Love by Auction
by
Clarissa Yip
Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2010 by Clarissa Yip
ISBN: 978-1-936394-19-7
Cover art by Dara England
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DEDICATION
To my loving ‘foster parents’, Joseph and Judy, for their encouragement in dreams.
Chapter One
“I can't do this.”
Rebecca Hathaway drew in a deep breath and wanted to pass out. The satin corset hugged her bones like steel bands around her waist, cutting off circulation. Microscopic lace underwear and garters bared her ass, and red four-inch heels threatened to snap her neck with each little step she took toward the vanity table in the dressing room.
“Yes, you can. Think about where all that money is going to go. It'll give the sick children a new pediatric wing at the hospital. Or part of a wing.”
Rebecca whirled around, the movement knocking her onto the nearby couch. She glared at her friend, Erin, who stood staring at her up and down, admiring her fine handiwork of transforming Rebecca into a trampy-looking prostitute.
She waved a hand down over her outfit. “And you think the men are going to auction for this? It's demeaning for a woman to stand up on stage and have men try to buy her.”
“It's for a good cause, and all they get is a date. What harm could a date be? Besides, you haven't had any fun in a while.” Erin tugged her off the couch and helped her to the full-length mirror.
Flustered, Rebecca replied, “I have fun.”
“Yeah, if going to those boring tea parties, planning social gatherings and hosting book clubs is your idea of fun then I truly worry for you.”
Rebecca frowned at her reflection. Her breasts threatened to spill over the tight satin, the lace barely covered her privates and to top it off—she was now blonde-haired, blue eyed. She dropped her face into her hands and groaned. “How did I get talked into this? I'll just donate the money myself.”
Erin wrapped an arm around her waist, leading her to the vanity table, surrounded by bright light bulbs like a make-up station for movie stars. “That's not the point. You're the one that took on Kelly Marsh's dare just because she called you a prissy society snob.”
“Just kill me. I don't know why I let that woman rub me the wrong way.”
“It's competition. She's jealous. She's always been jealous of you. If you win this dare then maybe she'll finally give up.”
Rebecca scoffed. “I doubt it. I grew up with her. She hates my guts for no reason, and all I've done is be nice to her my whole life. Even those times she spilled tea in my lap at those tea parties or tripped me at the balls.”
“Well then, this is your chance to show her that you're not the ice princess you pretend to be in public and put Kelly Marsh in her place.”
“Why couldn't she have entered us in a beauty pageant or just put me on a pie throwing stand at a circus?” Her stomach swirled in chaos. “My mother is going to disown me, and I'll never be able to hold my head up at any social event again.”
“Don't be melodramatic. No one is going to recognize you. That wig hides all your black hair and those blue contacts cover up your green eyes pretty well. Kelly knows you'd beat her at a beauty pageant and figured you wouldn't go through with this.” Erin paused and grabbed a charcoal eyeliner pencil from the dressing table. “Pie stand, Bec, really?”
Rebecca grinned.
She held still as Erin added more to the heavy makeup already caked on her face. She'd never worn so much in her life, besides the normal mascara and lipstick. “If I could see Kelly Marsh right now, I swear I would forget about being a lady and just deck her one.”
Erin laughed. “How about after you win the bet?”
“Can't I just forfeit or something?”
Erin dropped the pencil. “No way. You'll never be able to hold your head up.”
Rebecca glared. “I remember now. You're the one who told her I would do it.”
Her friend shrugged. “She made me mad, too. I can't stand her.” Erin picked up a brush and dabbed at the powder jar, before dusting Rebecca’s nose. “It'll be fun, Bec. All you have to do is strut your stuff, get the highest bid, and go out on a date.” A mischievous smile broke over her face. “And of course, if you're willing to offer more, then I wouldn't stop you.”
Rebecca's mouth dropped. “Are you insane?”
“Relax.” Erin pinched her chin and dabbed on more lipstick. “It's just a dare, Bec. I knew you'd be like this—all that strict social upbringing and no fun. Just treat it like one of those auctions that you go to with your mother.”
Rebecca glared. “I'm not the one buying the furniture. I am the furniture.”
“Stop. It's just one date with a stranger. And his money is going to go to whatever charity or good cause you want.”
“I don't know why I let you talk me into this.” She drew in another breath, wondering when the strings were going to snap and her breasts would be free again.
