Page 3 of Sold To My Ex's Dad

"So, Patrick, what brings a man like you to an event like this?" Her voice is smooth, a practiced melody of interest and allure.

"Charity," I answer, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. "And a temporary escape from the monotony of my own kitchen."

She laughs, a sound that's supposed to be charming. "A kitchen? I would've taken you for the Wall Street type. You have that air about you."

I offer a half-smile, the kind that usually suffices in these situations. "Executive chef, actually. My kitchen, my rules. Wall Street's a different kind of jungle."

"Ah, a man who can cook," she purrs, edging closer. "I find that incredibly sexy. Maybe you could show me your culinary skills sometime."

Under different circumstances, I might have entertained the thought. Tonight, however, the idea of extending this evening feels more like a chore. "Maybe," I say noncommittally, my attention already waning.

Just as I'm about to signal the bartender for another escape route—preferably something stronger—a stir at the edge of the stage captures my attention. The crowd's restless murmuring shifts, focusing on a new figure stepping into the limelight.

Petite, with curls of gold tumbling around her shoulders, she walks with an unexpected mix of confidence and confusion, as if she's as surprised by her presence on the stage as I am mesmerized by it.

Her outfit, an unlikely choice of coveralls with the sleeves tied around her waist and aviator sunglasses pushed up into her hair, somehow adds to her allure rather than detracting from it. It's audacious, it's different, and goddamn, it's sexy.

In an instant, my boredom evaporates, replaced by an intense curiosity and an undeniable pull. Who is she? What's her story? And why does the sight of her feel like a jolt of electricity to my system?

Our eyes meet—a brief, electric exchange that brands her vivid green gaze into my memory. Up until this point, my plan for the evening was simple: contribute to a good cause, secure a neat tax deduction, and mentally archive the night as just another societal obligation fulfilled. Yet, there she stands, transforming my neatly laid plans into afterthoughts.

She arouses me from the moment I lay eyes on her. My cock pulses to life, and all I can think about is slipping her out of those coveralls, her body underneath no doubt perfect.

I have to have her.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's turn our attention to the next exciting opportunity of the evening. We're thrilled to introduce a truly adventurous date with the lovely Allie. A chance to see New York City like never before, but I won't spoil the surprise just yet. Let's give a warm welcome to Allie!"

The auctioneer's voice fills the room, effortlessly weaving excitement and mystery into the introduction. He pauses, allowing the anticipation to build, a smile playing on his lips as he gestures toward the stage.

"Here she is, folks, in all her grace and charm. A bit shy under the bright lights, but don't let that fool you—there's an adventurous spirit waiting to share an unforgettable evening with one lucky bidder. Who's ready to take that leap and discover what New York has in store?

"Let's start the bidding at a modest one thousand dollars, shall we?" the auctioneer suggests, his voice echoing confidently through the ballroom. Hands shoot up almost immediately, signaling the crowd's eagerness. The bids climb quickly, the numbers jumping from one thousand to two thousand, then four thousand with enthusiastic shouts and competitive gestures.

"Five thousand to the gentleman in the back!" the auctioneer calls out, his eyes scanning the room for the next contender. The pace quickens, the figures climbing as the excitement builds. "Six thousand here! Do I hear seven?"

"Seven thousand!" comes a call from the side, a determined bidder not willing to back down.

The auctioneer nods, his gaze sweeping across the room. "Seven thousand dollars! Who will give me eight?"

A pause, then "Eight thousand" rings out clear and strong from another part of the room.

The auctioneer's grin widens. The bids now come in with a rhythm that speaks to the captivated interest Allie has garnered. "Eight thousand going once, twice ... anybody want to make it ten?"

There's a moment of suspense, a collective breath held, then broken by the assertive voice of a new bidder. "Ten thousand dollars."

The declaration silences the room for a split second, marking a significant leap in the stakes. The auctioneer, visibly pleased with the turn of events, beams as he addresses the crowd. "We're at ten thousand, folks! Can I hear eleven?"

An older gentleman, with a confident flick of his wrist, raises his paddle. "Eleven thousand here," he announces, voice steady and sure.

Not to be outdone, I lift my paddle, catching the auctioneer's eye. "Twelve thousand," I state, my voice carrying over the murmur of the crowd.

A younger guy, eager and perhaps a bit reckless, jumps in. "Thirteen!" he shouts, a blend of challenge and excitement in his tone.

The auctioneer's eyes gleam with the thrill of the chase. "Thirteen thousand, do I hear fourteen?" he calls out, his gaze flitting between us, the masters of this escalating duel.

"Fourteen thousand," the older man counters without hesitation, his paddle rising again.

I pause, letting the moment stretch, feeling the weight of the room's anticipation. Then, with a calm that belies my racing heart, I declare, "Fifteen thousand."

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