“Thank you,” Amelia said, circling her finger around the rim of her glass. “I didn’t want to risk being seen.”
“Is the dating world this hard?” asked Cayla.
Amelia pressed her lips together and frowned. “This is not about dating. This is about revenge. Nate Reyes used me.”
“From what you told me, you used him, too,” Cay reminded her. “You left without giving him your information.”
Why did she always tell her cousin everything? Cay lived vicariously through Amelia and in return acted as Amelia’s conscience. “Information he clearly had since he stalked me at the bar and seduced me in order to distract me from my job.”
Across the table Cay rolled her eyes. “You’re really going to go through with this?”
“I kid you not. Angels sang when Pastor Rivers announced the charity event.”
Cay squinted her hazel eyes. “Somehow I do not think you understand what the word charity means.”
Amelia’s eyes widened with surprise. “Are you kidding me? I donate all the time.”
“So you’ll donate your time and services for next month’s Hardware Hottie Bachelorette Auction?”
“What?” Amelia frowned.
“Kind of like this, but women are auctioning their time. Greg is threatening to nominate me,” Cay said with a giggle. “I might need to do some sexy lingerie shopping. Pastor Rivers’s guilt speech does not apply to husbands and wives.”
Giving her cousin the side-eye, Amelia shook her head. Tonight’s event offered forty hours of service from these handymen. The time put in could mean a couple hours of community service here and there. Amelia planned on cashing in her winnings this week. Once she got her grandmamma settled, she was out of here. So any sort of volunteering of her time was out of the question—especially not in this area.
“No, thanks.” Amelia’s frown deepened. “Besides, I am dropping enough cash tonight that all the schools in four counties should name a gym after me.” As she spoke, her cousin shook her head, not convinced of Amelia’s pledge. “What?”
“You can afford to hire someone else to fix Grandmamma’s place.”
“Principle, Cayla, principle.” Amelia cut her eyes back down to the bar where one woman blatantly ran her hands underneath the hem of his jacket. If everything went according to plan tonight, she’d prefer to not have him manhandled and cluttered with cheap perfume. He actually had the nerve to stand at the bar and pretended to push off one woman’s hand. “Nate Reyes used his wealth and connections to influence my job and get me suspended.”
“Did he make you turn your cell phone off?”
“It wasn’t off,” Amelia confessed before biting the corner of her lip to withhold the wanton grin spreading across her face. “More like underneath a pile of clothes.” Under the techno lights, she felt her face warm with the memory of her behavior. With each bright beam striking across her face, she feared her blush would be exposed.
“See,” Cay said, her frown turning up into a grin, “this is the point where I am going to change the subject.” Her eyes wandered around the open floor space while Amelia cut her eyes toward her cousin’s no-nonsense black slacks, white collared shirt and Great-Grandma Marlow’s pearls. Far be it for Amelia to judge. Standing next to the Ruiz family she screamed frumpy, but her cousin—six months older than Amelia—took the cake tonight. Cay’s idea of dressing to kill meant something completely different; her attempt to dress sexy tonight could not have gone more wrong, if Amelia said so herself. When Amelia had arrived at her house, Cayla had met her on the porch before her three children realized Auntie Amelia was in town. With no children of her own or nieces or nephews, Amelia looked at Cay’s kids as hers, which went along with the right to spoil them.
“I can’t believe we’re here again,” Amelia said, looking around once they found their table at the club. Southern Charm had been around for years. As a rebellious child, she and her high school friends had snuck into the bar with fake ID’s and drank warm beer. The establishment back in the day barely ID’d kids, as long as you were with someone you knew or you slipped the bouncers a few bucks. One of the first shows Amelia pitched was called Faking It. The show hadn’t taken off because every audience targeted had thought she meant something else, like sexual struggles some women faced in the bedroom.
Nowadays, security was tight and the entry fee to get in was astounding, though tonight’s auction didn’t make things better. To drag her cousin away from her boring couch with the husband she’d married directly after high school had cost Amelia an extra hundred bucks just to come to tonight’s event. She could have possibly shown her credentials from the network, if William hadn’t insisted on Amelia leaving them in the Orlando office. A badge from MET was like having a golden key to every event. Everyone wanted to be on television. All Amelia needed was to suggest her new ideas for reality shows and the floodgates opened. Family members told lifelong secrets and the most interesting part of her job was capturing people’s behavior when a camera was on them.
The lights dimmed and Amelia sipped on her wine with her auction paddle in her hand. Not letting anyone in on her profession might be the smartest thing she could do. The way all the women groped Nate, word might spread around, and their behavior might become more blatantly obnoxious. Somewhere in the amount of time Amelia took to look her cousin in the eyes while they spoke, Nate’s tall, dark head had disappeared. Women lined the foot of the stage in anticipation, much like singles did at a wedding waiting to catch the bouquet.
Amelia sneered at the desperation and the gall of these women. This bid was hers. For one whole week, the purchased bachelors would do the bidding of the buyer. Everyone else probably had their bachelor in mind and had planned all sorts of sexual events. From the brochure handed out at the door, a few of the men appeared to be married. Amelia didn’t think a wife would allow some other woman to buy her husband for the week. She knew good and well the wife would be in the front of the crowd.
