Outfoxed (The Fox Witch #1) - R.J. Blain Page 0,104

another person. My temper would have snapped after the first ten or so ties.

“There are no ties. The leading bid is seven hundred and sixty thousand dollars. Please place and submit your bids. You have two minutes.”

Despite having only sat still and played at being bored, I longed for a nap. If I took one, would they even bother waking me up before signing me over to somebody? Did I have to sign the papers? I suspected so; the whole system seemed rigged around making sure that those targeted by the wealthy had little recourse.

Worse, to accomplish my goals, I’d need to sign any paperwork they forced me to.

I regretted not taking more time with the binder and the intimidating rules, regulations, and laws the damned thing contained.

Another round went by, continuing the trend of minimal increments. Then another. And another. A tie several rounds later earned a whispered laugh from several of the bidders, and it spread much like illness did in the Alley after a particularly bad blow.

The auctioneer raised a brow, broke his mask of indifference, and chuckled some, too.

Weird crazy rich people.

He gave the gathered bidders a few minutes to work through their laughter before clearing his throat. “There is a tie. The new leading bid is now eight hundred thousand dollars. Please place and submit your bids. You have two minutes.”

Somewhere in the room were at least two incredibly insane people. Worse, they were incredibly insane people I would need to put up with for a long damned time. I made so little I hadn’t paid taxes since the day I’d stepped foot in the Alley. I understood enough about how it worked to understand if I had to pay taxes on eight hundred thousand, I would faint or die from shock.

Even at a hundred thousand, I could understand how someone might go along with the whole damned uncontested courtesan scheme. A smart woman or man would find a way to make the situation tolerable.

Poverty sucked, going hungry tested my patience and ability to cope, and the type of money the weird crazy rich people tossed around would make certain I never faced poverty or starvation again. When I boiled the situation down to that, I understood.

My recognition of the problem only made everything worse.

The rich preyed upon what should have been basic human rights. To have food. To have shelter. To survive.

I’d worked hard to survive, and I resented how my life had become something to bid on by those who had no understanding of the value of having coped with poverty and struggled to survive.

“There are no ties,” the auctioneer announced. According to his tone, if he became even more bored, he might pass out where he stood. “The leading bid is a million and a half dollars. Please place and submit your bids. You have two minutes.”

There were medications for insanity, and as soon as I had an opportunity, I would be informing the bidder they needed to see a doctor immediately. As I liked the woman, I would recommend Dr. Dorothy. She could find someone qualified to handle that level of crazy.

The seconds ticked away, and I spent all of them debating how best to inform the bidder they were out of their right mind.

“No additional bids have been placed. The bidding is now closed, and the winner has been flagged in the system. Please go to the main office to arrange for all required payments. Miss Tamrin will be prepared and brought to you within the next few hours. Please input any special requests through the bidding system. The contract will be notarized before you leave.”

While the auction was over, everyone left in silence, leaving me to wonder who had purchased me and why.

I’d find out soon enough.

Sixteen

Is that because foxes are destructive?

Saturday, May 23, 2043.

Albany, New York.

The East.

* * *

My buyer had a list of special requests a mile long, and in a way, I appreciated it. At the top of the list was a requirement for pajamas, as she was not taking me home while dressed like some business hussy out for a contract. The auctioneer, who introduced himself as Dick, not to be mistaken for being a dick, chuckled at my expression when he read the request to me.

He showed me the screen to prove it. With no other clues to work with, I decided to play along and be appropriately grateful I wouldn’t be going to some woman’s house while dressed as a business hussy out