Fifth Avenue Devil

Chapter 7

Seven

Annalise

I walk into the ballroom of the Prestige hotel in downtown Manhattan. Several volunteers from the New York Endowment for Movement Arts are already setting up chairs to face a runway stage. I'm a little surprised. I thought I was here to volunteer. But I was told to be here at ten-thirty.

Am I late, somehow?

I look at my watch as a woman pops her head out from the curtains behind the stage. "You're here!"

I gulp and look over to find Ms. Vasquez hurrying down the discreetly built-in steps beside the stage. Ms. V, as she insists on being called, is my mother's best friend. She's waving me over with intense excitement.

I just came to help the charity put on their annual bachelorette auction. My mother being here was not a part of the plan.

Kicking myself for coming at all, I head over to the stage. Mrs. V looks me up and down. "Are you wearing a cute dress under that coat?"

I pull my white wool coat closer around me and frown. Mrs. V always wears loud, bright colors and frankly scandalous outfits. She favors halter tops and miniskirts, as is evidenced today in her outfit of hot pink pleather pants and a bright yellow tube top.

"I didn't realize that I had to look a certain way," I mumble as she hustles me backstage. "I'm just here to volunteer."

"We will find you something good!" Mrs. V declares.

We walk over to the area where several women are being primped and made up for the auction. Poor things. They are being plucked and plumped as if they are cattle, being readied for sale. Yuck. I’m glad that’s not me.

I sigh and check the time. After this, I am due to work a few weekend hours at the office. I'm determined to make it through my dad's mountain of personal papers by the end of the week.

My mother waits for me beside an empty chair, poised and smiling. "Hello, Annalise."

"Hey, Mom. Do you know where the person in charge is? I'd like to find out how I can help for the next—" I check the slim gold watch on my wrist. "Three hours. Maybe I can check names as people come in the door? Or organize the gift bags?"

"Actually, darling... one of the girls dropped out at the last moment." My mom shakes her head. "It was tragic, really. But I told the woman in charge not to worry, because you’d be happy to fill in."

"What?" I ask, alarmed. "I don't want to be auctioned off! How embarrassing!" One of the ladies having her hair done looks at me sourly. I'm quick to add on, "For me! Only for me, I mean,"

Mrs. V comes up behind me, pulling my coat off. "Don't be ridiculous. What reason do you have for not wanting to fill in as a bachelorette?"

"Stage fright, for one?" I supply. "I can think of half a dozen other reasons just off the top of my head."

My mother purses her lips and looks down at what I'm wearing. It’s just a simple beige bodycon dress with three quarter length sleeves that ends just above my knee. Not exactly a demure dress, but it should meet her standards for modesty.

"Annalise Rebecca, you really need some help with choosing your clothing. What on Earth are you wearing?"

Smoothing my hands down the front of my dress, I smile despite the anger flooding my veins. I'm not taking advice from Jackie Kennedy Barbie, I remind myself. I lift my head and give her a little spin. "I'm enjoying myself, Mom. I've moved out, I've taken over as CEO, and now I'm even picking out my own outfits. If you don't like it, you can just deal with it."

"Christ, Annalise," my mom sniffs.

Mrs. V intervenes. "Girls, please don't bicker." She turns to me. "You need to head into the wardrobe room at the end of the hall."

"I'm not going onstage. Period." I try to glare at both of the women.

My mom sniffs. "Darling, don't be ridiculous. It's for charity. Quit being a petulant little girl about this. If you're as grown up as you claim, you'll do this without complaint."

My mom knows what buttons to push, because she herself installed them. I scowl at her. "Fine," I grit out.

"Annalise, don't frown!" She touches the skin just to the right of my mouth. "You'll give yourself wrinkles."

I move toward the wardrobe door that Mrs. V had indicated. My mouth is full of bitter words for my witch of a mother. But I don’t let them out. I just strut past her, lifting my head up and putting my shoulders back.