The music died down as a handsome man in a black tuxedo stepped onto the stage. The lights in the large club turned off except for the circular bright light on the emcee. Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back” beat pounded off the walls as the deep, rich baritone voice of the emcee spoke into the silver-capped microphone.
“Ladies and ladies,” he yelled into the microphone. “I cannot tell you what a thrill it is to find all of you here tonight on a Saturday evening, when there are thousands of other places you could be.”
Another noise pierced the room and a light flashed down on the DJ who leaned in closer to clear his throat. “What?”
Laughter bubbled through the crowd. The emcee stood corrected and nodded his head. “Ah, yes, where else would we find such fine ladies but at our lovely Southern Charm?”
The self-promotion received a few catcalls and some bold shouts from a woman in the back, urging the emcee to get on with the show in a colorful yet vulgar way.
“Well, without keeping you ladies waiting, let’s start with bachelor number one.”
Bachelor number one strutted out onto the stage, now covered with a red carpet, in a pair of black fireman’s boots, suspenders and a jacket, no shirt. He could have been carved from rich dark chocolate. Not surprisingly, women hollered, but judging from the only woman at the front of the pack holding her paddle in the air, Amelia guessed the sexy fireman was her husband. Knowledge of marital rights didn’t stop the catcalls. He went for a hundred dollars.
The next bachelor on the stage, whether he was a real policeman or not, clearly was not married. The woman at the table next to Amelia’s began fanning her paddle so fast the Brazilian blowout Amelia had gotten earlier today began to poof. A brief bidding war got the amount up to five hundred dollars.
Overall, each bachelor chosen went for a high price. A lot of them Amelia found very tasty, but her paddle was ready for one bach
elor and one bachelor only. The emcee teased the audience of women when after an hour of sexy men walking back and forth he began to close the auction down, thanking everyone for coming. For a moment Amelia feared there might a riot of unsatisfied women. Boos and hisses erupted, and there was even the noise of a broken bottle.
“Ladies, ladies, please.” The auctioneer patted the air in attempt to calm the crowd. “I’m kidding. I believe we have one final bachelor of the night. He’s a bit shy, so put your hands together. Let’s welcome Mr. Nate Reyes to the stage.”
Amelia gripped her paddle and almost came out of her seat when the spotlight shined down on what was most definitely the man of the hour.
* * *
He tried to keep his expression cool as hell, but deep down inside Nate dreaded the next few moments. An hour ago he’d wanted the right person to buy him so he wouldn’t be forced into being a weeklong sex slave. Now, after seeing how much money the crowd had spent on the men before him, he worried everyone had used up their money. The emcee, a deacon from one of the local churches, oversold him with flattering and inflated adjectives.
The acoustics behind the black curtain emphasized the cheering of the women out front, causing difficulties when they tried to hear everything the emcee said. Four of the nearing principals gave Nate the thumbs-up as they pulled either side of the curtain. Salt-N-Pepa’s “What a Man” pumped through the man-size speakers to his left and his right. The single spotlight momentarily blinded him. He refused to take a step forward for fear he’d fall off the stage; instead he stood stock-still with his hands folded in front of him. For some reason, no movement at all caused a bigger ruckus.
“Clearly this man needs no introduction,” the emcee joked. “Coming from Berkeley Lakes, Georgia, in case you’ve been living with your head in the sand for the last eight months, this Latino lover is Southwood’s newest resident. Judging from the applause, there might not be any need for him to walk the stage.”
“Get out here and take it off!” a woman yelled.
Nate bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The voice belonged to Lexi.
“Hey, now, we’re not that kind of establishment,” said the emcee. “Can I start the bidding at one hundred?”
Nate bowed his head and gulped.
“Two hundred,” another woman shouted.
Before the emcee asked if he could get another fifty, another woman shouted out, “Three hundred.” Backstage, he’d heard the new dance instructor went for a thousand dollars. The dancer at least brought his skills to the table. What was he supposed to do with a woman for a week? The ladies around here understood his position; he was an uncle first.
“Four hundred.”
“Five hundred.”
White paddles with black numbers began to wave in the air, battling the brightness of the spotlight. Nate lifted his head, accepting the cool breeze.
“We have five hundred,” announced the emcee. “Wonder what we’d get if he took a few steps forward. Let’s see if one of Southwood’s newest members can walk that walk.”
On cue, Nate stepped forward. In the back of his mind he reminded himself of the good cause. He walked to the left of the stage and caught a glimpse of one of the pageant moms from Philly’s class and offered her a wink. The women in the distance all assumed the wink was for them and caused another cool breeze with their paddles.
“Seven hundred?”
“Eight hundred.”
Great. Now he was up in the dancer’s range. He moved to the right side of the stage and unbuttoned his jacket, driving up the price to a cool grand. When he tossed his jacket over his forearm and loosened his tie, he garnered more catcalls, whistles and a two-thousand dollar bid. Nate had watched enough of Philly’s pageants to understand how to work a crowd. He moved to the front and center of the stage.
“I’ve got two thousand. Do I hear a—” the emcee began.
“Twenty-two hundred.”
