Page 13 of Fight for Me

And suddenly, she took a wrong step and her ankle decided it really didn’t like the four-inch Jimmy Choos. Throwing out her arms, she heard the crowd give a collective gasp as she felt herself going over as if in slow motion. Oh God. She was going to be That Girl. The one who fell during her one and only time walking the runway. Maria would never let her live it down.

All these thoughts went through her head in an instant as she tripped. But what could have been merrily embarrassing turned mortifying. Because she didn’t fall forward. She fell to the right. Directly towards Blane and off the runway.

Anne yelped in a very girly way, her arms windmilling in a futile attempt to fly, knowing a whole-lotta-pain was coming her way. Landing on the concrete floor amidst chairs wasn’t going to feel good. She just prayed for no broken bones. She was such a wimp. She squeezed her eyes shut.

But she didn’t land on concrete. Something, or rather someone, caught her. Even as she knew, without a doubt, who it was, she really, really didn’t want to open her eyes to confirm it.

“Are you all right?”

Damn it.

Anne opened her eyes and saw the mesmerizing gray-green eyes of Blane Kirk looking down at her. He’d caught her as if he were a hero in an action flick, or a prince in a Disney movie. His arms circled her, holding her slightly off the ground. She could feel the strength in his arms and up close, his shoulders seemed to be forever wide. He was gazing down at her, a slight smile curving his lips. Her breath caught.

Even as she stared up at him, she could hear the clicks of multiple press cameras catching the moment, then applause and whoops, even a few whistles.

Hello, Page Six.

That brought her back from Prince Charming Land. She closed her gaping mouth with a click. “I’m fine, thank you.” Oh, where was her dignity when she needed it? Cursed champagne and its inevitable betrayal! “Put me down?”

“Of course.” He set her on her feet, holding her elbow to make sure she had her balance, then stepped away. “Though I will be wanting the dress.”

Anne jerked her face up to his, startled. Blane wore a wicked grin and winked.

Then an assistant appeared and guided her through the audience to the backstage entrance. Her ankle was tender, but doable. Maria was waiting for her.

“What the bloody hell?” she burst out. “I give you champagne, and you are such a lightweight, you might as well be twelve years old!”

“Gee, thanks for the sympathy,” Anne groused, pushing past her.

“Wait!” Maria called, grabbing her arm. “It’s time for the auction.”

“The what?”

“The auction. Thisisfor a charity, you know.” Maria headed toward the staging area for the runway, hauling Anne along with her. “They auction off the dress and the proceeds go to charity.”

Oh, lord, would this torture never end?

“I don’t want to go back out there,” Anne whined. “They all saw me make an ass out of myself.”

“Yes,” Maria agreed. “And now that I think of it, it might bring in a bigger price for the dress, actually.” She flashed Anne a smile. “Well done you.”

It was excruciating to wait her turn. The other “models” sympathized with her, though obviously fake. Theirs was a dog-eat-dog world and Anne mentally congratulated herself for finding Maria, the lone authentic friend she had. Maria may be a bit hoity-toity, but she had her back. Anne returned yet another pseudo-sympathetic, don’t-mess-up-my-hair, half hug.

Finally. Her turn.

The master of ceremonies announced the designer’s name as she walked out. Anne did another walk down the runway, holding her head high. To her surprise, she was met with a round of applause. She smiled, even as un-model-like as that was.

The bidding began once she was back by the curtain and struck a pose. She hoped it was a good one. It wasn’t as though she’d practiced in front of a mirror.

“We’ll start the bidding at five thousand. Who would offer five thousand?”

Five thousand dollars? Holy crap. Anne resolved to take very good care of the dress.

The lights were in her eyes, so she couldn’t see who was bidding, but the bidding war kept going. She thought it was between three bidders, then down to two. It was up to twenty-three thousand. For a dress.

On a whim, she stepped forward and did a slow 360, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Might as well try to get the most money available to the charity, whichever one it was.

The bidding finished at thirty-one thousand dollars. Incredible.

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