I immediately regret my decision to help Julianna the second I step on stage.

The spotlight beaming down on the dates up for auction, including me, is bright as the fucking sun. Not only do I regret my decision to offer myself up like a piece of meat to a pack of wolves, but I also regret my decision to wear a bright yellow gown. With the light beaming down on the stage, I feel like a beacon of light in the middle of the ocean.

Nerves slither down the length of my spine. With my pulse racing, my eyes adjust to the light, scanning the shadow sea of people gathered below.

Breathe in. Breathe deep. Breathe out.

“All right, everyone!” The announcer emerges from side stage.

He’s tall with a smile brighter than the gold rings around each of his fingers. His black bow tie is slightly crooked, but he adjusts it as he saunters over to center stage as effortlessly as a duck paddling through water. “My name is Scott and I’ll be your announcer for this evening. Welcome to New York City’s largest charity organization, City Angels’ first annual Auction of Love. Where several lucky bidders will win a date with these stunning singles, all while donating to some incredible charitable causes!” Scott half turns, holding out his arm to showcase the ten of us standing in a row.

The ballroom erupts into applause.

Clinking champagne glasses and cheers echo from below. Now that my eyes have finally adjusted to the lighting, I search the crowd for London and Charleigh, desperate to cling onto to the sight of them for survival. Instead, my gaze lands on two blue eyes piercing through the darkness—ones I was staring into thirty minutes ago, when they were only inches from mine, melting me into a puddle.

Holt’s gaze is unwavering and hard as stone, but his mouth is clamped shut, and his sculpted, sharp jaw ticks, his muscles twitching beneath his smooth skin, indicating he’s as surprised as I am to see me standing up here.

“Before we begin,” Scott booms into the microphone wrapped tightly in his grip. The blood drains to my feet, stealing my attention. “We would like to send a thank you to all our event coordinators and sponsors. Without them, this night wouldn’t be possible. Let’s give them a hand.”

The crowd explodes into another round of applause before the auction gets underway. I stand at the end, debating whether it would be in my interest to go first or last. I’m standing at the end of the line, near the edge of the curtain. Behind the ten of us, a small quartet is set up. The drummer starts a slow and hushed beat before the rest of the band joins in. First, the guitarist, then the bassist. The beat vibrates across the stage, matching the speed of my heartbeat, ramping up my anxiety.

I sigh with relief when Scott starts at the opposite end of the line.

He calls the first woman forward: a tall, queenly woman in a gorgeous, black velvet, floor-length gown. She moves to join him at the front of center stage, and he asks her to introduce herself. She gives her name, age, and occupation—all the basic details you would learn from an online dating profile. Then he opens the bidding up. I try not to show my stunned expression when the bidding starts out with a four-digit figure.

By the end of the bidding, I have to force my mouth shut when it closes at just under six figures, and the winner is asked to come on stage. A young man appearing the same as the woman he’s just won a date with weaves his way through the crowd to join her. He passes by the line of us waiting, on a mission to meet his date. He shakes the woman’s hand with a large grin, then leans forward and presses his lips to her cheek. She giggles when he whispers something in her ear. After one more round of applause from the crowd, the couple return to the line, standing hand in hand.

Then Scott moves effortlessly onto the next single. An older man dressed in a perfectly tailored black tux. Julianna managed to cast a wide range of candidates. Each one of us is of different ages and genders.

The auctions go faster than I expect, and, for a moment, I’m drawn into the excitement of it all. I listen intently to everyone’s bios and stare blankly into the crowd once the bidding begins. Every time I turn back to the crowd, I can’t help looking at Holt. He remains where he is near the back, with his handsome, unwavering expression.

I’m almost caught up in him, but my neck prickles with nerves the faster the bids start to go. Before I’ve even had a chance to ready myself, Scott is standing beside me.

“And last, but certainly by no means least, is this stunning woman in yellow. She’s a golden ray of sunshine, am I right?” Scott grins, revealing his blinding white, straight teeth. The crowd hums and hollers in agreement. Scott nods, riled up from the crowd’s reaction, then he turns to me. “Tell us, young lady, what’s your name?”

He shoves the microphone toward me, holding it close to my mouth. I want to jump out of my skin. A lump swells in my throat and my heart races. There’s only ever been one other moment in my life when I found myself wishing to be anywhere other than where I was in that moment.

Vastly different circumstances, yet similar sensations humming in my body.

I clasp my hands in front of me and blankly scan the crowd, swallowing my nerves before answering. “My name…” I clear my throat and sweep my tongue across my suddenly dry lips. “My name is Selene Walker.”

“Selene Walker, everyone!” Scott shouts. The crowd erupts into applause. “That’s a beautiful name, Selene.”

“Thank you,” I mutter, unable to look at Scott.

“Tell us, what’s your age? What do you do for a living, and where are you from?”