Erin laughed. “No one is going to recognize you. Don't worry. Stop being a nervous twit.”
Rebecca threw her hands up. “I can't help it. You would be, too, if you were baring everything on a stage in front of horny, sex-deprived men.”
“Yeah, but they'll be waving stacks of money at you, and that hospital you volunteer at will have happier kids,” said Erin, as she packed up the cosmetics case.
Rebecca’s shoulders hunched in defeat. “How did Kelly find this auction anyway?”
“They do it every year. Not many people know about it. Richie Mann hosts the event.”
She groaned. Known as the Hugh Heffner of the East Coast, Richie was constantly on the Tattler for his playboy ways and disrespect for the female race. “That's disgusting.”
“Yeah, but a lot of the guys come to this thing, even the ones with wives.”
Rebecca stared at Erin through the mirror. “It's a good thing we won't know anyone here.” She waited till her friend met her gaze. “Right?”
Erin smiled.
“Right?” Rebecca asked again. Unease rose in the back of her throat.
“Why don't you put on your costume, and I'll go check to see when it's your turn.” Erin whipped around and headed to the door.
With a sigh, Rebecca moved to stand in front of the costume—a slip of white cloth, fitted to cover her underclothes and imitated an ice queen with layers of short white lace and chiffon. Next to it, a diamond-studded tiara went along with the outfit, shining under the light, taunting her.
Her hand gripped a fistful of lace. Everyone thought her cold and snobby, but they didn’t know or understand the pressure she’d had growing up as the perfect daughter, the perfect hostess, or the perfect socialite. Her mother, Catherine Hathaway was a legend in town—the ideal citizen to society. Expectations were rules Rebecca had followed since birth, and to destroy her mother’s hard work would hurt the whole family.
How she wondered what it'd be like to be a normal girl—just hanging out with friends, staying out late, drinking and maybe even attending a club or two. No. The only things she knew were tea parties, book clubs, art shows and etiquette—everything expected of an Ice Princess.
Grabbing the skirt of the costume, she slipped it over her lace-clad bottom. The white top wrapped around like bandage, held together with fishhooks and sequins, undoubtedly the gaudiest thing she'd ever seen. As she clasped the hundreds of hooks together, the door burst open then slammed shut. Erin leaned against the door, holding a hand to her chest.
“What is wrong with you?” Rebecca asked then growled at the hooks.
“We have a problem.”
With the last clasp done, Rebecca tried to breath. The corset was too confining and she cursed whoever invented the blasted thing. “What's the problem?”
“Your brother and Mark are here.”
The blood drained from her face. Her heart stopped, and a wave of dizziness warped through her. Her hand groped for something to hold onto. “What do you mean?”
Erin took a step forward. “I'm sorry. I saw Mark and Lucas standing in the back.”
Rebecca plopped down in the chair with a thud. “That can't be. Why would they be here?”
Her friend made a face. “Bec, this is a rich boy's club. I'm sure your brother and Mark are here to have fun like all the other guys.”
She wanted to die. Mark Passmore, her brother's best friend, her ex-boyfriend, and the devil in a black suit—the man who’d haunted her since boldly dumping her three years earlier. He’d crushed her ego, and her pride dissolved to dust, left only with shame and disappointment from her parents.
And a broken heart.
Old pain seeped into her chest.
“I'm going to kill my brother.” Rebecca dragged in another breath.
“Not if he kills you first.”
Her body jerked as fear whipped through her. She'd almost forgotten about the auction. To walk on that stage meant instant death—there was no way she could do it. “What am I going to do?”
Erin sat down on the couch. Worry marred her pretty features—her neat eyebrows rose, blue eyes filled with doubt, and lips pursed. “I don't know now. If Lucas finds out you've even stepped foot in here, he's going to have your head and probably tell your mother. I'm more scared of your mother.”
Rebecca nodded. Her mother intimidated everyone. One look, one frown, and a person's life as they knew it, ended—kicked out of the circle of snobby friends the Hathaway's kept, which meant no more invites to parties, no business dealings and total deterioration of social class. Every resident in Grant knew her mother or knew of the woman. Her mother had power. No. Catherine Hathaway was the power in Grant.
