“One for— One forty-five. One fif— One sixty.”
Damn it.
One, seven, zero, zero-zero-zero, enter. As soon as the camera panned to her breasts, the bids went up.
“One seventy. One eight— One eighty-five. One eighty-seven.”
One, nine, five, zero-zero-zero, enter.
The camera slows, showing perfect teardrops under the minuscule top. Her nipples are barely covered.
“Tiffany’s guaranteed those nipples to be an eleven on the Mohs scale for hardness and the girl is guaranteed to get your dick just as hard.”
“Way ahead of you, buddy,” I mutter. “What do you think I’m hitting enter with.”
“One ninety-five. Two hundred. We have two hundred thousand. Two ten-twenty. Two thirty. Two forty.”
Two, five, zero, zero-zero-zero, enter. Damn. My heart’s pounding so hard I can feel it in my ears. I get why these fucking people don’t allow a big jump. They said no more than ten thousand at a time, to keep things sporting. Sporting my ass. I’d drop a hell of a lot more if I could. But that would end things much too quickly. They won’t even add the option for a cap so the machine will bid for you. You have to punch in the fucking number yourself. That’s an advantage I might have over most of them. I work a keyboard for a living, and I’m ready to give them a run for their money.
While the organizers might make more money if they allowed free bidding, every time one of these bastards loses, he’s going to double down for the next auction.
“Two hundred fifty. Two sixty.”
Fuckers!
They pan down her torso to where her body flares at her hips.
“Two seventy. Seventy-five. Two eighty.”
Two, nine, zero, zero-zero-zero, enter.
Three thin straps come over her hips to hold a perfect diamond between her thighs.
“Two ninety. Two ninety-five. Two ninety-seven.”
We have a gambler. At least that’s what I figure for the guy who keeps hitting the seven.
“Three hundred and seven thousand dollars. Three hundred eleven-teen. It’s going too fast to follow, guys.” He pauses for the total to update at the top. “It’s…three hundred seventy thousand dollars.”
The camera view changes, she’s turning. And her back is bare.
“Four hundred thousand. Four thirty,” the auctioneer continues in the background.
The base of her spine.
“Four seventy-seven.”
The curve of her ass.
“Four ninety-five. Five hundred thousand dollars.”
Fuck. The damn underwear is a thong. If I wasn’t hard earlier, I’m catching up now.
“Look at that ass. It brings a tear to my eye. Her parents must have been bakers.”
This guy’s something else.
“And the numbers keep going. Where will they land? Keep it going—keep it going!” he encourages.
Assholes. Though who knew little Jasmine had all that under the faded T-shirts and shapeless jeans.
“Six hundred twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Then we get to the base of the platform. The dress covers down to her toes, but I can still see the same bold color on her nails.
“Six hundred thirty-five.”
“Look at the sheen on those toenails, on those toes, connected to the feet, and the luscious calves, and those phat thighs. Even Colonel Sanders couldn’t do more with these legs.”
Six, four, five, zero-zero-zero, enter. Someone out there has one hell of a foot fetish.
“Six hundred forty-five. Six fif— Six fifty fi— Six sixty,” the auctioneer takes a breath. “Six hundred sixty thousand dollars.” He takes a breath. “This has been a wild ride, everyone. Let’s pull out those wallets and get this lovely lady through her college years.”
We’re getting to the end. I shift into my plan, moving the external ten-key closer to the keyboard. My average words per minute are one hundred fifty, but with numbers and a ten-key. I grin then start. Six-seven-zero, zero-zero-zero, enter. Six-eight-zero, zero-zero-zero, enter. Six-nine-zero, zero-zero-zero, enter. Seven-zero-zero, zero-zero-zero, enter. I bump up the pace as I keep going, adding ten thousand each time to bust through their streak.
“And we have another rush. Look at that counter go!” he says with the excitement of a race, pass, and win all rolled into one. “Where will it end?”
A bid comes in. My frustration escalates. Seven-five-zero, zero-zero-zero, enter. Seven-six-zero, zero-zero-zero, enter. Seven-seven-zero, zero-zero-zero, enter. Then I think better of it. Seven-seven-nine, zero-zero-zero, enter. So if someone tries to enter a bid, it won’t go through.
The total doesn’t move.
“Seven hundred seventy-nine thousand dollars. Do I have seven hundred eighty?”
I tap the keys, preparing to hit enter on seven hundred ninety thousand and hold my breath.
“Going once,” the announcer warns.
My pulse shoots up.
“Going twiiiiice,” he says.
“Come on, come on,” I mumble, keeping my finger over the Enter key. Time stretches out. I rub my index finger over my thumb once, twice, three times. What the hell?
“Sold,” he says sharply.
“Yes!” I push up from my chair, raising both fists in triumph. “Because marketing, bitch!” I add in a drop-the-mic moment.
Seven may be lucky, but nine brings in a sale.
7
Jasmine
“Shoulders straight,” Nina says, distracted, pressing a finger to the earbud she has in one ear.
She has a monitor up where she’s watching me like she’s participating in the bidding. A quick glance shows something in the corner, but she’s too far for me to read the message.
“Don’t squint,” she instructs.
I immediately glance away and try to keep a pleasant expression.
“When I press the button, you’re going to start turning. Keep your head level.”
The pedestal turns, and I bite my lip. Don’t puke, don’t puke, don’t puke. The drapes come into view, and I take a few precious seconds to press my eyes closed. I can’t believe I have people inspecting my butt. My bare butt that’s visible through the barely there skirt. Don’t clench. Oh no. I can’t mess up my makeup. I open my eyes. Hopefully I didn’t ruin Nina’s hard work. Although I spent hours practicing, I don’t think I can do a good touch-up.
“You’re doing just fine,” she assures me.
Fine? What’s fine? All I’ve done is stare at a wall, following the laser pointer like a cat. The pedestal completes the rotation and stops once I’m facing forward.
“Follow the dot.”
So I play the kitty cat again, letting my gaze roam the wall then return to a spot directly above the camera.
Seconds tick by for an eternity. Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t puke.
Nina hits a key on her laptop. “And we’re done.” She takes out the earbud.
My shoulders go limp. It’s over. Well, the nerve-racking part of it is over.
She comes over, stretching out a hand to me. I hold on to her and pick up my dress to step down off the pedestal.
Nina takes my other hand. “Now, what are you going to ask me?”