“Yup. So, all sorts of organizations benefit. Wounded Warriors, first responders, recycling programs, animal rescues, and, of course, my personal favorite—companion dogs,” he says.
I smile. “I didn’t know that was your favorite.” I’m curious why, but don’t want to get sidetracked when I’m dying to know what he’s getting at and where my favor comes in.
“So, in addition to the event funding some great causes, I’ve got a little bet going with some of the Yankees. Whichever team brings in the most for their charity, the other has to match the total donation to the winner’s organization.” The opening beats of “Love Shack” float over the bar from the stage. Sounds like Oliver singing. “That’s some serious extra incentive to come out on top,” Ransom says.
“If it means more money for charity, I’m not going to knock any weirdly competitive bets among friends.”
“Frenemies,” he corrects.
I arch a brow. “Sounds more like you’re friends who compete with each other, but sure, I’ll call you frenemies if you want me to,” I say playfully. “Especially since we’re talking about matching donations, which are awesome, generally. Even better if they stoke your competitive spirit.”
“Yeah, it doesn’t take much to fan those flames.”
“This all sounds amazing,” I say, but I furrow my brow because I’m not sure where I fit in this scenario, though I think I can make a good guess.
I give away a lot of money from my parents’ foundation to worthy causes. This year, I’m aiming to hit a certain number, and as long as the board of trustees—led by Nancy—approves my donations, I’m close to the mark. I’m assuming Ransom wants me to pony up. Since the causes he rattled off are ones the board usually signs off on, I suspect it’ll be an easy yes. “So, you want me to make a matching donation too?”
He gives me that smile. The one he knows how to fling in a woman’s direction to get her to say yes. The one that’s both warm and sexy at the same time, all curved lips and a hint of a dimple—as if his polished looks, fiery humor, and calendar-worthy physique weren’t devastating enough.
Just add in a dimple to make him irresistible. That’s fair.
“Sort of,” he answers. When he glances down, a tiny bit shy, a flop of dark hair brushes his forehead. He runs a hand through it, pushing it back. What a lucky hand. “But I was actually hoping you’d want to bid on me in the player’s auction.”
I stare at him as the “Love Shack” refrain from the stage echoes in our corner of the bar.
Did he just say what I think he said?
Glitter on the highway indeed.
“Bid on you?” I point at the hunk in front of me, making sure I understand the scope of this favor. “In the auction with the players from all the pro teams?”
“Yes. I’ll cover the cost,” he adds.
Ah, that makes more sense.
This is a business deal.
And that’s just fine. Completely, totally fine.
I squash that tiny smidge of hope wishing for more because I don’t want more, I don’t want more, I don’t want more.
“What do you have in mind?”
A smile and shrug come my way. “I’m going for the big kahuna. The player’s auction draws the most attention, the biggest donations. If you bid on me, I can make sure I go for the amount I want to give away, know what I mean?”
Ah. The light illuminates the whole room. “You want to rig the auction?”
He volleys me another grin, one that says But it’s cool because it’s more money for charity. “Yes, but I’m giving it all away, and it’s my money, so who cares if I’m running up the number?”
Raising my hands, I shake my head. “Not me. I don’t care that you’re running up the number. It’s pretty clever actually, enlisting a partner in crime.”
“Thank you.” His winning smile spreads wider. “We’ll make arrangements in advance. The amount. How high to go. But yeah, I want to win for many reasons. One, because I want to raise the most. And two, bragging rights with my frenemies.”
I sketch air quotes. “Your ‘frenemies.’ Of course.”
He laughs. “I swear they’re frenemies, not friends.”
“It’s a fine line. But in any case, you came to the right cohort. I’m totally cool being Brad and George lining up a little flimflam.” If he wants to go all Ocean’s Eleven, recruiting his team of one to pull off a caper for charity, I’m game.
With his money.
A beautiful reverse heist to make sure he gives away the most.
“What could go wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say with a bright, legitimate smile. This sounds like a hell of a good time. But my brain hangs on a detail. “What about the prize I’d be bidding on though? The date with you. Would you forego that?”