"That's the walk you should use on stage," I hear Mrs. V hoot as I vanish through the wardrobe doorway.

An hour later, I'm transformed. I'm wearing a tight white minidress. My hair has been straightened and piled on my head so I appear to have gained a few inches of height. I'm wearing six-inch, see-through plastic heels. And I have so much makeup on that I feel like a circus clown.

"You!" the organizer barks at me. "Come here." I take very careful steps toward her. She puts out her hand. "Give me your information card."

I slip the index card crammed with my vital details and facts about myself against her palm. She peers at it for a second, then snaps her fingers and points to the two women already lined up for their turn to walk down the runway. I totter over to stand behind them.

The girl in front of me gives me a sympathetic expression. It would be comforting, if she weren't wearing the most distracting pink print midi-dress I'd ever seen. It looks like a print of scorpions about to sting. But I'm not sure if I should ask.

"You don't look comfortable in those shoes," she says.

"That's because they are two sizes too small and four inches taller than I'm used to."

She waves a hand. Her fingers are green and glittery. This girl seems otherworldly. "Two minutes," she says.

I feel like I'm in a stress dream. Like I'm going to walk out on that stage and the people sitting in the audience will slowly morph into my elementary school classmates and they'll laugh uproariously at me.

Gulp.

God, what if nobody bids on me? I'm not intrinsically valuable without being CEO of Gellar Industries, after all.

The girl in front of me goes out. I can hear the crowd now and it sounds bigger than I had imagined.

My heart races as she finishes, coming off the stage with a big grin. "Hon?" She touches my shoulder with her glittery fingers and I startle. She flashes me a sympathetic expression. "You're on. Go knock 'em dead." She practically pushes me out onto the stage.

My body goes into autopilot mode. I feel my lips lift in a smile as I scan the catwalk. It's a good thing my body decides that it still knows how to walk, because I am paralyzed inside.

I walk to the end of the catwalk as women in dresses and men in daytime suits look up at me from their seats. I pass my mother. She taps her shoulder, drawing it back, reminding me to have good posture.

Yeah, I got it, Mom.

I manage to make it to the end of the catwalk. I hear my name being said over the PA system. "Stop right there, if you don't mind, Miss Gellar."

I look around the room full of my peers, trying to locate the voice. A man waves to me and I focus my attention on him. "There you go. Miss Gellar is an exceptionally bright young woman who graduated from Yale two years ago. She loves fashion, watercolors, horseback riding, and traveling first class. She's fluent in French?—"

None of the attributes that the emcee has ascribed to me are true. Did my mom make them up? Seems like a Monique Gellar move to me.

A man in a dark suit puts a paddle up. "Ten thousand." With the bright stage lights, it's hard to see his face. But I know his voice. I would recognize it anywhere.

It's Nate Fordham. Oh my god. Half of me is deeply embarrassed that he’s here to witness my humiliation. And half of me is thrilled that he’s here.

God, what the hell is wrong with me? My face flushes more and I press my lips into a thin line.

"Okay. I have more on the card—" the emcee says.

A middle-aged man cuts him off by raising his paddle. "Eleven thousand."

I squint to find that this man is Don Young, our company's VP. With his thinning, dishwater blond hair and his tall, stooped frame, he resembles a scarecrow. Don has never shown an interest in me before outside of talking enthusiastically about his oceanic exploration trips once. I feel in my heart that my mother has to be putting him up to this.”

I clear my throat, feeling like a complete fool.

"I have eleven," says the emcee.

"Twenty," Nate says. "It's for a good cause."

A woman timidly raises her paddle. "Twenty-one."

"Twenty-two," Don volleys back.

I squint at Nate Fordham, expecting him to offer more. He locks eyes with me, smirking.

"Twenty-three," the woman says. "I'm bidding to win the weekend for my daughter, who is in high school. She could use a good SAT tutor."

Don stands up. "Twenty-five."

The woman also stands up, her jaw squaring. "Thirty."

