Selling Scarlett

"Bidding might get intense, but you’ll only see the numbers. These things usually don’t last but ten minutes or so.”

I nod, still feeling totally panicked that Marchant Radcliffe—Marchant Radcliffe, Hunter’s best friend, who knows my family—is here, and he knows what I’m doing. I tell myself it was probably inevitable, but I still feel ill.

He must misinterpret my anxious look, because he steps a little closer, sticking one hand in the pocket of his pinstriped coat. "You’ll be okay. Everyone I know who’s bidding is good people. I wouldn’t put you in bad hands."

I don’t know what to say, so I nod. “You look great, you’ll do great,” he says as he pats the bed. “No more than ten minutes, Scarlett.” He winks, and then he’s gone.

My muscles tremble as I try to keep my pose. I’m lying on my side, with my legs slightly scissored and my hand propping my head up. My fingers are threaded through my hair so it falls around my right shoulder.

I’m staring at the digital ticker near the ceiling, feeling like I might have a panic attack or pee myself, when the door bursts open and I shriek.

It’s everyone. Not just a few but all the escorts. Loveless is out in front, and she presents me with a little velvet box. She pops it open, and two beautiful, glittery diamond earrings wink at me.

“Surprise!” everyone shouts.

Loveless leans down. “I’ll put them in your ears. Just hold your pose, girl.”

As she puts the earrings on me, I feel a sense of total peace. And okay, it evaporated as soon as they left the room and a little speaker on the bed told me I’d be live in two minutes. But before then, I felt valued and loved. Here in a brothel.

The ticker clock has big, red numbers, and as they inch closer to zero, I can feel my throat constricting like I might be sick. I focus on deep breaths and think about Dr. Bernard and how many good things have happened to me here. I feel older. Wiser. More capable. I can handle this.

Then the ticker reaches zero and the windows surrounding my bed change subtly in hue—getting a little paler. I forget to breathe for a second, but then I smooth my mouth into a generic smile.

When the first bid flashes across the ticker, I nearly die.

$50,000, just like Marchant said. That’s a lot of money.

The numbers quickly jump.

$80,000.

$100,000. Oh my God.

$140,000.

$150,000.

$200,000.

$300,000. I feel dizzy, and it’s hard to keep my smile. You can do it, Lizzy. Just a little longer. There is absolutely no way the bidding will go higher than 300 grand.

$400,000.

I want to barf, but I try to stay in pose as the light covers my face but shines on my body. I tell myself again it’s almost over. Then the ticker moves again.

$3,000,000. I’m shaking.

$3,200,000.

$3,400,000.

Holy Moses.

$5,200,000.

$5,500,000.

$5,900,000.

$5,000,000.

$10,000,000.

This cannot be real.

I’m gasping for air as the windows grow darker, and lying sweaty and shaky on the bed, I can’t believe what I’ve done. I’ve sold my virginity. I can’t believe anyone paid $10 million for my hymen.

I’m not sure I can do this.

I’m not worth that much. Maybe after a few rolls in the hay, but not now. I don’t know how to do this.

I’m almost in tears as I pull the covers over myself, and Richard strides in. His eyes are wide. “I can’t believe it. No offense, I thought you’d do well, but…” He shakes his head and laughs. “You’re set for life.”

I smile weakly, because if I don’t smile, I’m going to start sobbing. “Is it…someone good?”

I mean who won me, and Richard gets it. He hands me a small, white card with the winning bidder’s name printed in gold script. My heart really does stop this time.

Hunter West

Chapter Twenty-Seven

~ELIZABETH~

"I can’t do this."

I’m sitting in an black velvet armchair, and Marchant Radcliffe is again standing in front of me. We’ve moved into a private room, one with no windows of any kind. I’m wearing a black silk robe, and I’m gritting my teeth as I try to come to terms with what just happened.

Marchant shakes his head, looking annoyed. “I’ve already taken the bid.”

"I didn’t say I wanted to back out." I don’t want to back out. What I want is to disappear, right down to my ten million dollar atoms.

"Woman, you’re giving me whiplash," he drawls. "You just said you couldn’t do this."

"I didn’t mean to say that,” I say quietly. “I was thinking out loud."

"This is good for you," he tells me. "Real good. You got a price I wouldn’t dream of and the bidder is a good guy. That’s a Disney ending."

"It is?"

He narrows his eyes a little. "Yes."

I look down at my black robe. So this is what a princess looks like. I rub my eyes. Oh my God. How did this happen?

Marchant is tapping his foot, and I’m reminded that despite his easy charm and good looks, he’s a business man—a business man in the people-selling business. He leans forward, tipping my chin up with gentle fingers. "Are we good? C’mon…I want to hear you tell me that you’re okay. You feel prepared?"

I nod, although it couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m not ready to have 10 million dollar sex with anybody, much less Hunter. The mere thought of seeing him in this position makes my eyes well up with tears again. I blink them back. I’m not going to be a prima donna or a baby about this. At least not when anyone can see.

"Does Hunter come here often?" I don’t mean to ask it. The words just fall out of my mouth.

"He comes here to see me. He’s an old friend. One of my best." Marchant’s eyes are digging into mine, and I get the feeling he’s trying to figure something out. A second passes, and his mouth draws up. He curses angrily and digs a hand through his hair.

"Goddamnit." He looks back over his shoulder. "I’m sorry for the French, but shit. You and him…you’ve got some sort of history." He says it like ‘history’ is a curse word.

I shake my head, wondering what it means that Hunter hasn’t told his best friend about me. "I was just curious."

At that, he throws his head back and laughs. And laughs. And laughs. "Just curious. I’ll put that down in your file." He takes a step closer, kneeling so we’re at eye level. His brown ones look earnest. "You want the money?

I nod.

“You sold your virginity to Hunter West for $10 million. Are you ready to fulfill your contract?”

"Well, yeah. I mean, if that’s what he wants me for." I’m having a really hard time believing he paid that much money to get what he could probably get in a club bathroom—heck, anywhere—for free.