“Erin, I can't go out there.” Hysteria bubbled in her chest. Her hands started to shake. She panted short, hard breaths to ease the nausea rolling in the pit of her stomach.
Erin threw her a speculative glance. “Maybe they won't recognize you.” She paused. “This would be a good chance for you to get back at Mark for dumping you, too.”
A flicker of hope stung her chest. She frowned. In love with a man all her life then dropped like an old shirt was not something to take lightly. She remembered the exact day. On a stroll to the garden gazebo, Mark had informed her of the need to talk. Thinking he intended to propose, he'd dropped to her side on the bench only to apologize; he didn't believe that they were right for each other, and she deserved better.
Anger started to pulse through her the more she thought about it. How did he know what she deserved? What right did he have for not giving her a chance to fix their problem? But instead of begging, she'd lifted her nose and said fine. Then she walked away.
As her brother's best friend, Mark was difficult to avoid. He attended every Hathaway function, did business with their family, and even showed up at her mother's garden parties, most likely because his mother insisted he attend. Three years of watching Mark flaunt woman after woman had created a block of resentment and hate within her. But she would never let him see the pain he'd caused her.
Catherine Hathaway's daughter did not exhibit emotion.
Maybe she should go out on that floor and show Mark Passmore what he was missing.
Her fists clenched.
“I don't know if I like that look on your face, Bec. Usually when you have that expression, you're determined to raise hell.”
Rebecca narrowed her gaze at Erin. “What's your plan, smarty-mouth? Think of something! We need to tell Kelly I can't do this.”
Erin shot out of her seat. “You have to. Her date closed at seven hundred thousand dollars. You have to beat that.”
“Se—seven hun—hundred thousand dollars? For a date?” Rebecca wanted to faint.
“Kelly went out and showed off her slut self, and some blond guy won her bid.”
“That's impossible. There is no way in hell I’m going to beat that.” She fell back against the vanity table. “That's just ridiculous. Who on earth could throw money out like that? For a date?”
Erin looked down. Her foot started to rub a swirly pattern on the carpet.
Rebecca stiffened. “Erin, what are you not telling me?”
“Well….” Erin raised her head and bit her lip. “Your date actually becomes your”—her arms lifted and middle and forefingers of both hands curved to indicate quotation marks—“slave for the night.”
Slave? Laughter bubbled to her throat. “What do you mean? Slave for what? Like a chauffeur or butler for the day?”
Erin shook her head. “A slave, Bec. Anything you want him to be. The rest of the night alone with this person to fulfill any fantasy you have.”
Rebecca gasped and shot off the seat. “Why didn't you tell me this before?”
Erin smiled, a nervous glint in her eyes. “If I had told you, then you would have backed out, and Kelly would have won.”
Rebecca started to pace the small patch of carpet behind the chair to the door. Her life was over. Her mother was going to kill her, and she'd never be able to live this down.
Oh, God. Her brother. She whirled around to face Erin. “You have to get Lucas out of here.”
Erin's eyes widened. “I can't. Then he'll go and tell my parents.”
She glared. “Look, if I'm going down, you're going down with me.”
“Bec, if you're mother finds out I was involved, my mother is going to disown me, especially if she can't go to any of Catherine's garden parties.” Erin moved to the vanity table and threw the rest of the make-up back in the cosmetics Caboodle. “You're right. We should just get out of here before Lucas and Mark sees us. At least I know neither of them won the bid with Kelly.”
Rebecca froze. “You're telling me that Mark bid on Kelly?”
Erin met her gaze in the mirror. “I heard one of them yell out a number from the back.”
Anger turned to rage. Her hand clenched a fistful of fishnet and lace as she stared at her reflection. Her blonde wig shined under the dressing room light, her done-up face emphasizing sultry eyes. Bright red lipstick covered her full lips. The swells of her breasts pushed to her chin, and fishnet garters peaked from under the frilly short layers of her skirt. The image in the mirror reminded her of Marilyn Monroe without the mole at her mouth. Though she looked more like a tramp in high-heels than an ice queen, her costume screamed seduction.
Power bloomed in her gut like a fierce energy, uncapped.
A knock sounded at the door. “You're up!”
Rebecca jerked her head toward Erin, whose gaze filled with dread. “Give me my tiara.”
“You—you're going out there?”
With newfound confidence, she smiled at Erin.
