6 — Sold to the Devil in a Suit
💃Jessa's POV 💃
"Why on earth did I agree to this?!?"
Okay, I have to admit—the makeup looks amazing, and my hair has never looked this good, but what is this dress? Sure, it's long, so that's a plus… but with this neckline and this design? I might as well be wearing a swimsuit! I bite my tongue in defeat and try to make the dress look more decent. No matter how much I tug at it, the damn thing won't cover my chest the way I want it to. And the lower part? Don't even get me started—it's beyond my understanding. Why would anyone wear a dress that leaves you practically naked? It's like wearing nothing at all!
"Hey, how's it going?" Serena asks, buried under stacks of folders, juggling two phones that won't stop ringing.
I don't answer. I just shoot her one of my signature death stares that screams pure annoyance. I still can't believe she convinced me to go through with this.
"Come on, Jessa! You look amazing! I barely recognized you," she tries to soften me up with one of her innocent, disarming smiles.
"Serena, just look at this dress," I plead, exasperated, gesturing at the outfit—far too extravagant for my taste.
She cuts me off, holding up a finger and answering one of the phones. I frown and turn back to the giant mirror, where I've already spent the last hour analyzing every inch of myself.
I knew I'd regret this. Lavish, sophisticated parties aren't my thing. Right now, I should've been curled up in my cozy armchair, sipping hot tea, watching The Vampire Diaries. No, I don't care that it's technically for teenagers. Ian Somerhalder is hot, and he's all I need for a perfect night.
Unintentionally, my mind drifts back to that night—my skin tingling, a wave of warmth wrapping around me like a memory I can't shake.
Alright, fine… maybe that night could even outshine Damon Salvatore.
I close my eyes and try to replay every detail of those wild, reckless hours. The bar. Him. The touch. The burning kisses. The wayI was melting under the weight of his gaze and the way his touch—so gentle, yet so maddeningly passionate—set my entire body on fire.
"Damn it! Get a grip!"
I really need to start dating again. And soon. If I keep going like this, I'll end up alone for the rest of my life. I'm officially obsessed with a complete stranger—don't even know his name. But I know him very well in other ways…
I snap my eyes open at the sound of a high-pitched, annoying laugh—mouse-like and impossible to ignore.
"Ugh, not again…"
The entire swarm of models has gathered like flies to a lightbulb, sneaking peeks at the audience, gossiping about the women and sizing up the men like they're on display. All of them are wearing dresses just as revealing as mine, and none of them seem the least bit bothered. The sheer fabric? The generous amount of skin exposed? They don't even blink. This probably is modest to them compared to what they usually wear.
"Did you see that guy?"
"Which one? Oh my God! He's so hot!" squeals a blonde, biting her lip.
I roll my eyes and resist the urge to sigh loudly. This is a charity event. We're supposed to be doing this for a noble cause—not for a "tour" through some guest's bed. But really, why should I care? As long as I do my part and have dinner with whoever bids on me, everything should be fine. Let the guy dare to lay even one finger on me and I swear I'll stab him with a fork. I'm not joking—I checked with Serena. As long as I don't cause any serious injuries, it's fine.
"Are you girls ready?" Serena asks with a knowing smile as she returns to the group.
Seriously? Am I the only one here who just wants to eat dinner?
Oh wait—if I could do it all over again, I'd definitely stay home.
"Yes!" the Genius Club chirps in unison, like schoolgirls getting ready to braid each other's hair.
Each of them checks their makeup for the thousandth time, meticulously ensuring that their passion for philosophy and charity is clearly displayed—namely through their cleavage and legs.
I laugh out loud, unable to hold in my amusement, earning a sharp look from Serena meant to shut me up.
I bite my lip, still giggling, and get up to follow her. The trained monkey squad trails behind us closely, somehow managing to stay upright and proud in their ridiculously high heels.
"Charity event featuring trained monkeys," I snort to myself, ignoring Serena's warning look this time.
"Alright, you all know the order?" she asks, looking each of us in the eye.
They all nod confidently—except for me.
Order of what?
"Wait, what?" I ask, frowning in confusion.
"You're last, Jessa," Serena replies, rolling her eyes without even bothering to give me more context.
Perfect! Not only do I have to play the role of the awkward circus freak, but now I also get to close the show.
