Chapter 9

Ivy had to step back.

It was that or pull out every single blonde hair on Val Hutchins’s perfect fucking head. As the lights dimmed and a spotlight appeared on stage, Ivy stared across the room at nothing and counted to ten, aware that Val stood a few feet from her, looking like a goddess with all those platinum waves, TikTok-worthy makeup and a pair of boobs that would make men and women take notice. Seriously. They defied gravity.

Eventually, Mary Margaret came into focus. The woman stood in front of the microphone, the frosted ends of her hair sparkling under that spotlight like shards of ice. Her words melted together, and Ivy paid no mind. She tried her best to get her anger to a point where she could function, but it was no use. And as the room faded along with Mary Margaret’s words, the past tumbled before her, and she was helpless to stop it. Images and scenes played out, and she closed her eyes to stop them.

Five years old playing hopscotch with Val. Long braids. Blue plaid dress. Val’s laughing face.

A trip to Bozeman with Val and their mothers. Eating ice cream. Dancing along the sidewalk in the warm summer rain.

Sleepovers. Movie nights. A trip to Disney World.

Their parents arguing while the two of them hid behind the door and listened—not understanding anything other than things were bad. Bible camp. Horse camp.

Then, nothing until senior year when Val had done the worst thing ever, and Ivy’s life changed in an instant.

Slowly, Ivy exhaled and looked up. Val watched her with an odd expression on her face. Was she walking down memory lane as well? Was she remembering how, at one time, they’d been the best of friends until a falling out with their parents? Was she thinking about how cruel she’d been to Ivy after that? Did she have any idea how much her betrayal had cost Ivy?

The crowd erupted, and she flinched as folks clapped and whistled. Jefferson Smith sauntered onto the stage, and while women eagerly bid on a chance to spend an evening with the eligible bachelor, Ivy had no interest in the event. She wished with all her heart she was home, by herself, cradling a nice bottle of Chianti in front of the fire. As far as she was concerned, men were overrated.

As the auction proceeded, Ivy melted into the background, slowly moving away from the gaggle of women who pushed toward the front of the stage. She avoided Mike Paul’s parents as much as she could, though she gave a small nod at the wave and smile from his mom. Ivy kept to the shadows and was able to breathe a little easier. She would bid on Oliver and leave, hopefully, sooner than later.

Wondering when he would appear, she pulled the program from her small bag and was trying to make out the names listed when the crowd erupted in whistles and more than a few catcalls.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as if electrified by the air in the room, and even though she wanted to look away, she couldn’t. She knew before her eyes swept upward who was on stage.

The spotlight hit Mike Paul at centerstage. It lit up the highlights in his hair and defined his chiseled jaw and sensual mouth in a way that wasn’t fair. The cat calls continued as he smiled and took a step forward, that grin of his devastating as he worked the room.

Mike Paul Darlington was born for this kind of shit. The attention. The female adoration. It came easy to him. Heck, he didn’t have to do anything but wink and smile, and the ladies practically fell at his feet. Jordan McHale looked like she was about to faint, for God’s sake.

Thankful that the shadows kept her invisible, Ivy held her breath when Mary Margaret beamed out at the crowd.

“It’s taken us years to get this young man to participate in our auction, and I have a feeling Mike Paul just might set a new record.” She waved at the ladies in front. “Let’s start the bidding at one hundred dollars.”

“Two hundred,” Melinda Danby shouted, teetering on her heels as she jumped up and down excitedly. If the woman didn’t watch herself, her considerable assets were going to pop right out of her dress.

“Two-fifty.” Ivy couldn’t see who upped the bid. Angelina Jolie could be bidding on the man for all she cared.

Liar.

“Three hundred and fifty,” Grace Morgan shouted.

“Let’s keep this going,” Mary Margaret trilled, looping her arm through Mike Paul’s as she stood by excitedly.

Ivy narrowed her gaze. He wasn’t enjoying the attention tonight. There was a tick near his left eye, and his smile was plastic. His eyes kept sweeping the crowd, and she held her breath when he passed over her.

It was too dark. No way could he see her.

Two seconds ticked by, and then his eyes returned to her and never wavered. The smile slowly faded from his face, and for just one moment, it felt as if Ivy and Mike Paul were the only two folks in the room. She was hot. And cold. And her knees trembled. If her legs weren’t cemented in place, she would have run.

