Auctioned to Him 7: The Contract

by Charlotte Byrd

  Gatsby nods and again looks away. A howl of a wolf pierces the silence.

  “The rest of the day was pretty much a blur,” Gatsby continues. “I don’t really remember much of it. But somehow, we hiked the ten miles back to the car. It took much longer than a couple of hours it took us on the way out. Harry could barely move, and I had to almost carry him the whole way. It was pitch black by the time we got to the car and then another hour before we got to the hospital. Our parents arrived when he was almost out of surgery.

  “All I remember now about the rest of that day was just how mad I was at him. Oh god, Annabelle, I was just so so mad at him. Why did he bring that stupid gun with him? Why did he want to shoot a sleeping bear? But throughout all that, I wasn’t sorry. I just know that what I did was right. He had no right to take that bear’s life. Harry was wrong and, a part of me was glad that he was in pain.”

  I look at Gatsby, and I see just how personal and intimate the story that he had just shared with me is. His eyes are glazed over with a bit of moisture, and he can’t make eye contact with me. I am grateful to him for sharing it with me.

  “My days as a ski bum were pretty much done then.” Gatsby gathers his thoughts and smiles.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “My father had to make a lot of arrangements with his brother, Harry’s father, and the authorities to keep it all on the down low. Secret. To keep the newspapers and the gossip columns out of our business. But not just that, to keep me out of jail.

  “Our attorney was flown out from LA, and there were a lot of tense talks with the local prosecutor. Finally, they agreed to defer to Harry and his family. Then we had to wait for Harry to feel a little better so that he could make legal decisions.

  “At first, he didn’t want anything to do with it. He wanted me to serve time in jail. He hated me for doing that to him. He was an avid tennis player, and getting shot in the arm was going to put his career on hold, according to him. His father reminded him that he didn’t really have much of a tennis career, but he was still mad as hell. He wanted me to pay for what I did.”

  Gatsby smiles and shrugs, as if he finds this whole situation whimsical and humorous.

  “I hope you didn’t have the same attitude then that you do now,” I say. He shakes his head. “Of course not. I mean, I did, but I couldn’t show it. They would’ve never let me slide otherwise.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Harry finally agreed not to press charges. But only in exchange for my father’s beloved fifty-foot yacht in Marina Del Ray. You should’ve seen my father’s face when he asked him for it. I thought father was going to shoot him in the other shoulder just for requesting it.

  “But that was all he wanted. And so, very reluctantly, father signed over the Mona Lisa to him for his pain and suffering.”

  Everything suddenly becomes very clear to me. Why he is such a reluctant CEO. Why he seems to be running away from his family. Why his brothers have to chase him just to deal with the IPO situation.

  “So that’s why you’re the CEO?”

  “Yes, partly. I didn’t start out being CEO, of course. But working here is my punishment for what I did. And I also have to pay off the yacht.”

  “How much does it cost?” I ask. He takes a beat and smiles.

  “Close to a million dollars.”

  * * *

  I lean toward him and plant a kiss on his lips. We are still outside. Lost in the story, we have wandered far away from the lodge. We are all alone, and darkness wraps us in a warm blanket giving us the illusion of privacy.

  Gatsby pulls me close to him. He is in control, and I love how this makes me feel. I like him pushing and pulling my body in whatever direction he sees fit. I especially like the thump that my body makes colliding with his.

  I feel a shiver of excitement as Gatsby lifts me up in the air. Without giving it a thought, I wrap my legs around his torso and hold on tight. His arms are holding my ass, and I smile when he gives it a few flirtatious squeezes.

  Then things get more serious. Gatsby carries me somewhere even darker. All stars disappear from the sky, and all I see are branches. The back of my head hits something hard. It’s a trunk of a seventy-foot pine tree. Luckily, this one has a bare trunk at the bottom and no spiky branches impale me.

  Now, Gatsby pushes his body into mine against the tree trunk, and I revel in exhilaration.

  He turns me on. Excitement is sparking through me.

