3. Eric

Chapter 3

Eric

The moment I pull into the parking lot of The Sterling Rope, a knot of anxiety forms in my gut. I glance in the rearview mirror, running a hand through my cropped hair, trying to shake off the irritation I’ve been feeling all day.

I’m wearing my go-to dark gray polo shirt and black dress pants, a look that says I’m just trying to blend in and not draw any attention to myself.

As I step inside, the atmosphere thickens with excitement and energy. I scan the room, spotting Roman at the bar, already nursing a drink like he’s preparing for battle. “I’m glad you could make it,” he calls, waving me over. His trademark grin makes me want to roll my eyes.

“I told you I’d be here,” I reply, trying to sound casual, but I know I’m on thin ice just being here. If anyone recognizes me, my nice, anonymous life will be over.

“Did you forget this is a black-tie event?” he asks, a hint of irritation sparking in his eyes.

I shoot him a deadpan look. “I don’t own one,” I grunt, as if asserting my boundaries will keep him in check. We both know I’m lying. Over the years, I’ve owned several tuxedos given to me by hopeful designers. When I moved here, I left them all in my penthouse closet. “And I wasn’t getting one for this event.”

“Whatever floats your boat.” He smirks, clearly not buying my excuse.

As we climb the stairs leading to the stage, the crowd’s chatter quiets, and I’m immediately hit by the brilliance of the spotlights. Blinded, I squint, trying to mask the unease washing over me. Stepping into the spotlight feels too much like stepping onto a movie set. Fucking hell.

“Ladies!” Roman’s voice booms, drowning out my thoughts. “Our next victim, uh…” he playfully corrects himself, “bachelor is new to town, so he didn’t get the memo on our dress code. Please welcome, Eric Cobalt.” It’s been a long time since anyone has called me by my real name. In fact, I don’t remember the last time I heard it muttered out loud.

Fuck. I’m ready to get this over with so I can get back to my quiet, uncomplicated life. Before I can draw a deep breath, Roman goes on, “And let me tell you, Eric has chosen an incredible date for the lucky winning bid—an entire weekend on a private yacht!”

What the fuck? Just his words send a shockwave through me, practically knocking me off my feet. A weekend on a yacht? I agreed to one date, which meant dinner and a movie. I should have my head examined for letting Roman pick the date!

But as the bidding starts, something pulls my gaze into the crowd, and an instant spark of energy blasts through my chest as I see the woman standing in front of the stage. She’s by far the most striking woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. With that fiery red hair twisted up in a fancy knot that makes her look sophisticated yet playful, I can’t look away. My Hollywood days introduced me to plenty of beautiful faces, but she is something else entirely. She’s a goddamn siren.

She’s not tall, but God, her hourglass figure is downright captivating. It’s as if the universe took every desirable quality and poured them into this extraordinary woman. Those big, expressive eyes are the color of emeralds, and they seem to flicker with mischief and curiosity as they scan over me. Hell, I can almost feel those eyes moving over me like fingertips brushing my skin, sending shivers of awareness coursing down my spine.

“Starting bid at one thousand dollars!” Roman announces, his voice slicing through my thoughts and reeling me back into reality. Some voice from the back offers up an amount, but I hardly register it. She ignites something primal inside me.

All of a sudden, the nervous energy I was feeling fades. I just need to keep my head in the game. I know Roman only allows members and their guests to these events, so it shouldn’t be hard to find out who she is. I’m drawn toward her, wanting nothing more than to see what lies behind those mesmerizing eyes.

“One thousand!” “Two thousand!” Numbers become a blurring backdrop as bidding for me continues, my focus lasered in on the woman in the crowd. I want to escape this damned stage and have her to myself, to study what makes her tick, what brought that stunning smile to her face.

“Three thousand!” someone calls out from the front, but I’m solely focused on her. I stare into her expressive eyes, willing her to bid for me.

But she stays silent, just watching, and I can’t help but feel disappointed. The thought of spending a weekend on a yacht with anyone except her is just not acceptable to me.

“Four thousand!” comes another voice, and I glance over to see some overzealous woman in a sequined dress, shoving her hand up with a manic gleam in her eye. Fucking hell.

“Five thousand, going once, going twice,” the auctioneer shouts, and still no sign from my gorgeous redhead. The electricity passing between us is palpable, yet she doesn’t make a move.

“Six thousand!” someone yells, and my eyes dart back to her.

When I see her white teeth bite down on her bottom lip, the urge to climb off this stupid stage and break this ridiculous barrier between us hits me hard.

“Seven thousand! Eight thousand!” The bids keep rolling in as I hold her gaze, unable to look away.

At the last moment, a smirk crosses her gorgeous heart-shaped face as she winks at me. “Ten thousand dollars!” she calls out, and the entire room goes silent. Even the auctioneer stumbles a bit, caught off-guard.

Oh, little siren, I’m going to spank your luscious ass until it turns bright red for letting me sweat this out until the last goddamn second.

“Going once, going twice…” I hear the auctioneer declare, but I’m hardly paying attention. I’m completely consumed by her.