“I had nothing to do with this,” Eileen says.
I shake my head. “Eileen, you have a lot to do with this. No way could I have organized this without you.”
Eileen never takes a compliment; instead, she changes the subject, waving her phone at me. “Your father and mother have been calling me nonstop wanting an update. I have to let them know how this all went.”
I nod, understanding. My parents, obviously, didn’t fly up to see their only daughter get auctioned off.
My parents taught me at an early age that not everyone in the world needs to agree with your choices. At the end of the day, you only have to live with yourself. My parents have gotten a lot of flack over the years for the business they’ve built.
But they’ve done their work with integrity and pride. They’ve treated employees well and given lots of people jobs with fair pay and benefits.
“Okay,” I say. “Tell them I’m fine and to please not call me until tomorrow. I just can’t really talk about my deflowering with my mom and dad.”
“I understand,” Eileen says laughing. She’s worked with our family for the last fifteen years and knows our dynamics all too well.
We may be a close family who can frankly discuss sex, but some things are a little too close for comfort.
“I’m just going to grab my things. Is the car here?” I ask.
“It is, and just so you know, the winning bidder, Luther Morris, is a distinguished gentleman based in Anchorage. He’s an unmarried multimillionaire.”
“Good, I definitely don’t want to start any marital problems with this stunt.”
Eileen nods, knowing that was one of my big concerns about this.
“All right then, good luck,” she tells me.
I nod and start to walk away but then I turn and call back to her, not ready to say goodbye.
“Eileen, maybe this is weird, but do but you have any advice? For tonight?”
No matter how seriously I’ve taken this endeavor, I’m realizing I’m actually a little nervous. Now the auction is over and the only thing left to do is the deed.
“My biggest suggestion is to relax,” Eileen says, squeezing my arm. “And trust yourself. Let go and remember why you doing this. Remember the mission statement you wrote when you first contacted HAHA about doing this?”
“I remember. But saying something and actually doing it are two different things. Truth is, I’m nervous.”
“That makes sense, Justine, but just remember, when you wake up tomorrow not much will have changed. You’re worth a hell of a lot more than your virginity.”
I pull Eileen into a hug. The Van De Shires aren’t exactly touchy-feely people, but this moment is so uncharted that I don’t think there are any rules anymore.
“The limo is here, just out the back. Would you like me to take you?” she asks. Her phone starts ringing again though and so I tell her no, that I’ll be fine on my own.
After saying goodbye, I take a deep breath and grab my garment bag and my suitcase from my dressing room.
I leave through the back entrance, and when I push the doors open, I see a sleek black limousine waiting for me. It’s started raining, which I wasn’t expecting. It’s coming down pretty hard and I step under the building awning to stay dry.
A man steps out, wearing a rain coat and he opens an umbrella, offering it to me. I can’t see his face from under the umbrella, but his hands are big, and my eyes widen, watching the muscles in his forearms flex as he takes my bag.
The rain starts pelting down, and he carries my luggage, placing it in the trunk with the hood of his coat zippered up and covering most of his face. Between the rain and dark night, I can’t get a good look at him. Not that I want to, right now I just want to stay dry.
He opens the door and I slide inside, grateful to avoid getting drenched. I’m not exactly a girly-girl, but looking pretty tonight still matters to me. And if my thick hair gets soaked I will look like a drowned rat pretty fast.
“You in okay?” he asks before shutting my door. His voice is gruff and when I look up at him, I see that his beard is thick and sexy as hell.
He slams the car door shut, and moves around to the driers seat as my mind starts working. I know him. He is the guy from the bar.
He must have been there because he had this job later. A job that it sounds like he was willing to risk to take me away from the auction had I been willing.
When he gets in the front seat, I try to make eye contact in the rear-view mirror.
“You’re the guy from the bar, right?”