  Our bodies are intertwined. Gatsby pushes his lips onto mine, parting them forcefully with his tongue.

  I moan and bury my fingers in his hair. I want to be close to him. Even closer than we are now. I want the layers of clothes that separate us to disappear.

  I want him. All of him. On me and in me.

  My wish is his command.

  Suddenly, our kissing becomes even more frantic. He drops my legs, and I land on the ground. Shaken from the impact, I am unstable on my feet, and he is forced to hold me up.

  He unzips his pants and takes them off over his shoes. I am in my work clothes from earlier that day again. It’s the only thing I have.

  He pulls my skirt up toward my waist and then takes a step back in wonderment.

  “No panties?”

  It’s dark, and he can’t see me blush. I look away. “I’m sorry, we got out of the room so quickly that I couldn’t find them.”

  I mumble on, but he is already kissing me. I feel his hands slide down in between my legs. His large cock pushes against my stomach as he pushes me against the tree. I’m in the air, and he is holding me up. I pray that he doesn’t drop me suddenly because this time I will not have the strength to remain on my feet.

  He eases himself slowly into me and then begins to move up and down. I don’t know whether he is pushing himself in and out of me or if he’s moving my body up and down the tree trunk. Either way, I am lost in ecstasy.

  We orgasm almost at the same time, but he continues to hold me up after he climaxes. Eventually, he pulls out of me, and we drop down to the forest floor.

  Intertwining ourselves in each other’s arms, we fall asleep and wake up only when the bright rays of the unforgiving morning sun shine into our eyes.

  21

  In the morning, we go down to have breakfast in the dining room with the rest of the Lodge’s guests. Gatsby doesn’t want to, but I insist. Both Wyatt and Atticus are already there, their plates overflowing with all sorts of delicious goodies from the buffet.

  I am starving and pile spoonfuls of omelet onto my plate. The Belgian waffle, which is made before my very eyes, makes me salivate, and I pour a generous amount of maple syrup into each square.

  Wyatt waves to me, and I head in his direction. They are sitting at a four-person table and move their trays to accommodate Gatsby and me. It’s is the first time that I see his brothers in the daylight.

  They are even more beautiful than they were last night. They both have strong jaws, defined cheekbones, and large eyes. Wyatt’s eyelashes are so long that they give him a wide-open look, which I am sure he expertly uses to his advantage to woo girls. Atticus is more serious. He doesn’t smile much, and he looks as if he is holding up the world on his shoulders.

  “So which one of you is the oldest?” I ask after we make pleasant chitchat about how everyone’s night was.

  I suspect that Atticus is, but I’m not sure. Wyatt is definitely the youngest. He has this carefree attitude that suggests nothing bothers him and that everything’s going to be fine, which I know runs in youngest children.

  “I am,” Gatsby says, sitting down next to me.

  From the look on his face, I can tell that he’s not happy that I have decided to join his brothers for breakfast. But I am curious about them because they are part of him, and I want to know more.

  “Gatsby’s the oldest, but Atticus won’t forgive him for it,” Wyatt jokes.

  Atticus rolls his eyes, and Gatsby just looks away with a guilty look on his face. The tension between them can
be cut with a knife, but Wyatt seems to just find the whole thing curious.

  “So what are your plans today?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

  Atticus ignores me, but Wyatt says, “We were actually planning on going sky diving.”

  I feel my eyes open wide. Sky diving! He mentions sky diving as if the idea is as casual as going to get some coffee.

  “Really?” I ask excitedly. I never told anyone this, but I have been wanting to go sky diving for sometime now. I am terrified at the thought, but that’s what draws me to it.

  “Yeah.” Wyatt nods and looks at me. “Why? Do you want to go?”

  The invitation is so informal that I am not sure if it’s real. But before I know it, I accept.

  “It’s okay if we go, right?” I turn to Gatsby.

  He nods, but the expression on his face says something else completely. He is not happy. At this moment, I don’t care.

