Page 17 of Sugar (Gilded #1)

Going Once

MADDIE

T ugging at the hem of my dress to release non-existent wrinkles, I scanned the room from my spot at the very back.

It was packed.

Not an empty chair in the place—and that was saying something because they’d added a lot of them to accommodate the influential crowd. Actors—including Easton’s possible friend Tripp Carter. Politicians. Directors. Musicians.

And me.

My chest squeezed, and my breaths turned shallow and quick as the auctioneer finished the sale of a shirtless man holding a crop. His Dom services for a night had gone for more than a thousand dollars—one of the highest of the evening.

I wasn’t concerned with the low bidding. Actually, I was relieved, and it was likely the only reason I hadn’t fled from the building so fast that all I would leave behind was a smoke outline of my body.

If someone paid a few hundred bucks for me, and I chickened out with whatever they had in mind, I wouldn’t feel bad. Well, not as bad.

Because it wasn’t about the money. Not really.

Unless I stood up there and crickets sounded. That would also suck. Just the thought of it had my legs tingling with the demand I run.

Like he sensed my panic, Cohen suddenly appeared next to me and offered a water bottle.

I shook my head. My stomach was doing so many flips and twists, the addition of any liquid would cause an internal tsunami.

“You doing okay?” His tone and expression were both soft and casual, but there was a sharpness in his hazel eyes.

No.

I should leave.

I don’t belong here.

That last part might’ve been true, but it also wasn’t the whole truth. Because even if I didn’t belong in the room of experienced and confident people, I wanted to be there.

No.

I needed to be there.

A tiny fraction of my anxiety lessened, and my smile grew less forced. “I’m good.” I gestured outward. “It looks incredible in here.”

After I’d submitted my info form for the auction, I’d received a response from Cohen with an attached invitation that looked as elegant and tasteful as the paper one on the table.

He had also added details that were specifically for me, like directions from Coastal to the back lot and the passcode for that entrance.

And specific instructions to not sneak my way through Golden since that access point was disabled as they made some security enhancements.

Oops.

I’d assumed that Gilded would look basically the same as it had the week before, but I’d been wrong. A stage was against one of the black brick walls with rows of chairs set in front of it. Not the cheap metal folding kind, either. They were elegant and lovely, like something used at a wedding.

There were even bidding paddles in the signature matte black and foiled gold, adding a sense of legitimacy to the auction that Cohen had emphasized in the email was merely for fun.

Naughty fun, but fun, nonetheless.

He lifted his chin toward a woman in a gorgeous cocktail dress that was standing near the bar as she fussed with something. “Melissa is the event planner behind every big celebrity birthday bash or brand launch. She volunteers her services and connections since the auction is her favorite event.”

I looked at her closer. “Wasn’t she the one who, uh, bought a few of the Doms?”

“Like I said, her favorite event.”

“Who is she talking to?”

The man wasn’t one of those Doms, but he carried himself like one. Or how I assumed one would. There was a natural power emanating from him, and if I had allowed myself to think about it, it would’ve reminded me of Easton.

But I was doing my best to stop obsessing over the sexy attorney, so I squashed the thought before it fully formed and studied the mystery man.

Dressed in all black, he looked like he’d stepped off a motorcycle—and he wasn’t happy about it. His glare cut across the room.

He wasn’t as beefy as some of the security guards, but he was far more intimidating.

“Atlas. My brother.” My wide eyes shot to Cohen, and he smirked. “I know. I got all the good looks.”

Both men were equally attractive in very different ways.

I knew that genetics were a wild thing, but they didn’t resemble each other in the slightest. Even their demeanors appeared completely opposite.

Cohen had a lightness about him that showed in the smile that seemed to permanently curve his mouth. Atlas’ was set in a sneer.

“We’re not related by blood,” he tacked on, solving that mystery. “But we’re brothers.” Before I could ask more, he looked over my head, and his smile grew. “I was just coming over to let you know it’s almost your turn, but now you’re next. Ready?”

No. Not at all.

Run for your life before you make a fool of yourself, dummy.

I gave a shaky nod through my freak-out.

Contrary to that agreement, I didn’t make any moves to actually go toward the front. Not a single step. Not even a little shuffle.

Cohen put his hand on my back—upper not lower like Easton did—and gently nudged me.

I snapped out of my frozen terror and forced my legs to move. I followed Cohen along the perimeter of the audience before pausing at the side of the stage.

“I’d say good luck, but I don’t think you’re the one who’ll need it,” he whispered with a rumbled chuckle.

I didn’t get the chance to ask what he meant when the auctioneer announced my name.

Here goes nothing.

My trembling knees nearly gave out as I climbed the stage, suddenly rethinking everything .

My decision to attend.

My decision to wear my cute white sundress when so many others were in sexy cocktail dresses, slinky nighties, or ultra-sexy lingerie that was little more than scraps of lace.

Using my real name.

My answers on the form.

My need for answers and understanding.