“Four hundred,” Melinda Danby practically squealed.

Mike Paul didn’t look away, and God help her, Ivy couldn’t either. She swallowed a thick lump and tried her best to keep breathing. What the hell was happening?

“One thousand.”

That tick at the corner of Mike Paul’s eye sharpened, and Ivy slowly turned. She spied Val near the right of the stage, glossy lips smiling as she looked up at him. Just behind her stood Melinda, who at that moment jumped up and down and shouted, “twelve hundred.”

“Well,” Mary Margaret said through the huge smile on her face, “I do believe we’ve just set a record. Is there anyone who would like to bid higher?”

“Fifteen hundred.” Val turned just as the spotlight swept the crowd and lit up the entire room. She nailed Ivy with a triumphant look that set off bells and whistles, the kind Ivy should have paid attention to. But in the moment, she ignored them and instead focused on the knot of heat and anger in her gut.

“Fifteen-fifty,” Melinda shot back.

“Sixteen hundred.” Val grinned like a Cheshire cat.

Melinda opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, her sister yanked on her arm and pulled her back, effectively cutting off the competition. Val’s grin widened.

Ivy’s breath quickened. Her anger churned. A dark ridge fell like a curtain over her eyes, and she clenched her hands into fists. You’re not winning this time, she thought. You’re not taking him from me .

Before she could stop herself, Ivy raised her hand. “Two thousand.” She raised her eyebrow at Val, a challenge or something like it. A slow kind of grin crept over the woman’s face, and Val gave a small shrug. A gesture that said, I give up.

“Anyone?” Mary Margaret asked hopefully. “Val?”

“I’m tapped out.” Val turned toward Ivy. “He’s all yours.”

Only then was Ivy aware of what she’d done. It was in the curious looks from folks nearby, one of whom, a lady from her mother’s church, made a point of nodding at the diamond on her finger.

Shit. Diamond. Ring. Engagement.

Mouth dry, she made herself look up at the stage. Mike Paul stood there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his tux, looking like a million bucks. No longer smiling, he was more dangerous than ever. He gave her a small nod, then held out his hand as if…

“Hey,” someone said from behind. “You’re supposed to go up there.”

After a few seconds Ivy forced one foot in front of the other and slowly made her way through the crowd. Someone helped her up the steps onto the stage, and she walked over to Mike Paul, stopping a few inches away. Mary Margaret gave her an odd look before turning to him.

“Well done, Mike Paul.” She winked at Ivy. “I do hope your fiancé doesn’t mind.”

“It’s for charity,” she managed to say. “All good.”

Mary Margaret beamed up at Mike Paul. “And what do you have planned for your special night with Ivy?”

Mike Paul winked at the woman. “Well, hell, Mary Margaret. You don’t want me giving away all my secrets, do ya?”

“Oh, no, we can’t have that. I’m sure whatever you two get up to will be..” she turned to Ivy. “Interesting, to say the least.”

Ivy had had enough. She took a step to the right but stopped when she felt Mike Paul’s warm hand on the small of her back. Bolts of electricity shot over her skin, flushing her cheeks an even darker shade of red.

“It’s this way,” he whispered into her ear. She shivered as he maneuvered her off the stage, then took the steps down two at a time. She needed to be away from him because her body was reacting in a way that was not only improper, but also inconvenient and wrong and a whole bunch of things she didn’t want to acknowledge. It was a miracle she didn’t faceplant, considering the four-inch stilettos on her feet.

There was a crowd of people, mostly the men still left in the auction, and she moved quickly, trying to find a way out of the mess she’d just created. Of all the stupid things she’d done in her life, this had to be near the top.

Right after sleeping with Mike Paul the year before.

“Ivy.” Mike Paul sidestepped and effectively blocked her exit. “Look at me.” His voice was warm, husky. Intimate.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” she snapped, looking up.

“Like what?” A ghost of a smile touched his lips.

“Like that. Like you just won something. Like this is something more than what it is.” She threw her hands into the air. “I don’t want to spend an evening with you. I don’t want to go to dinner and pretend like we’re friends. We’re not.” She practically stamped her foot. “I cannot believe I…like, what in hell?”

“Are you done?” he asked lightly.

“No.”

“Go on then.”

