Page 45 of For The Record

“Tim, I hope that our friendship,” if you could call it that, “would allow you to trust me in this. We’re working on the leak, and it’s just a fluke. The album… it’s going to be great. It’s really going to sell. And this whole drama thing? These days, that’s what sells records. That’s part of it. People want to speculate and have fan theories about lyrics, you know?”

I wish I knew if I’m convincing him, or myself. We have gotten a warrant to search through everyone’s personal devices since it was a case of intellectual property theft, but we found absolutely nothing. Security camera footage showed no abnormalities. It’s as if the song just up and walked itself out of the room and into Naoya’s waiting hands.

Tim nods like he knows what I’m saying. But he hasn’t worked with an artist in ten years. What does he know about selling records today, in his cushy corner office? “You know, I’ll try to pass that along to the other members. But keep one eye on your back, alright? I can’t watch it for you all the time.”

With that, he turns and walks off. I chug my whiskey, feeling the burn of the liquor as it slides down my throat.

“And now, for tonight, our auction!” the MC says, walking onstage. He’s a tall, skinny man, wearing—I kid you not—a top hat, white gloves, tails, and carrying a cane. “Meet our lovely auction items—that is, the dates!”

A soft round of applause. I raise an eyebrow. When I heard the wordauction, I thought it would be some fine jewelry, exotic vases, and grand paintings. Not…people.

Or, more specifically,dates. A row of beautiful women, ranging from supermodels to more girl next door types. But one face specifically stands out to me.

Skye is standing on that stage, wearing a pink dress that moulds to her body, skintight and completely unlike the usual billowing styles in green and neutrals that I usually see her in. On anyone else, it might look trashy. On her, it looks beautiful.

But she also seems completely uncomfortable. She looks skittish as a newborn fawn, her long legs crossed at the ankle, teetering uncertainly in hot pink stilettos. But the expression in her brown eyes is entirely one of persistent determination… in avoiding my gaze entirely, darting around the ballroom. Or I’m just making up my own rejection since she probably can’t even see me under the blinding spotlights.

“Our first date to be auctioned off!” The MC booms, slamming a gavel on the podium. I recognize him: Gavin Townsend, who works in HR atLa Mode.For a guy who works in HR, wouldn’t he be aware that this date-auctioning thing is a terrible idea, full of ten different ethics violations? “Skye Holland, twenty-five, works in publicity. Who would like to donate to charity while also spending time with this lovely lady?”

A few paddles shoot up, and one is shoved into my hand. Eddie. Of course. “You’re not going to bid on your girl?”

I shrug. “She’s clearly not mine if she’s for sale.”

Eddie nudges me. “It’s for charity.”

“I already donated five thousand dollars,” I say. “I don’t have anything else to spare.”

This, of course, is a lie. I have a perfectly reasonable amount of cash to give away, and it still wouldn’t touch Raina’s college fund or my parents’ mortgage, which I’ve secretly been paying for them.

My oldest friend gives me an eye roll that could surpass the annoyance level of my younger sister’s. “You’re a God-awful liar.”

“Thank you,” I say, deadpan as I watch other men bid on her.

“Four thousand, do I hear four thousand?” Gavin is having way too much fun being an auctioneer. “Four thousand to the man in the gray suit! Does anyone want to bid four-five?”

Eddie forces my arm up. “Leo Perez is bidding six thousand!”

“Six thousand, to Leo Perez! Anyone else?” Gavin gesticulates wildly.

“Seven thousand,” says Tim, his tone dry and far too unenthusiastic for me to think that he isn’t calculating something. I don’t want him alone with Skye. The mere idea curdles my stomach.

“Ten thousand,” I say flatly, holding up the paddle.

“Ten thousand! Do I hear eleven? Any takers? No?” Gavin repeats himself before he bangs the gavel. “Sold, to Leo Perez! You’re a lucky man. Enjoy your date and please remember, this is still technically a work function.”

A smattering of laughter. Gavin escorts Skye off of the stage, and she probably needs the support considering her shoulders sag in relief when her high heels touch the parquet of the dance floor. I move towards her, taking her arm. “So, I had to pay ten thousand dollars just to spend a minute alone with you?”

Her hackles rise, shoulders tensing once more. “You make me sound like a prostitute.”

“An expensive one,” I say, guiding her towards the bar as I try to ease the tensions between us. It crackles in the air, about to snap or burst and leave sparks everywhere. “Drink?”

Skye snags a champagne flute off of a tray and downs it in one go. “I’m not thirsty.”

“You could’ve fooled me,” I mutter. “If you wanted a date to this party, all you had to do was ask.”

“I could say the same for you.” Her gaze drops to my mouth for a second as she holds up her empty glass, partially obscuring her face. It doesn’t cover the memories that clearly flood her mind as we both recall the kiss in the parking garage. Running away like teenagers. The adrenaline that flooded my system, a mixture of desire for her and the exhilaration of getting caught.

“If you wanted me to kiss you, you could just ask for that, too,” I say, taking her glass from her and placing it on a caterer’s empty tray with a tip.

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