“I’m twenty-eight years old,” I start, my voice shaky and uneven. “Originally from Long Island, though I currently live in Manhattan. I’m a florist.”

“Florist, huh?” Scott clicks his tongue, eyeing me suspiciously.

My skin crawls.

I stare at Scott, wondering why he’s looking at me with a cocked brow when he adds in a surly voice, “Something tells me there’s more to you, Selene Walker. Come on. Tell us something interesting and unexpected.”

“Um,” I mutter, frantically searching my brain for anything remotely interesting about myself until the first idea pops into my head. “I’ve written a novel.” Once I realize what I’ve just said, I curl inward, shrinking under the spotlight.

“An author?” Scott’s mouth falls open before he turns toward the crowd, encouraging them to react. He swings back to me, waiting for my answer.

Fuck, why did I mention my novel? Stupid nerves.

I shrink even further. “Yes.”

“It’s not often you meet someone who’s written a full-length novel.”

I give Scott a trepid smile.

“I love it,” he quips. “Means you’re smart and have a way with words. Your date will no doubt find that an endearing quality.”

I don’t know what to make of his comments. I feel lost in this sea of madness, a nightmare of Julianna’s making. I’ve now made my way through half the battle of doing her this favor, but I’m desperate for an off-ramp escape before I get snatched up by some stranger with a bottomless wallet.

“All right, time to open up the bidding on Selene Walker, the twenty-eight-year-old florist and author from Long Island!” Scott announces to the crowd. He reminds me of a game show host. “She’s gorgeous and successful, and whoever wins tonight will be incredibly lucky. We’ll open the bidding at five thousand. Do I hear five thousand?”

He waves his arm in front of him.

I immediately start to scan the crowd again. I still haven’t found London or Charleigh’s faces yet. Hell, I can’t even see Asher or Julianna close by.

The one person I do find again… is Holt. Easily. Towering over nearly everyone in the crowd, he isn’t hard to find, but his expression catches me off guard, making Scott’s voice fade into the background.

Holt’s eyes are hardened like two shining pieces of glass in the shadows. At first, I think he’s standing frozen in the same position against the wall, near the back corner of the ballroom, but he’s closer to one of the small cocktail tables now. At least I think he is. My brain is foggy, and my memory can’t be trusted. My anxiety is firing off a torrent of nerves in my brain, making everything I’m witnessing unreliable. I’m questioning my own memory at this point, begging for this to end and be over.

Holt’s hands are stuffed into the pockets of his Armani suit, and his lips finally part slightly. I’m clinging onto the vision of Holt when someone shouts out the first bid from the other side of the ballroom. All heads turn in that direction, including Holt’s. My fog-filled brain takes a second to register the voice of the bidder. It’s familiar, and one that makes my stomach somersault. I hold my breath when I follow the stares from the crowd to the lone man sticking his arm straight up in the air.

Adam.

His hair is considerably tamer than it was just hours earlier. He’s clean shaven, and as far as everyone else here is concerned, he’s put together. But I know the truth of what he’s like outside of work hours. Both in appearance and personality.

He’s wearing the same suit he’d slipped into before leaving my apartment, and compared to the other men in this same room wearing their expensive suits and tuxes, Adam sticks out like a sore thumb.

Reality slams into me like a gut punch. Adam just bid five thousand dollars on me.

What the fuck?

Rapidly blinking, my worry sets in, causing the lump in my throat to drop in my stomach.

“We have our first bidder, folks!” Scott announces, his voice echoing throughout the ballroom. “Five thousand. Do I hear six thousand?”

“Six thousand!” someone else shouts.

“We have six thousand!” Scott says, pointing to the next bidder. “Do we have ten?”

“Ten thousand!” Adam bids, his arm flying into the air.

My jaw drops. I force myself to snap it shut, frantically bouncing my attention between Scott and Adam. I don’t know where to look. All I know is that I don’t want Adam to win this bid. Mostly because I know he doesn’t even have that kind of money.

What happens if the person who bids doesn’t have the money? I think of Julianna and the reputation she’s trying to uphold tonight. If the public find out Adam has placed a bid he has no intention of paying, Julianna’s name will be in jeopardy.

Anger simmers and builds beneath my panic. How could Adam declare a bid he can’t afford when that money is intended for charity?

My eyes widen when another round of challenging bids go back and forth through two others, then Adam’s hand flies into the air again, and bidding fifty thousand dollars.

I suck in my bottom lip and nervously chew on it. I want to crawl out of my skin and leave the stage. I don’t understand Adam’s motive. Worry builds, and I’m ready to walk off the stage, when someone else’s hand shoots into the air. Everyone’s heads turn on a swivel to the man standing near the back of the room.

The man with piercing glass blue eyes, wearing a lush black suit.

“One hundred thousand!” Holt declares, his gaze glued to mine.