I suddenly questioned every single choice I’d ever made in my entire life that’d led me to that point. My doubt was so loud, battling against the blood rushing in my ears, that it took me a long moment to realize what else I heard.

Or rather, didn’t hear.

Because when the auctioneer prompted the bidding with an open-ended start, there was nothing.

Silence.

It seemed to stretch for hours that were likely only seconds.

The longest, most agonizing seconds in my entire life.

“Ten thousand,” a gruff voice called, carrying confidently across the room. I knew that voice. I’d spent too many hours obsessing over it.

The buzz of gasps and whispers grew louder when someone else said, “Twenty thousand.”

What in the ever-loving hell is happening right now?

There was no hesitation. “Fifty.”

Whoever had offered the competing bid didn’t have the chance to respond.

Not before Easton stormed onto the stage, flung me over his shoulder, and stalked right back off.

“Don’t forget this,” someone said as we passed. Easton slowed for a second to snarl something that I didn’t catch.

Hanging upside down, one of my hands clutched at his dress shirt in a feeble attempt to stop myself from crashing to the floor if he released me.

My other went to my ass in an even feebler attempt to stop my already short skirt from riding up to expose more of my panties. Thankfully, he helped with that.

Unfortunately—or maybe extra thankfully, I wasn’t quite sure—he did so by using his large hand to span the rounded curves of my cheeks.

It’d always been amazing to me how, in even the briefest blink of time, the human brain was capable of jumping to a million fragmented conclusions and feeling a million contradictory emotions.

I was shocked.

Mortified.

Thrilled.

Nervous.

Giddy.

Why was he there? Why had he bid so much?

Most importantly… What did he want with me now that he’d won?

And where the hell was he taking me?

The lighting dimmed, and hope and apprehension surged as I wondered if he was taking me to a back room.

But when he stopped and slammed me to my feet, we were in the same hallway he’d disappeared down during my former visit. The one that led to offices rather than unseen rooms offering unknown pleasures.

His hands spanned my hips to stop me from stumbling at the sudden perspective flip. Once my bearings were steady and my world shifted back into place, he released his hold and took a half step back.

His outfit—dark slacks and a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled and the collar unbuttoned—made me guess he’d come from work.

I wondered if he’d been planning to attend.

Or if he’d known I would be there. There were so many possibilities and mysteries, it was as disorienting as being carried upside down.

Before I could land on what to say, I raised my gaze to meet his and lost my breath. It wasn’t lust that burned in his nearly black eyes.

It was rage.

His voice carried the same edge. “What the fuck were you thinking, Madeline?”

All the illogical assumptions my brain had jumped to crashed around me. I couldn’t believe that I’d thought for even a second that he wanted me.

But the level of anger still took me by surprise, leaving me speechless.

“It’s bad enough you’re here. You of all people don’t belong here.” His bit out words didn’t just hurt.

They stoked the fires of my insecurities until they eviscerated my insides.

He wasn’t done. He slammed his hands against the wall on either side of my head, and the paper he clutched crinkled in one ear. “But this?”

I blinked, totally lost. “ This what?”

He moved it in front of my face, giving me a brief glimpse. It was my name and answers, printed out and signed like a purchase agreement.

“Christ, Madeline, you left your hard limits blank.”

Like a silly little girl who doesn’t know any better.

He might not have said those exact words, but his implication was clear.

I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but I didn’t. “I wrote that I would use my safe word.”

“So I saw… guppy ,” he sneered, making me regret the impulsive safe word choice I’d written on the form.

The one that was tied to him. I hoped like hell he didn’t remember enough to make that connection.

“Your answers. Your dress. Your face. Your… everything . You might as well have marked yourself as a sacrificial little fucking lamb. You could’ve gotten stuck with some bastard who would take advantage of you. ”

That was the point.

I didn’t say that. I wasn’t sure how to put it into words. How to explain the desires I didn’t even understand.

Even if I knew, I couldn’t bare myself by sharing when he clearly only bid on me in a misguided attempt to protect me from exactly what I wanted.

At my silence, some of his anger faded, and worry took its place. “I’m still going to pay you.”

Because nothing will happen.

Because he’s a nice guy.

Because I’m just a silly little girl.

Disappointment and rejection grew in my belly until it felt as cavernous as the bottomless pit I wanted to disappear into.

I shook my head. “Let’s just forget this happened.”

“No.”

“I’m not taking your money.”

“Too bad.”

I crossed my arms and glared up at him. It was bad enough that I’d fucked up so colossally. That my everything —as he’d so broadly pointed out—had been foolish and naive.

I didn’t need his pity on top of that.

“I’m not accepting your money for nothing.” I tried to duck and dodge to the side, but he lowered his hands so they were next to my shoulders.

Caging me in.

He dropped his face until it was inches from mine. “Who said it would be for nothing?”

I was stupid. Like, literally the biggest dumbass to walk the earth. Because despite the mortification I’d just experienced, that stupid rush of desire tangled with a surge of hope. I worked to keep my voice even, but it came out airy and barely above a whisper. “Then what’s it for?”

“A date.”