took on the soft, Texas drawl of their childhood. “It’s kind of like a bull bein’ auctioned off to a herd of heifers.”
“It’s a legitimate auction,” Travis had said coldly, and slammed down the phone. Then he’d picked it up, punched in the code for Slade’s Boston number again and said, before Slade could say a word, that he should have known better than to have expected sympathy from his own flesh and blood.
“You got it, bro,” Slade had replied, and laughed until, at last, Travis had laughed, too, and said how bad would it really be…
Travis shuddered. “Bad,” he whispered, and closed his eyes.
All the senior partners and associates were in the audience. The clerks and the secretaries were waiting by their telephones, eager to hear how their entry did because this thing had taken on a life of its own, with side bets, pool bets…
How much would he go for? Would he top the Hannan and Murphy guy? Where would he place in the overall standings? Would the woman who “bought” him be good-looking? A ten, on the nutty scale the secretaries had drawn up? A five? Or, as his own secretary had explained, with a shudder, would a two or even a one be the winner?
Travis groaned.
Unless he went for the right price, to the right female, he’d never live it down. And there was just no way to tell how things would go, once he got on stage and put his fate in the hands of the auctioneer and the wild-women masquerading as solid citizens. Why hadn’t he had the brains to set things up? Bought a ticket for Sally—no, not Sally. He’d just sent her a bouquet of dog-toothed violets and an eight ounce bottle of Chanel. Okay, then. Bethany. He could have bought Bethany a ticket, told her to bid a thousand bucks more than whatever the Hannan and Murphy guy went for and he’d pay her back—with interest.
Except, what good was a bet, if you had to cheat to win it?
There was no choice except to leave the bidding up to fate. And he, of all people, knew that fate wasn’t always kind, not even for an event as silly as this.
“Your turn next, Cowboy.”
Travis jerked upright at the sound of Peggy’s voice.
“Great,” he said stiffly. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
“Want me to take a peek at the house? Tell you who hasn’t bought herself a hunk yet and looks as if she might be willing to pay a decent price for you?”
“It’s unimportant,” he said, with dignity, and she laughed.
“Move over, and let me look.”
“Look? Look where?”
“There’s a tiny crack, right here…” Peggy slipped up beside him and put her eye to the wall. “Aha!”
“Aha, what?” Travis asked, despite his best intentions to appear disinterested.
“There are definitely some—what do you guys call them now? Foxes? Babes?”
“Attractive women,” Travis said with dignity, and sent up a silent thank-you.
“Yeah, I’ll bet. Okay, then, handsome, there are some attractive women.” She sighed. “And some so-so’s.”
“Well,” Travis said valiantly, “that’s fine.”
“And…” Peggy stiffened. “Uh-oh.”
Travis froze. “Uh-oh, what?”
“Uh-oh, there’s a lady right in the center who, uh, who probably has a great personality. A terrific personality, you might say.”
“I’m sure she has,” Travis said bravely.
“And I’m sure the woman with the feather boa and the rhinestone tiara at the table right behind her will fascinate you no end.”
“Oh.” His shoulders slumped. “As bad as that?”
“And then there’s the blue-eyed blonde who just walked in. Oh, I hate her on sight! Great hair. Great face. Great bod, from what I can see of it. Mark my words, Cowboy. Any woman who looks like that probably has the intellect of a potato.”
Travis laughed. “Meow.”
“I’m just being honest. You get looks like that and, to compensate, you get empty space between your ears. And the disposition of a weasel.”
“A weasel, huh?” Travis grinned. “Whoever said women were the gentle sex didn’t know what he was talking about.”
“Well, it’s the truth.” Peggy stepped closer, smoothed down his lapels. “So you do yourself a favor, Cowboy. Go on out there and play to the crowd. To the—what’d you call ’em?—the ‘attractive women.’ Heck, if you’re feeling generous, maybe even to the, uh, the lady with the terrific personality.” She smiled. “Forget about the Ice Princess.”
Travis smiled, too. Suddenly, with the moment of truth upon him, he saw all his worries for the foolishness they were. And he owed the revelation to Peggy.
He took her hand and bowed over it.
“Ah, Slave Mistress, you have my heartfelt gratitude. To hell with Pebble Beach and my reputation.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” He lifted her fingers to his lips. “Too bad you’re not out there bidding, m’love. I’d be honored to be yours for the weekend.”
Peggy blushed furiously and pulled her fingers free of his just as the gavel sounded and the crowd roared.
“You’ll do lots better than me,” she said, and gently shoved him toward the stage. “Go on, handsome. Get out there and knock ’em dead.”
Which was exactly what Travis decided he’d do.
He went onstage at a brisk trot, arms high overhead, hands clasped in a winner’s pose, and did a fair imitation of Sylvester Stallone’s victory dance in Rocky, while flashing a thousand-watt grin.
The crowd loved it, and roared its approval.
Travis laughed. What he’d told Peggy was the truth. This wasn’t real life. It was for a good cause. And it was fun, or it was supposed to be. If the jerks in his office had made it into something else, that was their problem, not his.
So what if he went for five hundred bucks? So what if he wasn’t snapped up by a hot-looking babe? Let everybody at Sullivan, Cohen and Vittali have a laugh at his expense. Let ’em lose their crazy bets. He was going to get into the spirit of things, have some fun and do his best to raise a bundle of bucks for kids who really needed—
Uh-oh.
Travis’s smile dimmed just a little as he spotted the lady at the center table nearest the stage. Peggy had certainly nailed it right. The lady was certain to have a great personality. Well, so what? She had a nice smile. Hey, she was probably a nice person. The auctioneer was doing his intro, a bit about Travis Baron, Esquire, and Travis strutted a little