  I am suddenly filled with a strange mixture of adrenaline, anticipation, and fear. I don’t know what came over me, and I say yes before even coming to my senses. But a big part of me is glad. Sometimes coming to one’s senses is overrated.

  “It’s just that I’ve never been,” I add, trying to explain myself. “You don’t have anything planned, do you?”

  Gatsby opens his mouth to say something, but Wyatt cuts him off.

  “Even if he does, there’s no way it’s as cool as sky diving.”

  I smile. I know he’s right. But the expression on Gatsby’s face worries me.

  “No,” he says reluctantly. I know he doesn’t want to go, but I feel an unexplainable urge to go. I am afraid and excited at the same time. And I can’t pay attention to how Gatsby feels.

  “Great,” I say quickly, well aware of my self-involvement. “Then we’re in.”

  After Wyatt and Atticus leave the room, Gatsby and I are left alone at the table. He looks at me with a disapproving expression on his face. His eyes are narrowed and his lips are turned downward.

  I look away. I don’t care that he’s upset. No, that’s not entirely true. I don’t want to care. I want to go, and I don’t want him to take this away from me.

  “Why did you do that?” he asks, finishing the rest of his mimosa.

  I eat the rest of my Belgian waffle before answering.

  “Because I really want to go. I’m scared shitless, but who isn’t, right? I’ve wanted to go sky diving for a long time, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. To go with you, I mean.”

  “Yes, except that you didn’t ask me.”

  “I thought you’d be down for it.”

  He looks away from me. Now he doesn’t look so much disapproving as disappointed. “It’s not that I don’t want go to skydiving with you. It’s that I don’t want to go with them.”

  “They seem perfectly fine,” I say naively. I realize how innocent I come off. It’s not that I’m trying to take their side, I’m just trying to make peace. At least for this weekend.

  “You don’t know them,” Gatsby says.

  “I think it’ll be fun,” I insist.

  I need to make this a good decision. I basically hijacked the whole day, and I need for it to work out. Otherwise…otherwise, I’m not sure if we’re going to have another date.

  “Skydiving will be fun, but my brothers aren’t fun.” Gatsby shakes his head. “I’m afraid that you’ll discover that soon enough.”

  I don’t know what he means. I don’t want to.

  * * *

  We arrive at a small airport later that afternoon. The office where we fill out all the releases and pages and pages of paperwork smells of diesel and adrenaline. When we watch the introductory video, my heart starts to race, and I take deep breaths to calm it down. I’m starting to have second thoughts. But Gatsby takes my hand and flashes me a smile. I feel a little better.

  The eighteen-year-old kid at the front desk has an infectious, upbeat personality that puts me at ease even more.

  “Are you sure want to do this, Gatsby?” the kid asks.

  Gatsby nods and shrugs. A familiar, mischievous smile appears on his face, confusing me.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. Wyatt shakes his head and laughs.

  “You’ll see,” Gatsby says. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  He leads me to the place in the back where Atticus is already paired up with an instructor.

  Gatsby goes to the open closet and picks out a jumpsuit for me. He hands it to me.

  “This should be a fit,” he says. When I step into it and zip it up, he hands me the helmet and the goggles and then tells me to step into the harness.

  “Shouldn’t my partner be doing this?” I ask looking at Wyatt and Atticus, who are both getting strapped in by their partners.

  “He is,” Gatsby says, tightening the straps.

  I look around. Gatsby’s partner is also nowhere to be found. Finally, I get it.

  “You’re…but how…?”

  “I’ve done this a few times before,” he jokes. “Don’t worry.”

  While adjusting his own straps and checking the other instructors’ straps, I learn that he’s been sky diving since he was eighteen. He’s been qualified to take other people on tandem jumps since he was twenty.

  A big part of me is relieved that he’s the one that I’m jumping with. But not enough to make blood come back into my ice-cold hands and to stop my heart from beating out of my chest.

  When we’re all ready to walk toward the plane, Gatsby gives me a quick peck on the cheek and whispers,

  “Don’t worry, no one I’ve dove with has died yet.”

  He’s joking, of course, trying to put me at ease. I laugh, but I don’t find it funny.