I don't even want to imagine what it's going to be like up there… on that stage…
"Okay, Jessa! You've got this. Left, right, left, right, stop, smile, try to breathe…"
My self-prep talk is abruptly interrupted by the hostess. With a voice dripping in fake enthusiasm, she announces the start of the circus disguised as a noble cause.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! On behalf of our Corporation, I'd like to thank you all for attending. The money raised tonight will go a long way in supporting our cause—and we'll be able to make many children happy," she continues, her tone suddenly shifting to a more solemn register. Then, with a mischievous arch of her brow, she adds, "And now, the most anticipated moment of the evening—gentlemen, get your wallets ready! We have twelve beauties waiting to be bought."
I stifle a laugh and resist the strong urge to whisper the word prostitution toward the group of giddy girls next to me. They already dislike me enough—I don't need to pick a fight with someone running on less than half a brain cell. It wouldn't be fair to them.
"Cindy Karsky!"
The blonde who had previously thrown a fit over the makeup room lighting now adjusts her dress and steps onto the stage with exaggerated poise and a confidence that borders on theatrical.
And so it begins…
"Serena's dream is world peace…"
I try to imagine myself anywhere else. At the clinic, tending to patients who, thank God, don't have the ability to say such nonsense. Or at home, eating a giant slice of cake in blissful silence. Anywhere but here.
"Jessa Bait!"
Wait, what? Did someone just call my name?
"Jessa Bait!"
"What are you doing!? Get out there!" Selena hisses, giving me a shove toward the stage just as I finally snap out of my daydream and realize—it's my turn. Oh God, these lights are blinding! I trip over my own feet but somehow manage to stay upright.
Great. A truly unforgettable entrance. Who wouldn't want to bid on the deaf, clumsy lunatic?I force myself to stand tall and flash what I hope passes as a natural smile, praying I haven't already scared off the entire room with my ridiculous lack of grace. I can do this. It's not that hard…
"Jessa is a veterinarian and loves spending her free time climbing mountains or going scuba diving!"
What the hell? I can barely make it to the fifth floor without getting dizzy, and I can barely stay afloat in a pool!
When Serena said she'd enhance my introduction a little, she clearly wasn't kidding. What's next? She's discovered the cure for immortality but refuses to share it because she's secretly dating Brad Pitt?
"The bidding will start at—"
"Ten thousand dollars!" a voice calls out from the crowd, instantly sending me into the panic spiral I was dreading.
What!? Ten thousand dollars for one dinner? This is pure insanity.
Oh right. I forgot all the bidders are rich enough to burn cash like it's pocket lint. They probably spend that kind of money just brushing their teeth.
"Twenty thousand!"
"Fifty thousand!"
The last bidder manages to catch my eye, and a shiver crawls down my spine when I realize he looks old enough to be my dad. I mean, I wasn't exactly expecting an Adonis, but a guy twice my age? That's just wrong.
"Five hundred thousand!"
"Please, just let this end already!" I plead, closing my eyes for a second and holding my breath.
"One million dollars," a strong and somewhat familiar voice cuts through the room, instantly silencing everyone.
It seems I'm not the only one shocked by the exorbitant sum, as everyone around me appears stunned and speechless. Completely mute, they all stare at the person whose face I can't make out due to the blinding lights. Whoever they are, they must be someone important to silence such a noisy crowd. After recovering from the shock, the presenter returns to her showbiz smile and announces:
"Sold for one million dollars! You may come up to claim your prize!" She beams at me, encouraging me to step up to the stairs.
"This is it. Please don't let it be a creepy old man, please don't let it be a creepy old man…" I pray desperately, trying my best not to trip on my dress and risk falling flat on my face.
I take cautious steps toward the stairs where I'll meet my "winner," completely blinded by the harsh lights and disoriented by the angry stares from the former group of contestants. And, being the graceful and alert person I am, I trip again, but fortunately, I'm caught by my "partner" before I can crash to the floor in all my glory.
"Now he definitely thinks I can't wait to throw myself at him…"
I can say with full confidence that he's well-built because I can feel his firm muscles through the elegant suit he's wearing, and he has strong arms, wrapped protectively and strangely pleasantly around my waist. He's young—Thank you!—and taller than me, even surpassing my height with these infernal heels I'm wearing. I open my eyes when I feel safe, to analyze the features that are painfully sparking my curiosity. I can't wait any longer; the desire to see his face is becoming unbearable with every second that passes, while I inhale his intoxicating scent.
But the moment my eyes meet a certain pair of icy blue eyes, I feel myself freeze and lose my breath. This can't be happening!
"Gotcha," that melodious voice whispers, grinning seductively and pulling our bodies closer in a tight embrace.
Why does it seem like he means something else with that?