Chapter 4 - The Midnight AuctionThe grand dining tables had been arranged in concentric circles around a raised mahogany stage where the charity auctioneer was already warming up the crowd with practiced theatrical flair.
As Luca’s executive secretary, I had spent the last three years organizing the logistical nightmare of corporate sponsorships for events like this—reviewing seat assignments, confirming dietary restrictions, and ensuring our executives were placed at the primary VIP tables. But sitting at the center table tonight, flanked by heavyweights like Daniel Mercer and the chief executives of two major global shipping firms, felt entirely different.
I wasn't looking at the event through the lens of a spreadsheet. I was living inside it.
“Item number four,” the auctioneer’s voice boomed over the speakers, “a private weekend retreat in the Swiss Alps, complete with helicopter transport and a private sommelier-curated wine tasting donated by Sterling Capital.”
Polite applause rippled through the room. Bids started climbing slowly—fifty thousand, seventy-five, one hundred thousand.
I glanced sideways at Luca, who was casually swirling a glass of red wine, his attention seemingly half-focused on the stage.
“Are you planning on buying a Swiss chalet tonight?” I whispered, leaning in slightly so my shoulder brushed his.
“Only if it comes with a quiet place far away from Wall Street,” Luca muttered without looking at me, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
“You couldn't survive twenty-four hours without cellular reception, Mr. Moretti. You’d start having withdrawal symptoms and trying to negotiate a merger with the local ski instructors.”
Luca turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a warm, dangerous amusement. “You think you know me so well, don't you?”
“I know your schedule, your coffee order, and your stress tells,” I countered smoothly. “That practically makes me your biographer.”
“Then write this down,” Luca murmured, his voice dropping so low it was meant only for me. “The moment this gala ends, I’m taking you out of here.”
My pulse skipped a beat. “Where?”
“Somewhere without flashing cameras, whispering socialites, or Richard Sterling,” Luca replied, his gaze burning into mine with absolute certainty.
Before I could formulate a response, the auctioneer’s voice rose to a theatrical crescendo.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, a very special last-minute lot donated anonymously this evening. A one-of-a-kind, platinum-and-sapphire vintage brooch crafted by Cartier in 1925, worn by European royalty, with all proceeds going directly to the Bellamy children’s education fund.”
A murmur of genuine excitement rippled through the room as a velvet pedestal rose from the center of the stage, the vintage sapphire catching the stage lights and throwing brilliant blue fire across the ceiling.
Across the table, Daniel Mercer leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with competitive fire. He raised his paddle instantly.
“Two hundred thousand,” Daniel called out.
The auctioneer beamed. “We have two hundred thousand from Mr. Mercer! Do I hear two-fifty?”
Another hand went up from the opposite side of the room. “Two-fifty!”
“Three hundred thousand,” Daniel countered smoothly, not even blinking.
I watched the bidding war with mild fascination. To these people, dropping the price of a suburban home on a piece of antique jewelry was the equivalent of tipping a barista.
Then I noticed Luca.
He hadn't raised his paddle. He hadn't even looked at the stage. His dark eyes were fixed entirely on my face, watching the way the sapphire light reflected in my eyes.
“Three hundred and fifty thousand!” the auctioneer shouted. “Going once… going twice…”
Suddenly, Luca’s hand went up.
The entire table went quiet. Daniel stopped smiling and turned to stare at Luca in surprise.
“Five hundred thousand,” Luca said, his voice completely level, cutting through the murmurs of the entire ballroom like a gunshot.
The auctioneer’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “Five… five hundred thousand! From Mr. Luca Moretti! Do we have six hundred?”
Silence blanketed the room. Nobody dared bid against Luca Moretti when he set his mind on something—not when his reputation for crushing opposition was legendary.
“Sold!” the auctioneer slammed his gavel down. “To Mr. Luca Moretti for half a million dollars!”
Applause erupted around us, polite and awestruck. Daniel Mercer leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with a knowing grin, while Richard Sterling glared across the room with undisguised malice.
I turned to Luca, my eyes wide. “Have you lost your mind? Half a million dollars for a brooch?”
“It’s for charity,” Luca said smoothly, though his lips curved into a slow, wicked smile.
“You could have bought a wing of a hospital for that kind of money!”
“I didn't want a hospital wing,” Luca replied softly. He reached across the table, his fingers gently brushing against my wrist, sending a shiver straight to my core. “I wanted that specific sapphire. Because the moment I saw it on the pedestal, I knew it belonged on the woman sitting next to me.”
May you like
My breath caught in my throat. I opened my mouth to argue, to remind him of our rules, of the fake relationship, of the stark reality of our working relationship back on the fortieth floor.
But looking into his eyes, I realized the rules had stopped existing hours ago.
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