Ivy exhaled and tried her best to get her emotions in check. “I don’t even like you anymore.”

“Come on, we know that’s not true.”

Could he at least stop with the smiling?

“Well, I don’t like you enough for this.” She gestured wildly as if that could explain it all away. “I only did it because…”

“Because?” he prompted.

“Val pushes all my buttons, and I…” her breath caught, and her shoulders fell. “I didn’t want her to win. That’s all.”

“You sure that’s the only reason?” His tone got her attention, and she yanked her head up. His eyes glittered, and he moved closer. The air was so thick with something dark and dangerous she found it hard to breathe. Ivy needed to shut down whatever the hell this was pronto.

We don’t like Mike Paul.

Good. Right.

Except, in this moment, why did she feel so damn alive? Maybe she was riding the line a little too close, but Ivy licked at her bottom lip and lifted her chin.

“Val could have been bidding on a kidney removal, and I would have still tried my best to outbid her. This had nothing to do with you.”

“If you say so.”

“Damn right, I say so.”

“How about Wednesday?”

“What?” Confused, she frowned.

“Your calendar. Are you free, or does your fiancé have plans for the two of you?” He bent forward—so close she could count his lashes if she wanted to, which she didn’t. He had entirely too many to count.

He smelled good. Which was something else she shouldn’t be noting.

“Where is he?” Mike Paul’s voice lowered even more, and her heart ramped up to the point she was sure anyone within a mile radius could hear it pounding inside her chest. “Your Yankee.”

“He’s on his way back from New York.”

“What about Wednesday then?” At her confused look, he winked. “Our date?”

“You don’t actually expect me to go on a date with you?”

“Isn’t that what this whole thing is about?”

“It’s all fake.”

“It might be fake, but the two grand you’re paying to spend the day with me sure isn’t. It’s like a contract, and I aim to keep my part of the bargain.”

“It’s for charity,” she stuttered. “No one expects us to, you know, go on a date. And I’m engaged, so it wouldn’t be the proper thing to do. People will talk.”

“It doesn’t matter because it’s fake.”

Alarm shot through her, red-hot bolts of anxiety that made it hard to swallow. There’s no way he could know. “Why would you say that?”

A weird look crossed his face, and she was beginning to regret ever stepping foot inside the limo.

“I’m talking about our so-called date.”

Relief flooded her, and Ivy’s body relaxed so much that her legs felt like spaghetti. She had to get the hell away from him. “It’s still a bad idea.”

“Are you afraid of me, Wilkens?”

“Not at all.”

“Then get your ass out of bed early on Wednesday because Lord knows you need at least two coffees in you before you’re approachable. I’ll pick you up at seven a.m.” He gave her a cocky salute. “Make sure you’re rested up.”

She didn’t get a chance to reply because Mike Paul left without another word, and she found herself staring after him as he walked away from her, mouth open like an idiot, hands still clenched so tight there had to be blood.

“Okay, I get it now.”

Ollie appeared from nowhere and offered her a glass of champagne. She grabbed hold of it and downed it in one gulp.

“Not happy about it, but I get it.” The Brit looked handsome in a dark tux. The tattoos on the side of his neck crept up and disappeared into his slicked-back hair.

Ivy sighed. “I’m sorry. I…it’s…”

“Complicated?”

“That word doesn’t come close to describing things.”

“Oliver? You’re up.”

They both turned as Mary Margaret appeared and waved him forward.

“I’ve got to go do this.” He nodded toward the stage.

Ivy offered a smile. “I can still bid on you if you want.”

“I think I can get through this without your help.” He winked. “Besides, you’ve got your own problem to work through, and he’s not going to make it easy on you.”

“Kip will understand.”

Oliver took one step forward and paused, looking over his shoulder. “I’m not talking about Kip.” He held her gaze for a couple of seconds and then disappeared through the curtains to a boisterous round of applause and catcalls.

“Would you like a glass of champagne?” A waiter appeared with an entire tray of the sparkling stuff.

“No,” Ivy replied. She was so over this night. She snuck out the back way and called a cab. And as she waited impatiently for it to show, she decided she wasn’t going to think about what had just happened.

At least, not until she had to, because Oliver was right. Mike Paul was a problem. And for a girl who was paid to look after problems, this one wasn’t going so well.