Page 15 of Once Upon A Sale

“Oh, good. Good.” Guess my charm isn’t that powerful after all.

Lost in thought, I’m jostled by the car brakes as we pull up to an old warehouse that looks like it’s had better days. Robert gets out, opens my door, and assists me right out of the town car.

“Here you go, ma’am. Let me get your luggage.” Robert’s smile is somehow genuine and I can’t help but think he, too, must sign a mile high stack of documents to make sure he doesn’t talk about the participants at the auction. With the amount they’re playing with, I can’t imagine anyone but the one percenters could afford this.

“Thank you, Robert, you’re very kind.” I could definitely carry it myself but little old Robert is insistent. Again, I’m sure it’s part of his duties and getting him in trouble isn’t on my bingo card of shit to get done this weekend.

I’m wearing a dress that screams class and one-percenter money. That being said, it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing nowsince I’ll be prancing around a stage in nothing but lingerie—also couture. Nothing but the best for Sunny.Fuck my life.

This whole setup feels like a James Bond movie from the ominous pick up in a car to the ominous abandoned warehouse vibe and, of course, going down in the elevator with a secret code only the driver knows is just the cherry on top of it all.

“Here you are, Miss Sunny. Serena will take good care of you and I will see you on Sunday night.” I nod to Robert, giving him a smile that lets him know I’m all good.

When I turn back to Serena, she’s watching me with deep, soulful eyes that have probably seen a million women come through these doors.

I wonder what she makes of me? Then I shake my head because it doesn’t matter, does it?

“Hi, Sunny.” When Serena flashes me a smile, I swear to fuck her entire face lights up, and in that second I can admit that my body has a strange, lustful, reaction to her. Damn, she’s gorgeous. “I need you to please pick a number.” Holding out an elaborate bowl with folded papers inside, I try to be cute about it, swirling my hand inside before choosing, but Serena is not impressed.

“Looks like I’ve got the lucky number eleven.” It’s not lucky, it’s not anything really, but I tend to babble when I’m nervous.

Looking around the place, I don’t see anything strange or unhealthy or dangerous. I’m in a club where, in about two hours, we’ll be auctioning off human merchandise to rich buyers for a weekend free-for-all.

“Okay, Miss Sunny, I’ll take you to your dressing room. Please, follow me.”

Here goes nothing.

It’s five minutes to six when we start down a pristine hallway of black walls and marble floors. I’m no expert, but those look like they’ve been imported directly from Italy, which means themoney in this place is even greater than what I’d anticipated. And don’t get me started on the chandeliers. Let’s just say they’re not glass and I don’t have to check the weight to know those beauties are full-on crystal.

“Here you go, Miss Sunny. This is your dressing room.” We stop at a closed door and she’s not kidding, my nickname is on display like I’m walking onto the set of a Hollywood movie.

I’m not ashamed to say that I feel a little special right now and the growing buzz of anticipation is wreaking havoc on my insides.

“Thank you, Serena.”

“In a few minutes, Nico and Sophia will be here to do your hair and makeup. Please make sure you’re fully dressed in your best lingerie. Your heels can wait until they’re ready for you to walk out on the stage.” Serena pauses, probably waiting for me to ask any questions. It’s not that I don’t have a million questions running through my mind, it’s that I have too many to ask now. At this point, it’s just a game of fake it till you make it.

“Sounds good, thank you for your help.” Again with the nervous babble.

Swirling in a one-eighty around the dressing room, I take in the plush seating and tastefully decorated walls and furniture. It says money without slapping you in the face with it. Not like my father, who felt a deep seated need to make everyone around him aware of his worth.

Fucking dickwad.

My small carry-on suitcase is half empty since the only important piece of clothing I need is lingerie. The instructions in the letter specified that we are to wear our best, so of course I brought my favorite little black Italian lace bra and brazilian combo with its matching garter belt. The material is so soft and perfectly crafted that it feels like a caress on my skin, like a kiss from a lover, like…

My mind naturally wanders back to last week when my pussy ached and begged for more than just a kiss from my clubbing stranger. The Brit with a talented tongue. I still haven’t answered his message. He said the ball was in my court and well, that court is hella busy.

Just as I pull on the second stocking and step into my slippers—yes, I packed slippers, no one wants to see runs—the door opens and the nervous excitement begins to build. A man I’m assuming is Nico walks in, his bright blue eyes framed by dark, expressive eyebrows, and looks me up and down before burying his fingers in my hair and…scowling? I suppose I haven’t had a trim in a while, so maybe I’m not up to par with their expectations.

“Don’t worry, when I’m done with you, there will be no imperfections.” Well, fuck you, too. But when he winks at me through the mirror, I realize he’s teasing me.

“Don’t listen to him. He hates it when there isn’t much he needs to do to make the merchandise perfect.” Sophia, the makeup artist, gets down to business without missing a beat. For thirty minutes, they work like ballet choreographers, filling in the blanks as one moves and the other slips in. It’s obvious they have been working together for quite some time, and when Nico turns my chair around for a final look, I realize they’re fucking geniuses.

“Well damn. That’s…” I’m not sure how to describe it.

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘hot.’” Nico leans in, cheek to cheek, as we look at each other in the mirror. “Your bone structure is perfect, you know that?”

“Ah, no?” No one has ever said that to me before.

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