A bidding war began in four different directions of the downstairs dance floor. Heads bobbed from the left to the right like at a tennis match as the price went up with every wave of the paddle. Nate caught the voice of one woman, a mom from Philly’s pageant team. This same woman had pushed her hotel key card in his hand and whispered her child’s nap schedule. The other woman’s bidding came from the bar and Nate was pretty sure it was Brittany. She came from money, plenty of it. Did he need to guess what she wanted from him for a week? The bidding between the two women slowed down as the price went to five thousand dollars. A lot of oohs and aahs filled the room. Their shouts to outbid each other were crisp and angry.
“I hear five thousand. Do I hear fifty-one hundred?”
All eyes turned toward the pageant mom. Her kid needed braces soon. She pressed her lips together and gave her head a quick shake.
The emcee continued his countdown to close the bid. “That’s five thousand going once.”
Nate pictured himself swiveling on the round bed in Brittany’s dominatrix bedroom. He’d been to her two-bedroom apartment downtown, but he’d never been led back to the second bedroom with the padlocked door. Once she’d run into the room to get some more condoms and Nate had spied a lot of leather, whips and chains. As sex-crazed as he could be, that was not his scene. The thought of being held captive sent a faint ache to his wrist. Or she’d want something worse—for him to take her to the Keaton wedding as his plus-one.
Nate didn’t do monogamous relationships but he also did not lead women on. Taking a woman to a wedding was a gateway to commitments and complications. Nate didn’t have time for either.
“Ten thousand dollars!”
The emcee dropped the gavel on the podium and let out a few words of shock. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Did we hear correctly?”
The voice came from the second level. Nate glanced upward but his eyes watered under the light. He lifted his free hand to block it in an attempt to check out the highest bidder. Red dress, curves for days, the swell of ample breasts, luscious red lips which curved into a devilish smile. Nate’s pulse began to race realizing he knew the body—biblically. Another spotlight flashed on Amelia, making them the only two in the room. He gave a prayer in thanks that he’d remembered to loosen his tie because he almost could not swallow.
“Ten thousand dollars going once,” the emcee counted. “Going twice. Sold to the lady in red,” he cheered and banged his gavel down.
An uncomfortable silence pierced the night club. Someone cleared their throat and someone dropped their keys. From the bar Stephen and Lexi stood up straight and began clapping their hands over their heads. A slow, reluctant applause broke out from the crowd, all remembering tonight’s cause.
The emcee leaned into the microphone once more. “Four Points, thank you for your generous donation. Might we learn the name of our benefactor?”
From the stage Nate finally noticed the other woman with Amelia. She rose from her seat and leaned across the banister. “Her name is Amelia Marlow.”
“Amelia?” the emcee repeated. “Oh, snap, one of Southwood High’s own?”
Amelia lifted her arm in the air without smiling. Nate’s brow rose to meet her...glare? An icy chill crept down his spine. On many given occasions, Nate had pissed a woman off and had resorted to feigning cluelessness. He recognized the look she gave him—he recognized it well—but this time, he didn’t deserve it. She left him at the hotel with no notification that she wanted to see him again.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” the emcee announced, “this concludes our evening for real this time. We’d like to thank you once again for your generous donations this evening from all our ladies, as well as our participating bachelors. Feel free to stay around and enjoy some drinks and we hope to see you next week.”
Nate turned to exit the stage with his mind still wondering what bothered Amelia. A round of applau
se greeted Nate backstage in the dressing room area. He made his way against the men who’d already changed out of their outfits and were about to meet their parties. All he wanted to do was get into something more comfortable and meet Amelia outside, preferably in his car on the way to her place. The sooner they started this weeklong venture, the better. Where did she live? One of the Four Points? Forty hours was not going to be enough time.
To no surprise, the ringleader started off the slow clap. Due to present company, Nate refrained from flipping his brother the middle finger. “Stephen, what are you doing back here?”
“I came to congratulate you, little brother.” Stephen clapped his hand on Nate’s back. “I knew those green eyes of yours would bring in top dollar.”
“You’re my pimp now?”
“Hey.” Stephen shrugged and laughed. “You’re the one out there with the ladies about to fight.”
“Only one winner tonight, though,” teased the fireman who’d gone first.
Nate threw his black jacket down on the bench by the locker containing his favorite jeans and T-shirt. He considered tossing his overnight bag into the back of his SUV and leave wearing his slacks and shirt.
“She may have won tonight.” A female’s voice penetrated the room.
The men still dressing in the backstage area covered their modesty as Brittany waltzed through the room, her eyes boring holes in Nate’s. Shirt on but unbuttoned, he still felt naked. Nate shrugged his shoulders, trying to indicate his indifference, but she kept coming toward him.
“And this is my cue to leave.” Stephen bailed on his brother. “Miss Brittany, I trust Philly and I will see you on open house night at the school?”
“Perhaps.” Brittany gave Stephen a sweet smile, warranting a whistle from a few of the guys. Nate shot a glare around the room, not as protection but to dissuade any encouragement. Brittany did not need to leave here thinking there was hope for them. She just needed to leave—period.
His Southern Sweetheart Page 5