He grips my hand and squeezes. “Is that a yes or a no?” His eyes scrunch up as if he’s really trying to read me but can’t.
I forgot that he needs more direct communication. “There’s no way I can afford—”
He stands and drags me up with him. I expect him to pull me away from the table, but instead, he pulls me to his chest. His arms band around my middle, and he presses warm lips to the side of my neck. “You can’t possibly be this clueless.”
I wrench my head back, prepared to give him a verbal smack-down, but the words freeze in my throat when I find him smiling. It should be illegal for a man to be this beautiful.
“You pick it. I’ll bid. My money, not yours.” He’s still smiling.
I press my fingertips to his lips, loving the way his happiness feels against my skin. “What’s this for?”
“Most people jump at the chance to spend my money.”
I frown. “That’s awful.”
“This is for a good cause, and I want you to pick how it’s spent.”
“Really?” A bubble of giddiness wells up inside me. “Okay.”
He takes my hand, and I can tell he slows his pace so that it doesn’t look like he’s dragging me to the silent auction tables. We peruse each item, from custom diamond jewelry to box-seat Super Bowl tickets. Many of them are for luxury vacations, reminding me that I met the hotel mogul, Mr. Andrew Grant, earlier. These must be his donations.
“Oh, this one.” I pluck the clipboard from the table. “One week in an above-water bungalow in Bora Bora. How much do you want to bid?”
“How bad do you want it?”
“Not bad enough to spend an obscene amount of your money on it.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Stop it. I’m serious. I don’t know how much something like this even goes for.”
“Bid half a million.”
My jaw falls open, and I drop the pen. He scowls. We share a moment of unspoken communication until he takes the clipboard from me. He scribbles something on it, then sets it down and guides me away, with his hand on my lower back.
“Anything else you want to bid on?”
I can’t respond and simply gape like a fish out of water.
“Is your silence a no, then?”
I shake my head, swallow, and find my voice. “Nope. I’m good.” I am not cut out for this kind of lifestyle. As an adult, I could live for a week on fifteen dollars. I have mastered the art of the struggle meal and know how to make a five-dollar pizza stretch for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. “Half a million dollars…”
He runs his fingertips up and down my back. “I’m ready to get the hell out of here, how about you?”
“Don’t we have to stay until the end?”
He watches me intently, and his gaze promises all sorts of naked as soon as we’re alone.
“Hey, you two,” Hudson says as he steps between us and throws an arm over each of our shoulders as if we’re at a football game rather than a black-tie event. “Are we having fun yet, or what?” His carefree smile is contagious.
“I’m having fun.”
Alexander just grunts and shrugs out from under his brother’s arm.
Hudson’s arm slides down my back, and he holds me to his side in a platonic way, with his hand on my upper arm. “I just made nice with Charles Lindquist.”
A spark lights in Alexander’s eyes at the name. “No shit?”
“He wants to meet you.” Hudson fails to keep the bubbling excitement from his voice. “He’s opening a new location in Dubai, bro.” He releases his hold on me to get closer to Alexander. “Dubai. You have to come meet him. This could be huge.”
I give Alexander a gentle push. “Go.”
“Come with me,” he says.
“No, you go. I need to hit the ladies’ room, and you need to hurry before he takes off.”
“Yes,” Hudson says and jerks his head for Alexander to follow. “Let’s go.”
Alexander nods and follows his brother through the crowd. I take my time looking over the last couple of tables of auction items, secretly looking at the obscene amount of money people are willing to spend for charity.
“That’s a good one,” a voice says from over my shoulder.
I turn and see a man who looks to be in his thirties. He has bright blue eyes and a friendly smile.
He dips his eyes to the auction item in front of me. “Are you going to bid?”
A ten-carat diamond tennis bracelet. “It’s beautiful, but no.”
“Really? Because you’ve been eyeing it for a few minutes.” He lifts a brow with a playful smile and reaches for the clipboard.
“You’ve been watching me?” Maybe I misjudged his kind face and he’s really a total creep. I step aside, putting a healthy distance between us.
His smile falls a little. “I realize how bad that sounds.” Would a creeper blush at being caught? Okay, maybe he’s not a total creep. “Let me try that again.” He holds out a hand. “William Brady.”
“Jordan Wilder.” I shake his hand, grateful that he doesn’t kiss my knuckles like some of the skeezier men I’ve met tonight.
“And what do you do, Ms. Wilder? Something important, I would think, if you got on the invite list.”
“No, actually. I’m currently unemployed.”
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.” I feel my own cheeks warm because clearly Mr. William Brady is a big-time someone, and I’ve just admitted to being a big-time no one. “I’m job hunting, but it’s New York and…” I blow out a breath.
“I hear ya,” he says with a chuckle. “I have a couple businesses in the city and a few around the country.” He leans in and holds a hand up to his mouth. “My restaurants outside the city are much easier to stay afloat.” He holds a finger to his lips.
“You own restaurants?”
He chuckles and shrugs as if bashful about what he does. “I’m a chef turned restaurateur.”
“You’re kidding.”
He seems excited by my enthusiasm. “I’m not. I have one here in New York, ones in Las Vegas and Los Angeles, and I’m opening one in Scottsdale.”
“Arizona?”
“Yeah, just finished construction on the building last week.”
“Amazing. I mean… I’ve worked in the restaurant industry for over ten years. I can’t imagine owning one, much less four.” I put my hand to my heart, feeling it beat like crazy because I’m a little star-struck.
“You don’t look old enough to have a resume that long.”
“My first job was at a diner when I was fifteen.”
“You’re serious? Me, too.” He props a hip on the table and looks wistfully over my head as if recalling a fond memory. “So much grease.”
“Right?” I chuckle. “Did you start at a diner here in New York?”
“No.” His light eyes sparkle with nostalgia. “I cut my teeth at the Central Diner in Jacksonville, Florida.”
“Shut up! You’re from Florida? I worked at the Broke Fork in Barstow.”