They go back and forth for a minute. Thirty-five. Forty. Forty-five.

Nate finally raises his paddle. "Seventy-five thousand."

My jaw drops. Seventy-five thousand dollars just for a date? He must be joking.

"Wow! That is the most money ever bid here at the thirteenth annual New York Endowment for Movement Arts Bachelorette Auction!" the emcee gasps. "Do we have any challengers?"

Don glares at Nate. The woman sits down, a sour expression on her face. The emcee says, "Going once? Going twice?"

Don sits down and the emcee shouts, "Sold!"

The audience breaks into applause, but I barely hear it. I just stand there, looking directly at Nate. He looks pretty smug right now, even more so as the emcee shoos me off stage.

How could Nate Fordham think this is even a remotely good idea?

As I clomp offstage and straight to the wardrobe department to replace these painful high heels, all I can feel is dread.

When I step out of the changing area, Nate is waiting for me backstage. He's abandoned his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white work shirt. He straightens his dark tie as he looks me up and down.

"That was quick. You already changed out of that sexy outfit?"

I feel my cheeks glowing like two fire-red coals. He thinks I'm sexy?

"That was borrowed from wardrobe," I stammer. "It's not mine, obviously."

"No? That's too bad. I like you wearing gold. I think that's your color, Kitten."

I bristle. "Don't call me pet names, Mr. Fordham. I can't believe you spent seventy-five thousand dollars just to have lunch with me."

He raises a brow. "Is that what you think I paid for? Because I think I have my jet and my yacht all gassed up and ready to go. I think, for what I paid, I get to take you anywhere I want. For however long I want."

My jaw drops. "Are you serious? I'm supposed to be running Gellar Industries, not sunning myself on the deck of your boat while you ogle me."

Nate grins. “I think the lady doth protest too much. You like me more than you let on.”

“No, I don’t.” My face flames again. “In fact, I’m very close to hating you. I can’t figure out why you are pursuing me so doggedly.”

“Is it not obvious?” He spreads his hands wide. “I want you, Annalise. And I don’t mean I just want your company. I want you in my bed, too. And I’m determined to have them both.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “It will never happen, Nate. Never.”

“So, I’m Nate now instead of Mr. Fordham? See? My charms are working on you.”

“If by that you mean I can barely stand you, then sure. They’re definitely working.”

He reaches out, snags my waist, and hauls me against him. “A little fight in your blood, huh? That only makes me want to play with you more, Kitten.”

His silver eyes are hard on my face. I tilt my head up, wetting my lips. My heart pounds.

“I will never want you, Mr. Fordham,” I manage. Even to my ears it doesn’t sound very convincing.

“Because you said that, I’m going to make you beg for me to make you cum the first time I fuck you.” He says it so nonchalantly, as if I were throwing myself at him already. “When I slide my cock into that tight little pussy, you’re going to scream my name and leave scratches on my back, Annalise.”

As much as I hate what he’s saying to me, my body responds to being pressed up against him. My breasts tighten and nipples pebble. I can feel dampness blossom between my thighs at the brush of his hips against mine.

My body is betraying me and I’m helpless to resist. All I can do is shake my head because even my words have left me high and dry.

Nate grips my hand, steps away from me, and starts leading me out of the backstage area. And god help me, a small, secret part of me really wants to go.

But who will run Gellar Industries while I’m gone?

“Wait!” I protest. “We can’t just leave. Some of my employees are at my office, waiting for me as we speak.”

Nate gives me a moue. “Don’t worry about that. Your Mom came up to me before the auction and offered to make excuses for you at the office.”

“And you just went along with that?” I screw up my face. “God, you really don’t know me at all.”

“That’s why we’re going away for the weekend.”

I arch a brow. “Oh, I thought it was because you wanted to fuck me.”

Grabbing me by the waist, Nate starts pulling me inexorably toward the exit. “There’ll be plenty of time for that, Annalise. Now come on.”

That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. I shiver, unable to resist any longer.