Megan I returned to my seat as Riley thudded to the podium.
She avoided my face and the mean glance—I hoped—I was sending to her.
This was a bad prank.
We were not exactly close enough for her to pull this kind of prank on me.
But I don’t think it mattered to her.
On the podium she leaned on her crutch, and smiled at the room as the auctioneer spoke about her.
I wanted to kill her.
Not legally, just enough to make my phone number on her phone disappear.
Tired, I dropped into my chair.
Only then did I realize that, with Riley gone, there was no one between me and Roman.
Of course.
Apparently the universe had decided that humiliating me once was not enough.
I looked at him.
He was looking at me.
Neither of us said anything.
I turned away first.
The first thing I did was entirely drain the contents of my champagne flute.
It wasn’t enough.
Not remotely enough.
Where were the waiters when you needed one?
Onstage, Riley’s auction had begun and I tried to focus on the bids.
Each time someone raised their paddle, Riley’s smile widened.
She was enjoying herself.
Of course she was.
I had suffered yet she was enjoying herself.
I was going to have words with her later.
Several.
Possibly in alphabetical order.
And maybe hard and mean ones too.
I took a deep breath and kept my eyes on the auction.
But focusing on it was difficult when the man who now, according to the rules of this ridiculous evening, owned my first dance.
Forty million dollars.
The number kept repeating itself in my head.
Forty.
Million.
Dollars.
I glanced sideways.
Roman’s hand moved on the table and eyes followed it.
One hand still held the paddle, the other was wrapped around the delicate stem of his flute so tightly that the veins were visible.
Was he trying to break the glass?
When I looked up, his face said he was perfectly calm.
That was not a good combination.
“You know,” I whispered across the empty seat between us, “forty million is too much for a dance.
You could have bought a house with it.” He slowly circled the flute against the table.
“I own a lot of properties.” Of course he did.
“A car, maybe?” “Several.” I stared at him.
“An island?” “Probably.” I nodded, turning away.
He owned an island?
How?
I mean, I knew how.
He was Roman Sterling, CEO of Sterling Capital, one of the leading finance and investment firms in the country—I did my research.
He could probably buy an island before breakfast if he woke up bored.
But why?
I obviously knew why.
Why else did anyone need an island?
I sighed.
People like Roman didn’t live in the same financial universe as people like me.
He could throw forty million dollars into an auction and his bank account wouldn’t notice.
I had to think twice, sometimes three times, before buying anything because my student loans had decided they were immortal.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered.
His eyes moved over me, then to the podium.
Riley’s bid had reached thirteen million dollars.
“You could have donated the money then without making me the center of it.” He said nothing.
And another thing.
How is it that my dance has more zeros than my entire net worth?
I almost laughed at the irony.
My first dance of the evening in this strange high-end place was richer than me.
I shook my head.
Unbelievable.
“Dr.
Holt?” His voice was quiet.
He was still not looking at me.
“Don’t overthink it.
It was for charity.” My eyebrows pulled together.
“Well, both you and charity are going to be disappointed.
I can’t dance.” I said charity like it was a person rather than an event.
Right now, I didn’t care if he picked up on the sarcasm.
His mouth twitched and I realized he had.
“So if I step on your feet while we’re dancing, I won’t apologize.” He finally brought his eyes to mine again.
“Megan, Why do I feel like you’re going to step on it anyway?” My stomach hollowed out.
Why was he calling me by my name like we were close.
We weren’t.
I didn’t like it.
I didn’t dislike it either.
“Bad dancing is not a crime,” I tried, fighting the hollow feeling in my stomach.
It was the champagne.
I should have stopped sooner.
I was a doctor for goodness’ sake.
“Good.
Because I’ll step on yours too.” I turned toward him.
“What?” He sipped his champagne slowly, looking amused.
He was messing with me.
Of course he was.
I desperately tried to fashion a proper reply when my phone beeped.
It was the hospital.
‘DR.
HOLT, PLEASE REPORT TO THE EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT.
SHORT STAFFED.
MULTIPLE TRAUMA INCIDENT INVOLVING 17 PATIENTS.’ I sat up at once.
“Oh, my God.” Roman looked at me.
“Riley’s dance should be worth more than seventeen million dollars.” My fingers were already reaching for my purse.
“No, not that.
There has been an accident.” “An accident?” Eli asked.
“Yes.
I need to go.” I said, getting up.
The room spun for a minute.
I’ve had way too much champagne, and now I was being called in.
Great.
I grabbed my purse from beneath the table and shoved my phone inside.
“Apologize to Riley for me.” No, wait.
I should be the one receiving the apology.
“You know what?
Don’t.
But tell her I’ll call her.” Eli turned toward me.
“Do you need a lift?” he asked, looking concerned.
Ever the gentleman, unlike Roman.
I shook my head.
“No, I’ll be fine.
I’ll get a cab.
It would be easier to jump ship if there’s traffic.” He nodded, turning again to the auction.
“Be careful, then.” I was already turning away when Roman’s voice stopped me.
“What about our dance?” I turned.
Slowly.
In utter disbelief.
Was this man serious?
Was he expecting me to dance with him when seventeen people might be bleeding onto the hospital floor right now?
He raised his eyes to mine and I saw the answer.
Apparently he did.
Unbelievable.
“I have to go to the hospital.” Did he not hear about the accident?
His face told me he didn’t care.
That he only cared about cashing out his forty million dollars bid.
I didn’t have the time to straighten his morals.
Some other day.
“Can we, maybe, take a rain check?” His brow furrowed.
“A rain check?” “Yes.” I gestured impatiently.
“You know, dance some other time?” He was staring at me, still circling his flute on the table.
“What if I don’t want to dance some other time?” I blinked.
What kind of answer was that?
“I can’t dance now.
I have patients waiting for me.” I was losing time and my patience, and he was about to lose his eye.
I took a deep breath instead reminding myself that I did not have the financial strength for the court case that’ll definitely follow if I smashed his face in.
“I’m saying, if we rain check I’m not dancing.” “Then we’ll do something else.” “Like what?” “I don’t know.
Anything you want.
When you figure it out, let me know.” I slapped my card on the table and rushed out.
My heels struck the polished floor as I hurried toward the exit.
Roman Sterling was a very strange man.
Dance while people were bleeding out and fighting for their lives.
His train of thought was amazing!
I pushed the door open at the same time the auctioneer announced.
“Sold!
For twenty-three million dollars.
Congratulations Mr.
Jonathan Park.” Riley’s first dance had been bought for twenty-three million dollars?
That was great.
But my dance was still the highest bid of the evening.
The thought was so stupid that I almost laughed.