Audible gasps ripple across the sea of others. Holt was supposed to remain in the shadows. Julianna didn’t go into detail about his lawsuit, but I do know he wasn’t supposed to make a show of himself. Yet here he is, doing exactly that.

The spotlight moves, landing directly on him. The people gathered around him back away, as if they’re suddenly remembering the gossip surrounding Holt Capuleti. Whispers over shoulders break out.

“One hundred thousand!” Scott repeats. “Do we have a challenger?”

“One fifty!” Adam announces.

Heads snap in his direction.

“Wow.” Scott snorts in surprise. “Selene Walker seems to be the catch of the night here, folks, with the highest bids on record for our event.”

I worry my lip, tears building behind my eyes. I don’t want to cry. I can’t. Not when I’m on stage at the center of a bidding battle. But memories of pooled blood at my feet and the idea of love literally shattering in front of me has me in a chokehold. Memories of Adam’s accusations earlier, telling me I’m only playing a part digs at the shield I’ve held up for years. The thought of talking to Adam again has my stomach roiling.

The panic coursing through my veins is overwhelming, and then I lock my eyes with Holt. The options laid out before me are clear. I understand Julianna’s rules set to the auction bidders, but I know if Adam were to win, aside from his lack of ability to pay, he would expect more.

I stare at Holt and shake my head slightly, just enough for him to notice, then I mouth the word, “Please.”

“Two hundred thousand!” Holt shouts.

More gasps and whispers.

He’s moved closer to the stage now. The crowd parts, opening a path for him to make his way over. Adam still hasn’t moved from where he is, and his face falls with disappointment and defeat. Anger too.

He knows Holt is in our friend circle, and while I wouldn’t exactly consider us close friends, Holt is the poster boy for the type of people Adam was disparaging earlier.

Adam’s defeated expression shifts when he looks back up to me on the stage. Fire-fueled eyes coupled with the echo of his accusations become pin pricks to my heart. He doesn’t need to use his words to tell me what he’s thinking. He’s proven a point with this bidding war with Holt.

Shaking his head, he firms his jaw and rakes his fingers through his freshly-washed hair, stamping his foot. He presses his lips tightly together. I swear, I see steam shooting out from his ears and flared nostrils.

“Two hundred thousand!” Scott cuts through the silence that’s descended across the packed ballroom. “Do we have another bid? Going once…”

Silence.

“Going twice…”

Hushed whispers.

“Sold!” Scott booms into the microphone. “Two hundred thousand for the gorgeous and talented Selene Walker of Long Island. Come up on stage, sir, and claim your date with a kiss.”

I look down at Holt, my pulse racing.

He pauses, trading glances between Scott and me, wearing an expression that suggests he’s only just realizing what he’s done in the past three minutes. Three minutes of bidding, placing the spotlight on himself.

He removes one of his hands from his pockets and adjusts his tie. Then he’s smiling.

Smiling.

A dimple presses into his cheek, and a sparkling glint flashes in his eyes as he moves to the side stage before bounding up the stairs. Smooth and assured, he stands beside me, meeting me center stage.

“Well,” Scott says, addressing the crowd, then us. “I’d ask your name, but I’m almost certain all of us here know who you are. Congratulations, Holt Capuleti, CEO and owner of Scribe Magazine.”

Holt’s grin doesn’t slip even a fraction. He’s treating this moment as if his life isn’t under intense scrutiny. I can’t say I’m disappointed. He did just save me from interacting with Adam and prevented the humiliation he would have endured if he’d won and never been able to actually pledge the money to charity.

“Now that you’re here with Selene, you may kiss your date,” Scott says, grabbing my hand and placing it in Holt’s, the same way he did the other couples.

All eyes are on us as Holt holds my hand. It’s large yet tender as his thumb rests over the tops of my fingers.

I turn to face the crowd, leaning a bit to my side to offer my cheek to Holt, but my breath is yanked from my lungs when Holt tugs on my hand and pulls me toward him. My body slams against his, and then I’m staring at his chest. His fingers hook under my chin, lifting my gaze effortlessly with his touch. The same scent of cedarwood surrounds me, bringing me back to our moment in the hallway.

He’s so handsome.

It’s the only thought wandering around in my brain. I must be disoriented from the whiplash of tonight. The past twenty-four hours have been more dramatic than anything I’ve experienced in the past ten years. Well, except for the night I witnessed my sister’s ex-husband get squashed like a bug by a barreling New York City tourist bus.

Holt’s searing gaze sends a shiver down my spine and heat radiating to the space between my thighs. It’s as if every nerve ending has been awakened by his sudden appearance and closeness.

“Nice to see you again, Wallflower.” He smirks, the corner of his mouth curling. A chuckle rumbles from his chest before his grip tightens on the small of my back. “Are you ready?”

Then his mouth melts into mine.