Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
She blinks. “Right. We’ll start the bidding at—”
“Five hundred,” someone shouts instantly.
Joy snatches the flute out of my hand before I can drink. “Focus. It’s your time to shine.”
I swipe the flute back. “I’m waiting it out. Can’t seem too eager.” I grin over a gulp of champagne. “Plus, I want to make him sweat.”
“Evil bitch.”
“Six hundred!”
“Eight!”
“Nine fifty!”
From the stage, Tate’s eyes implore me. His outward smile does nothing to conceal his agony. I tip my glass at him and take another dainty sip.
“One thousand dollars!”
“Eleven hundred!”
“Cassie,” Joy warns.
“I’ve got a strategy,” I insist. “Let them tire themselves out. That’s what I do with my sisters when they’re on a sugar high.”
“Twelve hundred!” bids a nasally voice.
“Fifteen hundred.” This voice is throaty.
Uh-oh. I turn to scope out the competition and raise an eyebrow. All right. Interesting. The current high bidder is a gorgeous brunette who doesn’t seem as thirsty as the others. She’s clearly in her late forties, though. So now I’m torn. Tate ordered me to not let any MILFs win. But maybe this is the kind of MILF he would like? She’s a stunner and isn’t giving off any predatory vibes.
“Going once—”
But I did make him a promise.
“Going twice—”
“Cassie,” Joy hisses.
Shit.
Caught off guard, I end up blurting the first number that pops into my head because I wasn’t paying attention.
“Three thousand!”
My friend gapes at me. “Dude. It was at fifteen. You just doubled it.”
“Three thousand,” Big crows. “Highest bid of the night! Someone sure wants to go stargazing!”
Farrah takes over. “Going once … going twice …”
The hot brunette on the other side of the room remains silent.
“Sold for three thousand dollars to the redhead in the green dress!”
On the stage, Tate beams at me.
I smother a sigh. Whatever. At least it’s for a good cause.
CHAPTER 15
CASSIE
“Does this mean I get to order you around now?” I ask later. “Like for the rest of the summer?”
Tate snorts at the question. We walk down to the dock of the Jackson house, where the water laps quietly against the wooden pylons and the drone of insects buzzes in the air. It’s eleven thirty and the night is calm and still. I’m in my minidress but abandoned the heels up on the lawn. He’s taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves.
“For the rest of the summer? Dream on.”
“I just dropped three grand on you. Show me some respect, you ungrateful brat.”
“Three grand of your grandmother’s money.”
“Which I stand to inherit one day. Well, along with my cousins, but still,” I grumble under my breath. “So that’s it? I don’t get anything out of this deal? At the very least you should be my pool boy on the weekends or something. You know, wear a tiny Speedo and serve me drinks poolside.”
“You donated money to a good cause. Isn’t that enough?”
“No!”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you order me around for the rest of tonight.”
“But I’ll be going to bed in, like, an hour,” I complain.
“Then you have one hour to call the shots.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “Fine. Go get us some drinks.” Ugh. Except, ordering someone around isn’t in my nature, so I quickly add, “Please?”
He throws his head back and laughs. “You’re terrible at this. But you’re in luck—I’m already on top of the drink situation. Got a surprise for you.”
That piques my interest.
“Get comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
I sink onto one of the loungers facing the water, twisting around to adjust the backrest. The weather is perfect tonight. Feels like room temperature outside, and I stretch my legs out in front of me and close my eyes, just savoring the night. My eyelids pop open at the sound of Tate’s footsteps on the wood slats of the dock. He reappears holding two bottles of champagne.
I gasp. I recognize the gold label. These were the expensive bottles of bubbly they were serving at the Manor tonight.
“Did you steal those from the club?” I demand.
“Oh, I did.”
“Oh God, you’re a thief.”
“Trust me, they owe me for all those safety classes they keep roping me in to doing without paying me overtime.”
“I can’t drink stolen contraband.”
“You can and you will.”
He sets the bottles on the small table between our loungers, then pulls two skinny glasses from his pocket, which he must have grabbed from Gil Jackson’s kitchen. Picking up a bottle, he peels off the gold foil packaging around the lip.
Just as he’s about to pop the cork, I balk, screeching loudly. “Don’t aim it at the water!”
“I could aim it at your face,” he offers.
I give him the finger. “Point it at the grass over there. But not the water. What if the cork lands in the bay and a fish eats it and chokes to death? Or a turtle? Oh my God, what if there’s a Keanu Reeves turtle living under your dock and he thinks we’re feeding him and then he dies—”