Damon rolled his eyes. “Really, why do I bother with you? She didn’t give me her bloody name. She barely said one word to me aside from ‘get out.’ I doubt I’ll see her again.”
“It’s a shame. It’s not often you get to be normal. You can’t go to the crapper without someone panting after you.”
Damon shrugged, clenching his jaw. The woman had intrigued him in more ways than one, and it irked him she’d refused to even think about seeing him again. What had he done to make her reject him so harshly? They’d had a mutually satisfying night of sex—and he knew she had enjoyed herself, thank you—so why had she felt the need to get rid of him so fast?
He forced a smile. “No big deal. We had fun. It’s over. I’m sure I’ll find another girl soon enough.”
After all, they loved to throw themselves at him.
Jeff gnawed at his lower lip. “I could always do some digging. Find out whose family she’s from.”
Damon held up his hand. “She’s not from a family we’d know. She lived in a tiny apartment on the other side of town.
Not a mansion.”
“I could still figure out—”
“No,” Damon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s get ready for this blasted charity event so I can go the hell home.
I’ve got a bloody headache.”
“Maybe there’ll be a hot teacher there, waiting to be rescued.” Jeff said. “I’m so there.”
“You’re sick.”
“I know. Oh, by the way, I finished the paperwork you left on my desk. You’re good to go,” Jeff said.
Damon smiled. “Good. All those words smashed together were making my head ache.”
“It’s called a legal document. It’s supposed to have words—not pictures.” Jeff shook his head.
A knock at the door interrupted them. Damon raised an eyebrow. “Are you expecting someone?”
“Nope.”
Shrugging, Damon opened the door. A man, wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase, hovered outside. Sweat lined his upper lip, and his eyes shifted all about the room.
Immediately, Damon knew he didn’t like him, but forced a polite smile anyway. “Can I help you, Mr.—?”
“Mr. Johnson. I’m a lawyer from your father’s firm. I have to speak to you about his will.” Handing Damon a business card, the short lawyer skirted around Damon’s substantially larger frame like a scared little mouse.
Damon closed the door, shaking his head in disgust. He didn’t recognize the man, but he must be the real thing if he’d made it past security.
“What is it now, Mr. Johnson? Yet another trivial detail that happened to slip through the cracks the ten other times you guys read the will to me?” His damn lawyer was always finding something “important” to inform him of—but why send a lackey this time?
As if he gave a bloody damn.
“Viscount Haymes, this business is—” Johnson cleared his throat, fidgeting with his briefcase. “—very delicate. Perhaps you should sit.”
“I’d rather stand,” Damon said coldly.
With a snort, Jeff took the papers from Johnson and scanned them. He paled. “No, Damon,” he said, sinking into the closest chair. “You really need to sit down for this.”
Chapter Two
Johanna gulped another glass of champagne, smoothed her black satin dress, and told herself she wasn’t trying to get drunk—again. Why would she want to be drunk, anyway? It wasn’t like she was about to whore herself out for a bunch of rich sixty-somethings with more money than personal hygiene. It wasn’t like the dress showed off things she’d rather keep hidden behind a pencil skirt and severe blouse. And it wasn’t like Tim would be here tonight, smiling that milliondollar smile like she hadn’t caught him banging a client. If he even thought about bidding on her tonight, she’d cut off his left nut.
God, she hated these events.
Plunking down the empty glass, she leaned closer to Sara.
“Lucy looks like she came to snag a husband.”
“Wouldn’t you? Rich, old, and he’d only need to reach a hand up her skirt to get off. It’s worth the inconvenience.”
“Yeah, right. Let the bidding start. Geezer Number One, or Geezer Number Two?”
“Maybe the one scratching his armpit will swoop in and steal Lucy away,” Sara whispered, gesturing to the nearest table. “You never know. He looks pretty feisty.”
The man in question closed his eyes and let out a little snore. Sara and Johanna stifled giggles behind their hands.
“Oh, God,” Johanna mumbled. “This is horrible. I need to get married.”
Sara clucked her tongue, shooting Johanna a hurt look.
“And leave me here alone? Hell no. We’re in this together.
Till death do us part.”
“I don’t recall saying ‘I do,’” Johanna whispered.
“And the lovely lady sells for three hundred dollars!” the announcer called out, pointing to the uncomfortable-looking woman on stage—like it wasn’t obvious who he was talking about. Idiot.
The horrible audio crackled through the dimly lit room.
Johanna clapped politely when Lucy descended the stage; the spotlight remained on Lucy the entire way. Johanna tugged the hem of her dress towards her knees, but it still didn’t come even close to the general neighborhood of proper.
Johanna muttered, “I can’t believe I let you put me in this thing.”
“You look hot, and you know it.”
“No, I don’t. I look cold. And uncomfortable. And my dress is uneven!”
“It’s supposed to be, you dolt,” Sara said.
“Yeah, whatever,” Johanna grumbled.
Sara grinned, motioning up at the stage. “You’re next.
Smile and look happy.”
“I hate you right now.”
Taking a deep breath, Johanna chugged Sara’s untouched champagne.
“Next up,” the announcer called out, “we have the ohso- popular Johanna Thomas. Last year, Mr. Fortens bid six hundred dollars for her. Who will win the pleasure of her company tonight?”
Plastering on a smile, Johanna stood and worked her way to the stage. She tried to ignore the frantic beating of her heart.
If she had any luck left, she’d make it through the night without having to see— “Three hundred dollars, for old time’s sake.”
Yep, she’d be in jail by midnight.