  22

  By the time we start the long walk to the runway, I am ready to chicken out. I want to run away and cry and stomp my feet. But I am too embarrassed to quit. It was all my idea, and now, finally, Gatsby seems genuinely excited. The plane is parked on the runway, and I walk up the staircase well aware of the fact that the only reason I am still going through with this is that I’m too afraid not to. And that’s an awful reason!

  The door to the plane locks behind me, shutting out the outside world. I am sitting next to Gatsby. He takes my hand. He is so excited; his eyes are twinkling in anticipation. No one seems to notice that this airplane looks like it’s a cargo plane from a third world country. The seats are metal benches. There are no seat belts to buckle. The windows are tiny and covered in dead bugs.

  We take off. My heart starts to race. My throat closes up. Gatsby starts to push and tug on me, connecting all our straps together. He makes me sit on his lap and buckles us closer together. But I am in a daze. I barely pay attention. The world is closing in around me. I want to escape. I need someone to open the door to let in some air.

  Soon enough, at about 30,000 feet, my wish is their command.

  “Ready?” someone yells. The door opens.

  “Woo-hooo!” Wyatt screams as he and his partner jump.

  Gatsby scoots across the bench. I am helpless to resist. Now that the door is open I don’t want go. Cold air rushes in, and the sound that it makes frightens me. I don’t watch Logan go. I take a deep breath and try to focus my mind. This isn’t normal. This is crazy. Outrageous. Why the hell did I ever suggest this?

  My mind is racing so fast; it’s impossible for me to keep my breath still. I try to take a full breath of air, but my lungs contract. I try again, but even less air gets in.

  “You ready?” Gatsby asks. He is scooting toward the opening. I am sitting on his lap and have no leverage to resist.

  “No!” I scream. But he laughs.

  “C’mon, it going to be awesome!”

  * * *

  We jump.

  It’s not so much of a jump as a tumble. A gust of wind hits me like a ton of bricks. We start falling to the earth at hundreds of feet per second.

  It should feel like flying, but it doesn’t. Wind is gushing passed me, forcing my mouth open a
nd filling my cheeks with cold air. My cheeks and the skin on my face is flapping around as if it were fabric. The air is so cold my teeth hurt.

  I feel air pushing us out toward the sky even though we are getting closer and closer to the earth.

  And then suddenly, there’s a jolt.

  We stop rushing all together. The parachute above our heads is open and filled with air. Now, we are gliding toward earth. Barely moving.

  “How was that?” Gatsby asks.

  “Awesome! Amazing!”

  “I knew you’d like it.” He laughs. He steers the parachute with his hands and hands me the controls.

  We are still falling, but it no longer feels like falling. It feels like we’re gliding. There’s no air rushing past me anymore. A wave of relief sweeps over me as blood starts to circulate within me.

  I lose all track of time as we glide above the earth. Mountains hug the horizon and frame the valleys below. A small, winding line cutting through the valley is the highway we drove on. The tiny moving spots on the line are the cars.

  The road is so insignificant from above. The cars are barely the size of ants. I find it hard to believe that there are people in them. Being so high makes me think about perspective. The people back on earth barely register as creatures, and it’s difficult to consider them as fellow creatures. Being so high makes me feel as if I am separated from them, somehow. As if I am not one of them. Like I am someone higher and more important. It’s a dangerous thought. And an irresponsible one.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Gatsby yells into my ear.

  “Yes!”

  The mountains are getting closer to us and more majestic. I can now make out the trees. The pines are thick, and many are more than seventy feet tall. From up here, they appear like matchsticks.

  * * *

  When my feet get close to the ground, the earth reaches up and pulls me in. A new wave of adrenaline surges through my veins.

  Gatsby quickly disengages our harness. We embrace before it hits the ground. He throws his arms around my shoulders and brings my face to him. I feel the warmth of the sun on my eyelids as I kiss his lips. Tears of exhilaration and relief are building behind my eyes. I kiss him harder to try to keep them at bay.