Highest Bidder

1. Myles

1

MYLES

Gravel crunches under my truck’s tires as I pull into work. I hope today is the day I get the opportunity to prove myself. It’s past time, and I’ve paid my dues. My first break in the auction industry came fresh out of high school. I worked hard and soaked in everything I could, refusing to take the opportunity for granted. Then two years later, Manheim gave me a shot. It’s been eight long years of slowly rising through the ranks ever since. I started on the worst lanes, but now I’m only one step away from reaching my goal.

Manheim has auto auctions all over the country—five within driving distance of central Florida. For an auction to be successful, it has to run like a well-oiled machine. Everyone has an important role to play, but no one is more important than the auctioneer.

My boots scuff the pavement as I walk into the large white building, and drivers jump into cars to park in position. Gusts of cold air hit my face when I pull open the front door. I nod at the clerks behind the front desk while dealers impatiently wait their turn.

I’ve been a ringman, basically an auctioneer’s right-hand man, for close to a decade now, and I’m a damn good one. It’s my job to yip back and forth between bids to try to get the dealers to write the biggest check, and I never miss a bid. But even though I love my job, adrenaline pumps through my veins at the thought of finally standing behind that podium and being the person actually responsible for selling the cars. I get a taste of this each week when I fill in for the auctioneers during their breaks, but it just isn’t enough.

Give me a mic. I can sell some cars. But auctioneers rarely retire or get fired, which means there are limited lanes available and claiming one of them can be difficult. A promotion is hard to come by. But by some miracle, an auctioneer retired last week, and I know this is my chance to run my own lane.

“Good morning, Ann,” I say, passing by a woman with blonde hair, wearing a pantsuit. She’s our General Manager’s secretary, and nothing happens at this auction that she doesn’t know about. Ann is always friendly, but by the way she’s grinning at me, I think she knows it’s my turn too.

The office is filled with the rowdy commotion of voices talking over each other as the office workers try to help as many dealers as possible. It won’t be long before the sale starts, and dealers run around bidding on cars. I love the chaos of it all. Walking through the office, a dealer bumps into me and, not even bothering to say sorry, he scurries away to get to a counter. I watch as he demands the office clerk to give him a bidder number. He slaps the sticker across his chest. Turning, I see another dealer put one on the back of their clipboard.

I wave at a few people walking by as I enter the large meeting room. I haven’t seen JT yet. He normally strolls in right as it’s time for the meeting to start, while I’m always at least five minutes early. Griffin, the general manager, comes walking in. He stands in front of us, his deep voice echoing around the room. “Alright! Today isn’t just another Tuesday. We all know the second Tuesday of every month has a shitload of cars. So we need everyone to be on their game today. There will be twenty-five lanes running. Check the schedule, get to your lanes, and let’s sell some cars.” He rubs his hands together. “Oh, one last thing. We have a new auctioneer joining our team straight from Oklahoma. We all know Conrad Smith.”

Holy Shit ! Of course, we all know him. He’s the best cattle auctioneer in Oklahoma. He sometimes makes guest appearances at other auctions and always blows everyone out of the water. He’s been my idol my entire career. He prefers to sell cattle, but that man can sell anything.

I look around for him. I’m a big guy at six foot two inches, easily towering over a crowd of people. The only person who seems out of place is standing toward the front. I can only make out the top of their head because of how short they are, but it’s clear it’s a woman. Who is that? There are never any women in these meetings. Not because women can’t be auctioneers, but because not very many are. I keep trying to peer around people to get a better look and try to catch a glimpse of Conrad at the same time.

“This is Hunter Smith.” Griffin motions toward the woman. “Come on over here. She is Conrad’s daughter. So it’s like having him here since she learned from the best.”

Whoa. I feel my eyes double in size before I blink, making sure the woman standing in front of us isn't a mirage. I've seen beautiful women before, but I've never been struck speechless by one. She's gorgeous, with unruly brown curly hair, and a big, bright smile that has me forgetting how to breathe.

“Let’s welcome Hunter as our newest auctioneer. Be sure to say hello. She’ll be starting on lane eighteen.” Griffin turns, meeting my gaze. “Myles, help her out and show her around. You’ll be her ringman. Make sure she has a good first day.” Griffin gives me a slight nod, then turns his attention back toward the room. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. They gave the open position to this woman. My heart races inside my chest. I can’t seem to focus enough to acknowledge him. “Okay everyone, let’s go to work.”

Everyone files out, but I’m frozen in the same spot, wondering what just happened. At first, I was excited to meet a legend’s daughter. Now I’m purely pissed. They had an opening, and instead of giving it to someone like me or even JT, who are here every week working our asses off, they give it to this out-of-towner. I have no doubt she’s good. How can you not be when you have Conrad Smith giving you a leg up in this industry?

I’m jostled out of my spiral when JT barrels over and slings his arm around my neck. “Hey! What did I miss? Anything new?” he asks, looking around the room. I know the moment he spots Hunter because he perks up. “Wait a second. Who is that pretty little thing?”

I roll my eyes. Of course, he was late today and missed the announcement that this pretty little thing took my dream job. Unlike JT, I’m not happy about being a ringman. I’m ready to run the lane, sell cars, and make more money. My mama hasn’t said it, but I know money is tight. I want to be able to take care of her like she always took care of me. I’d like to pay for her house and her bills, so she never has to work again. After my deadbeat father left her high and dry, she worked enough to provide for me growing up. I had thought today could be the start of repaying that debt. Griffin lets me fill in whenever there’s an opening, and the auctioneers have me take over while they take their breaks. I don’t just let the cars roll through the lanes, I get a lot of them sold. Dealers take notice when I step up. A few have even mentioned that I’m made for the role and request I be the one to sell their cars. I felt like I was right there, so close to getting the job I’ve always wanted. Fuck. I need to get some air.

I shouldn’t be completely shocked. Auctions are filled with liars and managers who cut corners just to spend less. Dealers are always trying to pull one over on you and kiss your ass to get a better deal on a car. Since they’re independent contractors, auctioneers are only looking out for themselves. Ringmen are also independent contractors, but most are only doing it until they get promoted to auctioneer. It’s a stepping stone to the next promotion.

“Hello. Are you Myles?” a sweet voice pulls me from the chaos in my head. I turn and meet the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. Ones as green as I imagine the hills of Ireland to be. When it’s obvious I’m not going to answer–not because I don’t want to, but because I’ve been struck mute–she continues, “Griffin said you could show me around. I’m Hunter. It’s nice to meet you.” She sticks out her hand and gives me an award-winning smile. My eyes slowly fall to the hand hovering in front of me. I’m torn. This gorgeous woman stands in front of me, smiling as if we were friends. I so badly want to take her hand in mine, but knowing she's the reason I'm not getting a promotion grates on me. My blood boils at the realization that loyalty means nothing to Griffin. I clench my fists to keep them from shaking before I do something stupid—like storming out of here and quitting without looking back.

Knowing I need to get away from her to calm down, I jab my finger at the doors across the hall. “Bathrooms are there. Lanes are through the double doors on the left”—my hand sweeps in that general direction—“we're lane eighteen where all the Toyotas are sold.” Gesturing in the other direction, I say, “Cafeteria is around the corner to the right.” I bring my gaze back to her and find a perplexed look on her face as her eyes shoot from one direction to the next. I clear my throat to get her attention back on me. “The lane will start at 9 a.m. sharp.” Once her head bobs into a nod, I turn and hightail it out of there, never bothering to shake her hand. When JT calls after me, I ignore him, leaving him with her, and keep walking. I’ve got to get some air.