Page 3 of Bought by His Brother's Best Friend

“I don’t know. Something simple but thoughtful? A nice dinner and conversation where you actually get to know each other?”

Hank smiled for the first time. “Good answer. Genuine.” He made a few more notes, then handed me a small glass of amber liquid. “Dutch courage. You look like you need it.”

I accepted the bourbon, taking a sip and feeling the warmth spread through my chest. “That obvious, huh?”

“Most of the guys get nervous, even the ones who signed up voluntarily.” He glanced at the monitor where the bidding had reached eight thousand for the news anchor. “Just remember, it’s not about you—it’s about how much money you can raise for the cause.”

That was actually comforting. I wasn’t here to be judged personally. I was a means to an end. A fundraising vehicle.

I took another sip of bourbon. “How much time do I have?”

“You’re last, so about forty minutes.” Hank checked his watch. “Enough time to get comfortable with the idea, not enough to work yourself into a panic. Perfect timing.”

I chuckled despite myself. “You’re good at this.”

“Fifth year running this event. I’ve seen everything—bachelor who fainted, bidding war that turned into a shouting match, surprise proposal from the stage.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Just smile and wave. The emcee will do the rest.”

For the next half hour, I watched as bachelor after bachelor was called to the stage.

Some played it cool, others hamming it up for the audience. The bidding was enthusiastic, with most going for three to five thousand dollars. The Broadway dancer fetched seven thousand, setting the evening’s record so far.

With each successful auction, my anxiety ratcheted higher. These men were all accomplished, charismatic and, most importantly, expected. The audience had come prepared to bid on them. I was a last-minute substitution for the main event, the disappointing understudy nobody paid to see.

“Bennett, you’re on deck,” Hank announced, gesturing me toward the stage entrance.

My legs felt wooden as I followed him to the wings. On stage, the concert pianist was taking his final bow as the emcee announced his winning bid of five thousand dollars.

“Ready?” Hank asked, adjusting my tie.

“No.” My voice came out as a croak.

He grinned. “Perfect. The nervous ones always do better. They seem authentic.” He pushed a bottle of water into my hand. “Quick sip, then it’s showtime.”

I drank. My throat so tight I could barely swallow.

Through the curtain, I could see the audience—a sea of elegant gowns and expectant faces.

They’d been promised Tyler Bennett, NHL superstar.

Instead, they were getting me.

The pianist exited to enthusiastic applause, nodding at me as he passed. The emcee’s voice boomed through the ballroom.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve come to our last bachelor of the evening!”

A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. I wiped my palms on my pants.

“We had advertised NHL star Tyler Bennett,” the emcee continued. “Tyler had an away game this afternoon, which he won, but unfortunately he and the entire team have been grounded by weather.”

Disappointed sighs echoed throughout the room. My stomach churned.

“However!” the emcee said with a smile. “We are fortunate to have another Bennett with us tonight. Please welcome sports agent extraordinaire, the man behind some of the biggest deals in professional hockey, Tyler’s brother—Shane Bennett!”

Hank gave me a gentle push, and suddenly I was walking onto the brightly lit stage. The spotlight felt hot and exposing as I moved to stand beside the emcee, trying to remember what Tyler had said about these situations: stand tall, smile naturally, look confident even if you’re not.

“Shane is thirty years old and one of the rising stars in sports management,” the emcee read from his card. “When he’s not negotiating million-dollar contracts, he enjoys hockey—it runs in the family!—and cooking. His ideal date? A thoughtful dinner with great conversation.”

I managed a smile and a small wave, grateful that the lights were bright enough that I could only vaguely make out the audience’s expressions.

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