1
Seb
“Thank you again to all of our eligible men for taking part in this year’s charity bachelor auction. Now that we’ve sold the last of you off to the highest bidder, it’s time for you all to meet your temporary masters for the evening.” The middle-aged woman decked out in a red sequined gown who held the microphone winked at the audience and fluffed her silver hair, causing the enormous diamonds dangling from her ears to sway and making several of the other ladies in the crowd titter in response.
From my spot near the front of the stage, I did my best not to cringe at the word masters. Welp. That made my decision over whether or not to participate as a bachelor in this event next year a no-brainer. Not that I was all that keen even without the auction element. The room swarmed with expensively dressed women who sparkled in an array of jewel tones, a startling number of which had roving eyes and wandering hands. At a charity auction benefiting children’s literacy, of all places! I was all about helping kids read, but next time, I’d make a donation and skip the circus.
“Don’t worry, I’m cringing with you on her behalf—and the behalf of this entire event.”
I turned to my left and spotted the dark-suited young man who’d outbid everyone else for the pleasure of my company for the evening. I winced. “Sorry, does it show on my face that much?”
I did a double take. From a distance, I’d guessed my bidder was older than me, based on his sleekly tailored and clearly expensive suit, those crisp white lapels, and his cocky grin. Up close, though, he looked way younger —maybe only a couple of years older than my twenty-six. Cute, with his dark hair, brown eyes, and careless stubble. Hot, even—just not my type.
I liked my men older.
The man flashed a white-toothed smile. “Only if you know what to look for because you feel the same way. I mean, human charity auctions, really? Did no one here get the memo that slave humor isn’t funny? Oh and hi, I’m Alex Hughes. Please never, ever call me master—well, unless we’ve specifically agreed upon those terms,” he said with a wink.
My shoulders relaxed when I realized he wasn’t pissed. Even if I’d already decided that no way was I being dragged into one of these events again, pissing off the wealthy organizers wasn’t the best career choice. I shook the hand he extended. “Seb Owens, nice to meet you.”
The tasteful jazz band struck up again while I gave Alex another once-over. Huh. With his tousled hair, fit build and youthful appearance, he looked more like one of the bachelors than he did the bidders, most of whom were women over forty.
“I hope you’re okay with Danizbar? Their lamb chops are to die for,” Alex said.
My mouth watered when he named the restaurant. “Awesome! Never been, but I’ve heard good things. I’m usually so slammed with work and school that I end up cooking myself a quick meal or eating on the go—a gourmet dinner sounds amazing.”
“Great. It’s walking distance, plus I wanted to go somewhere that wasn’t too noisy so we could talk.”
I shrugged. “Sure.” I didn’t have any expectations about tonight, other than to raise money, so a free, delicious meal and conversation sounded fine. Left to my own devices back at the university, I’d likely be feasting on day-old pizza and soda while I hurried my way through work on the online magazine and studying.
We left the restaurant where the auction was being held and took the short walk to Danizbar, which turned out to be only a block away. “So, I guess you don’t get as much time to cook anymore, since you’re so busy with the magazine and school?”
Uh, say what? How did he know that I used to cook a lot? The magazine and school had been mentioned in my bachelor bio, but cooking? I was pretty sure that hadn’t come up. Before I could ask, though, we’d reached the restaurant. A doorman swept the large, sleek black doors open for us and after one look at Alex, the host greeted him by name and quickly gathered up two menus and led us directly to a booth in the far back corner.
Huh. Apparently, Alex came here a lot.
Once we were seated in the sumptuous leather alcove and the waiter delivered our drinks, Alex turned to me. “How do you like the anthropology post-grad studies at Temperance Christian?”
I paused with my beer halfway to my lips. Okay, now this was getting weird. The auctioneer had mentioned I was a graduate student, but I was positive she hadn’t named the exact school. “I’m enjoying it—we’ve got a great department and faculty support. But how did you where I went to school?”
Alex lifted his hands and winked at me. “Busted—I knew who you were before the auction started. In fact, you’re the whole reason I came,” he said.
I swallowed a hefty sip of beer, barely noticing the delicious citrus flavor as I appraised Alex with new eyes. “You want to fill me in? Otherwise, I’m just going to sit here, drinking the beer you paid for and wondering if you’re some kind of hipster stalker. Like, how concerned should I be for my well-being, on a scale of one to ten?” My tone was casual, but my muscles tensed. I mean, Alex didn’t look or act like a stalker. Then again, neither did stalkers. At least, not the good ones—like Ted Bundy.
Alex threw back his dark head and laughed, slapping his leg in the process. “Oh, my—priceless! Hipster stalker, that’s a new one. Wait until I tell Monsieur.” He paused and grimaced. “Or maybe I’d better not—no need to go and get his ironed boxers in a wad. I’m sorry, let me fill you in quickly, so you quit glancing over your shoulder at the door like you might make a break for it. You were referred to me by Shelton Greene.”
I relaxed when I heard the familiar name. Shelton was a good guy. If he’d directed Alex my way, then Alex must be okay. “Do you need editing services? Because I’ve got to say, I give this approach,” I gestured to my beer stein and the sparkling crystal chandelier, “a thumbs-up. Can’t say I’ve ever been beered and dined to lure me into an editing job before—a man could get used to this.”
Alex grinned at me. “I’m so glad to hear that you dig this kind of lifestyle, because my proposition involves exactly that. Not editing, but an invitation to become a consort for the Billionaire Club. You’ve heard of the club, right?”
My sip of beer went down the wrong way, and I coughed for a few seconds while my eyes watered. I used a napkin to cover my mouth while my mind whirled. The fuck? Sure, I’d heard of the Billionaire Club, but only through whispers and legends. No one was one-hundred percent sure of what to believe about the club—apart from the fact that the membership was incredibly exclusive, had something to do with sex, and included, well…billionaires. Because, duh.
“I’ve heard the name before,” I said cautiously.
Alex nodded. “Good, that always makes things a little easier. I’m sure you have questions about consorts, though, so let me give you a brief explanation. I’m a recruiter for the club, so my job is basically to find eligible young men like you who I think will be a good fit for our patrons. There’s an entire process and I’ll email you the details if interested, but I like to jump right to the good stuff first. As a consort, you’ll receive a generous initiation gift, just for passing the interview and attending an open call event—which is basically a fancy name for a singles mixer. And by generous, I mean—you need your tuition covered? The club will take care of it. Or you have a business venture that needs funding? Done. Your call, and it’s all negotiable.”