An Inconvenient Affair. Catherine Mann

flat screens. “If you’ll turn your attention to our video feed, you’ll see media footage you may have caught earlier.”

      Troy Donavan’s face filled the screen.

      Oh. God.

      Hillary clenched her hands around her handbag, the silver charm cutting into her palm. She glanced quickly at the colonel to see if he’d noticed her panic. But her escort simply sat with his arms folded, watching along with everyone else.

      In full color, high-definition, the whole runway scenario played out again in front of her. Troy, walking off the plane in handcuffs, wearing that quirky, undeniably sexy hat. Troy, escorted into some official-looking SUV. Hillary had been so rushed getting checked in and ready for the kickoff gala, she hadn’t even turned on the television in her room.

      Madame Emcee continued, “But what does that have to do with us tonight? Prepare yourself.”

      The lights shut off. The ballroom went pitch-black. Gasps rippled. A woman squeaked.

      After a squeal of microphone feedback, the emcee continued, “For our final bid of the night, we have for you …”

      A spotlight illuminated a circle on stage.

      Troy Donavan stood in the middle, wearing a tuxedo now instead of his suit, but still cuffed with his hands in front of him. A white silk scarf gave him the same quirky air he’d had on the plane. Her eyes took in the whole man. How could she not? He’d been hot in a suit—in a tuxedo, he stole the air from the room.

      “Yes,” Madame continued, her fat diamond earrings sparkling disco ball refractions all around her face. “Troy Donavan has offered himself as a date for the weekend. But first, someone must ‘bid’ him out of our custody in an auction. He’s been a bad, bad boy, ladies. You’ll want to handle with caution and by no means, let this computer whiz get his hands on your software.”

      Laughter echoed up into the rafters from everyone—except Hillary. She sat stunned; her hands gripped the sides of her seat so tightly her fingers went numb. The whole arrest had been a gag, a publicity stunt for this party. She’d spent the entire afternoon thinking of him in a jail cell—and yes, sad over that in spite of her anger.

      Now she was just mad. He had to have known what she thought in those last minutes on the airplane and he’d said nothing to reassure her. He didn’t even bother to lean down and whisper “Sorry” in her ear.

      She should be relieved he wasn’t in trouble, and she was. But she couldn’t forget. He was still the Robin Hood Hacker.

      Still playing games.

      The bidding began—and of course it soared. Half the women and a couple of men were falling all over themselves to win a weekend with him. The war continued, shouts growing louder and escalating to over seventy thousand dollars. The ruckus continued until just three bidders remained.

      Winning at the moment was a woman wearing skintight silver and chunky sapphires, with a sheen of plastic surgery to her stretched skin.

      Not far behind, a college-aged student who’d begged Daddy for more money twice already.

      And coolly chiming in occasionally, a sedate woman in a simple black sheath.

      College girl dropped out after her daddy shook his head at the auctioneer and drew his hand across his throat in the universal “cut off” signal. Still the bidding rose another ten thousand dollars, money that would go to underprivileged schoolkids who needed scholarships. This was all in fun, right?

      Yet, the way these people tossed around money in games left her … unsettled. Why not just write a check, plus cancel the event and donate that amount, too? Of course if they did that, she would be out of a job.

      Who was she to stand in judgment of others? Of Troy?

      As much as she wanted to look away from his cocky smile, which had so charmed her earlier, she couldn’t. The way she stayed glued to the bidding upset her. A lot.

      She found herself rooting for the one less likely to entice him. Not that she really knew anything about him. But a part of her sensed—or hoped—Ms. Plastic Surgery with her wedding ring wouldn’t be at all alluring to Troy. And if she was, then how much easier it would be to wipe him from her mind.

      But the sedate woman in the black dress? She could have been Hillary’s cousin. And that gave her pause. If that woman won and if she was his type, then that meant he could have been genuine on the airplane when he flirted….

      As fast as “going, going, gone” echoed through the room, Ms. Sedate had a date with Troy Donavan for the weekend, won by an eighty-nine-thousand-dollar bid. And gauging from his huge “cat ate the canary smile” he was happy with the results.

      The depth of Hillary’s disappointment was ridiculous, damn it. She’d spoken to the guy for all of an hour on a flight. Yes, she’d been inordinately attracted to him—felt a zap of chemistry she hadn’t felt before—but she could chalk that up to her vulnerable state right now. She was raw, with her emotions tender and close to the surface. After this ordeal with Barry was over, she would get stronger.

      The emcee moved closer to Troy in a loud crackle of gold taffeta, which carried through the microphone. She keyed open the cuffs and he tucked them into his tuxedo pocket. He kissed her hand before taking the mic from her.

      “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in that same carefree voice that had so enticed Hillary earlier as he’d calmed her nerves on the plane, “I’m pleased to be a part of such a generous outpouring tonight—all in the Robin Hood spirit and not a single computer hacked.”

      There was no denying it. The crowd loved him. They all but ate up his irreverence and charm. All except Colonel Salvatore. He seemed—skeptical.

      “As you’re all aware, I’m not known for playing by the rules. And tonight’s no different.” He motioned to the reserved woman who’d won the bidding battle. “My assistant here has been placing bids for me so I’ll have the opportunity to pick the lady of my choice for the weekend.”

      Gasps, whispers and a couple of disgruntled murmurs chased through the partiers.

      “I know—” Troy shrugged “—not completely fair, but I can’t be accused of driving someone else to pay more since I took the burden of the highest bid upon myself.”

      Madame Emcee leaned in to the mic. “And it is a quite generous donation, may I add.” She nodded to Troy. “But please, continue.”

      “Since we’re all here in support of a worthy cause, I hope my request will be honored by the woman I choose. After all, it would be a double standard if this bachelor auction didn’t work both ways.”

      His cocky logic took root and cheers bounced from person to person like beach balls at a raucous Jimmy Buffett concert. Troy started down the steps with a lazy long-legged lope, microphone in hand. The men and women around Hillary whooped and shouted louder while Troy continued to speak into the mic. He paused at the first row, then moved on to the second and the third, playing the crowd like a fiddle as each woman wondered if she would be chosen. The spotlight followed him farther still, showcasing every angle of a face too handsome to belong to someone who couldn’t be trusted to use that charm wisely.

      Abruptly, he stopped.

      Troy stood at the end of row five. Her row. He stood beside Colonel Salvatore. The older gentleman—her contact—scowled at Troy.

      And why not? He was making it difficult for her to stay low profile this weekend, which was what she’d been instructed to do. But then he couldn’t possibly know how much trouble he could cause just by bringing the spotlight to this row.

      Troy extended his hand and looked Hillary straight in the eyes. “I choose you.”