“I'm taking Kelly down.”
And Mark Passmore is going to see what he gave up.
Chapter Two
“Did you have to scream in my ear like that?”
Mark Passmore glared at his best friend, who grinned like a fool at a strip club. He couldn't remember how the hell he’d ended up here. One second, Lucas was telling him they were going out for drinks, the next he found himself at an underground auction—one of Richie Mann's many events. Mark never cared to attend any of Mann's functions—the slime bag had no qualms about flaunting his money or his power in their conservative community.
“Hey, man, these things only happen once a year. You didn't come with me last year or the year before.” Lucas Hathaway stretched up to see the next contestant. “I can't believe I lost that last one. The girl was hot.”
Mark directed his gaze to the stage. Dim lighting, rowdy guys with too much money to spend, and fancy waitresses in next to nothing monopolized the floor. He stood in the back with Lucas, leaning against the wall. The last chick, dressed in leopard lingerie, had been bought for four hundred and fifty thousand. The one on auction now wore a tight French maid's get-up.
There was no way he'd spend money to buy a lady's time.
“Wouldn't you rather just write a check and donate it to whatever charity instead?” Mark asked with distaste as he took a sip of his chilled white wine. Even though he found Mann to be a sleaze, the guy knew how to throw a party—the white wine was definitely an import from Italy.
“Are you kidding? What fun is that? My mother can do that. This is the place to be. If you miss it, then you miss out. Different year, different girls.” Lucas gulped his beer.
“I'm starting to wonder why I know you,” Mark replied in a dry tone.
Lucas laughed and punched his arm. “Will you just relax? You're worse than my sister.”
“I'd like to see Rebecca freak out just once.” Mark scoffed.
“I don't know why you guys don't get along anymore. You used to be so close and then you had to go and break up with her. What happened between you two?”
He took a sip of his wine and disregarded Lucas with a shrug. Some things were not meant to be shared with friends, especially when that friend was the brother of the woman he'd considered marrying. As much as he cared for Lucas' sister, Rebecca was too withdrawn and reserved.
Almost ice cold.
“Are you going to bid or what?” Lucas asked, focusing on the stage again.
“Why? I can just go to a bar and pick up any available woman—one I don't have to pay for.” Mark squashed a bout of irritation. CEO to his father's company, Lucas could be incredibly dense, as if he'd missed out on his adolescent years as a teenager and felt the need to make it up in his early thirties.
“They're not hookers that you're auctioning for. They're either women from our class or some little rich girl who’s bored with her life.”
“Only you, Hathaway, would want to come to a place like this.” Mark watched as Mann slammed his hammer and closed at seven hundred thousand for the woman on stage. He'd much rather write out a check and bring it to the charity himself.
“Did I tell you that if you win, you get to be the girl's slave all night?”
Mark laughed and threw his friend a look of disbelief. “And why the hell would I want to do that?”
Lucas grinned. “Wouldn't you want to be the one to fulfill that girl's fantasy?”
“You don't even know the woman. What's the point of paying thousands of dollars to entertain her?”
“Oh, you will. Once you spot one you want. Last year, I have to say I had the best night of my life.”
“You're a dog, Hathaway. How are you proud of yourself for buying sex?”
Lucas whirled around to face him. “It wasn't only sex. It was…the talk, the companionship and just getting to know the girl, without her making any demands on you.” He made a face. “Demands of marriage, or if you'd buy them a diamond necklace or something. It's a good time. You don't have to have sex to enjoy yourself. Anything goes, depending on whatever the lady wants. And then you won't see her again.”
Mark smirked. “Sounds like a high priced one-night stand to me.”
“Then don't bid. You can go home to your lonely bed and cry yourself to sleep.” Lucas turned his attention back to the stage.
“This isn't a great place to be unless you want to be in the gossip tabloids tomorrow.” Mark spotted a man with a camera in the corner.
“Don't worry. Mann thinks of everything. His security is tight here, and it's by invitation only.”
Mark took another sip of his wine, allowing the liquid to burn a path down his throat. He should be at home going over reports and planning his next conference with his managers. As a leader in innovative technology, he'd carried the responsibility of his company for many years. With his father happily retired and his mother’s obsession to find Mark the perfect wife, he knew better than anyone the importance of the heir to Passmore Enterprises continuing the line.