify yourself.”
“Syd- er- um- Sydney. But all my friends call me Syd. Not that I have a ton of friends.” The accidental confession doesn’t seem to faze them, but rather than allow them time to dwell on it, I promptly change the subject. “And you two are friends of Chance’s?”
Brock nods again, but French states, “Boss.”
“Oh.” Curiosity unfortunately gets the better of me. “And what exactly are you the boss of? What’s Chance do for you?”
French lifts her champagne glass to have a sip instead of answering.
Is it just me, or did this entire room get like forty degrees colder?
I pass on pushing for more information and grip my clutch a bit tighter.
All of a sudden, another very beautiful woman who also happens to have brown skin approaches French’s table in a tizzy. “I’m gonna kill him.”
Do you think we should find a different table?
Brock quietly chortles.
“He has one job. One! Play the goddamn piano. How difficult is that?!” Before anyone can retort, she snips into her headset, “Yes, I’m talking about you!” There’s another pause followed by the quick removal of the device. “I hate him. I absolutely fucking hate him.”
French merely tilts her head to the side.
“Fine! I don’t! But he is driving me nuts. How hard is it to stick to the set list without tossing in a few curve balls? This isn’t exactly the panty throwing, Usher loving crowd!”
Brock tosses French a smug look. “Told you he was playing Nice and Slow.”
Her face shifts to an irritated one, and I bury my snicker behind my hand.
She doesn’t look like a woman who appreciates being laughed at.
The music shifts to a soft, sad tune, and the hopeless romantic inside of me instantly recognizes. Thoughtlessly, I sigh, ‘This is ‘We Belong Together’ by Mariah Carey.”
She huffs, “It’s like he wants me to fire him.”
“Or maybe he just wants you to know he’s always thinking about you.”
The woman’s brown eyes narrow at me. “Who are you?”
Brock doesn’t allow me to answer. “Shoe girl.”
Joy jumps onto her expression. “Oh my God, you’re the shoe girl Arik was telling me about?”
Unsure if I should be flattered or afraid at the impression I made on the group of guys earlier, I simply offer her a nod.
“Arik said Chance was totally pissy he didn’t get your number.”
Hearing the information once more brings a smile to my face.
So kill me. Guys aren’t exactly knocking on my door left and right to go out with me. Probably doesn’t help most of the men I meet are same sex oriented or over the age of sixty. That and of course the fact Rae is amazing at hosting charity auctions and shitty at hosting love connections.
“I’m Ari, by the way.” She extends her hand for me to shake. “I’m the event host, Arik’s boss for the next couple of hours, and his girlfriend. Though he’s testing my patience on the latter.”
Another giggle escapes as I introduce myself. “Sydney or Syd or whichever is good for you.”
“Syd,” French states, and our hands drop. “Call her Syd.”
Ari nods her understanding of the instructions. Afterwards, she let out a deep breath. “I should probably get back to checking on the event. Dessert will be served shortly, and I wanna make sure the plates go out looking perfect.” She positions her headset back in place and almost immediately a warm smile crosses her lips. “Don’t you dare.”
She gives us a small wave goodbye, and I let out another dreamy sigh, wondering what it would be like to have a guy drive me that crazy.
French, however, doesn’t let me get too wrapped up in my own reveries. She leans slightly around Brock to command, “Give me your paddle.”
While her tone leaves no room for questions, it doesn’t stop me from hesitating, “But-”
“Paddle.” She repeats at the same time her expression grows to distinct displeasure. “Now.”
My shaky hand offers it to her. “I-”
“You only bid on Chance.” She swiftly exchanges her paddle for mine. “Understood?”
Shock sends my mouth back to the floor.
“And try to keep it under two hundred K,” Brock grunts. “Last thing I wanna fuckin’ hear all night is him braggin’ about how much bank he brought in for fucking dolphins.”
I can’t even croak my correction about the type of charity.
Did he say two hundred thousand dollars? Was he being serious? Is she!?
The stage spot light shifts on, and Rae greets the crowd. “Good evening everyone!” My attention soars her direction. “We are finally to the bachelor auction portion of the evening. Before we get going, I just want to remind you of the rules. There are ten bachelors up for grabs this evening,” the crowd of primarily women whistles and hollers, “however, you may only win one. If you are the lucky lady in the audience who happens to bid the highest, once it has been declared you are the winner, one of my associates will come take your paddle, which is tied to the information you
gave when you purchased your ticket. This also prevents you from accidentally waving it during the auctioning of a different bachelor. Please remember, if I catch the slightest movement of a paddle, I am obligated to count it as a bid, so make sure you are bidding only when you’re absolutely certain you want him and can afford it.”
There’s a little more laughter from the crowd, and I dart my skeptical stare back to French. “Are you sure about this?”
She gives me a small smirk, lifts her glass, and looks back at the stage where Rae is finishing her explanation.
“Our ten bachelors come in various sizes, from various industries, and are all prepared to take you on various dates! One thing they all have in common? They share a sexy factor of ten! So, get those check books ready, and let’s get bidding!”
More squeals spring free from the audience, but I slide down into my seat.
I can’t do this. I can’t afford to do this. I can barely pay Rae back for the ticket let alone some bossy stranger thousands of dollars for her fairy tale perfect employee! Chance may be hot, oh my stars so hot, and there may be something larger at play by The Cosmos leading me to his group of friends, and then later literally crashing into one, but…this is crazy. I mean…it is, right?! Crazy. And weird. And…strangely romantic? No? Just the first two?
I let out a sarcastic huff, and a loose strand of hair tickles my forehead.
Yeah, you’re probably right. It’s most likely just crazy. Besides, romantic things don’t happen to me. That’s not what The Goddesses of Fate are trying to hint at. Guys don’t show up on my apartment doorstep playing “Let Me Love You” by Mario after realizing breaking up with me in High School was the pitfall of their existence. Yeah. Happened to Regan. Twice. Two different guys, same song….
The first bachelor is brought out and introduced. He’s wearing a slick black suit, has his dark brown hair gelled away from his face, and is sporting a sleazy smile. His energy is low, and the way he grins heavily implies how highly he thinks of himself.
French quietly states, “Less than ten.”
At the same volume, Brock argues, “Twelve.”
Bidding begins, and I allow my attention to oscillate between Rae’s prompt pointing at paddles and the few women interested in bringing him home. However, it doesn’t take long before the final bid is reached.