The Highest Bidder Read online

  The Highest Bidder

  By Chanta Jefferson Rand

  Copyright 2011 Blue Isis Publishing

  Smashwords Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Acknowledgements

  I want to thank all of my family and friends who gave me the idea to write a contemporary romance involving football. Anyone who knows me knows I have some diehard sports fans in my family – especially when it comes to football. So, thanks for the inspiration.

  I’d like to send a big shout out to my parents, Ann and Larry Jefferson. Their constant encouragement and advice has helped transform me into the person I am today. My father taught me to always try to put myself in other people’s shoes. And my mother taught me never to take crap from anybody. I know they probably never thought their shy, sweet little girl would grow up to write juicy romance novels. Well, that sweet little girl is still inside me – but I only let her out on Tuesdays and Thursdays!

  Thanks to Stephanie “Strong Black Woman” Robinson for recommending my gorgeous cover model. Stephanie, you have a heart of gold and a beautiful spirit. I appreciate you girl!

  To Darren Taylor, I send a warm, heart-felt thanks for coming through in a pinch and making this cover a success. You are the consummate professional and a joy to work with (For more information regarding Darren, visit his site at: http://thedarrentaylor.com/main.html).

  To BA Harris, the creator of the book trailers for Pharaoh’s Desire and The Highest Bidder. As usual, your work is flawless. Thank you for pulling it all together (Everyone can check out Betty’s work at: http://www.bettyannharris.com).

  To my cousin, Lottie Henderson - a classy lady who’s got my back. Much love for everything you did to put the spotlight on this book. You are all that and a bag of chocolate covered almonds! Thanks for the love and support.

  To K, the love of my life, my best friend and partner in crime. Thank you for pushing me, challenging me, listening to me, and loving me. You’re always there to help me tap into my creative potential and remind me just how high I’m capable of soaring.

  For more of my scintillating romances, check me out at www.ChantaRand.com

  Cover by: www.KerryRandPhotography.com

  PROLOGUE

  “Who will start the bidding on this handsome bachelor? He has the league record for passing, and he’s strong enough to bench press three hundred pounds.” The female auctioneer stroked the hips of her plump figure. “That means he can appreciate a fully developed woman.”

  A loud cheer of approval went up from the crowd of over two hundred women assembled in the banquet hall of the W hotel in Dallas. The auctioneer waited for the noise to subside before continuing. “The bachelor on stage needs no introduction. He’s a star quarterback for the California Predators, Tristan Rexford!”

  Tristan grinned as the loud applause thundered around him. He looked into the crowd of enthusiastic smiles that greeted him. Then he hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his dark jeans before speaking. “It’s my pleasure to be here,” he said, his deep voice penetrating the room.

  “Oh, I can assure you the pleasure is all ours,” the auctioneer replied saucily. “Now ladies, remember a percentage of the proceeds from each bid will go to Henrietta’s Haven, an organization that shelters abused women and children. Who will offer the first bid?”

  A brave voice called out, “Twenty-five hundred dollars!”

  The auctioneer dismissed the bid. “That’s an insult! Just look at him. He gives new meaning to the term Fantasy Football. If I’d known the players were this sexy, I would have bought season tickets a long time ago!”

  As if on cue, Tristan flashed a smile and struck a body-builder pose. He flexed his biceps, and his dark muscles jumped, bringing a chorus of oohs from the crowd.

  “Look at that body,” the auctioneer prompted. “His position should be tight end, if you know what I mean.”

  “Five thousand!” another voice called.

  “That’s more like it. A date with Tristan includes your choice of a sophisticated evening of wine tasting at an exclusive winery in Grapevine or an enchanted evening of ballet at the Dallas Black Dance Theater. Can you believe it? A man who likes wine and the theatre.”

  Tristan almost dropped his pasted-on smile. He didn’t drink wine. He preferred scotch. And the last time he went to the ballet was – never! He preferred hiking and skiing. He knew he had his publicist to thank for this load of baloney that was being served up.

  “Six thousand!” another woman joined the challenge.

  A few of the women were making suggestive remarks and whistling in appreciation. One woman yelled out, “I love you, Tristan!” He chuckled. It was like this wherever he went. Females just melted over him. At one of his games, a woman actually threw a pair of lace panties onto the field – embroidered with his jersey number and her phone number. He was almost tempted to call her. Almost.

  “Okay, okay,” the auctioneer played to the crowd. “Not every woman can handle a man like this. In fact, if you’re vegetarian you need not apply ‘cause this man is all beef!”

  An older woman in the back of the room offered a bid of seventy-five hundred dollars.

  Tristan’s eyes followed the sound of the voice. Oh no. God, no. She was attractive, but far too old for his tastes. What was she trying to do? Get her grove back?

  A sistah with skin the color of butterscotch spoke up. “Eight thousand!” she shouted.

  “Eight thousand, five hundred,” the older woman in the back countered.

  “Nine thousand,” Butterscotch fought back.

  “Nine thousand, five.”

  “Ten thousand.”

  Tristan was impressed. This was like watching a tennis match. A few hundred heads whipped back and forth from the front of the room to the rear. There was a brief pause as a hush of anticipation settled over the room holding everyone hostage. Tristan stood motionless on the circular stage wondering who would end up with the winning bid.

  The auctioneer spoke. “Okay, that’s ten thousand dollars. Do we have eleven?” The room was quiet enough to hear a shooting star. “Going once. Going twice.” The auctioneer slowly raised her gavel into the air.

  “Fifteen thousand!” a familiar voice called out.

  Tristan’s heart sank. It was the old woman in the back of the room. Damn!

  “Wow! We have fifteen thousand,” the auctioneer sputtered. “Are there any other bids?”

  Butterscotch she shook her head. She would not counter.

  “If there are no other bids, then the winning bid of fifteen thousand dollars goes to …” the auctioneer paused and turned to the woman in the back. “Honey, what’s your name?”

  “Viola Turner,” the woman answered.

  “Viola Turner!” the auctioneer proudly announced. “Congratulations.” She laughed. “You be careful now, Viola. That’s a whole lotta man!”

  Tristan watched as Viola made her way to the stage with the speed of an Olympic sprinter. Upon closer inspection, she didn’t look as old as he’d first thought. She had a tiny frame and a big smile. She shook his hand. “Hello, Mr. Rexford.”

  “Call me T.” He smiled politely. He wondered if she could see that he was disappointed about spending his date with a cougar. “So, what would you like to do on our date?” he asked.

  “Take it easy,” she said. “Your reputation is safe w
ith me. I’m not some hard up, old succubus looking for a young buck.”

  Relieved, he smiled genuinely this time. “Now, c’mon, I wasn’t thinking that at all.”

  “Meet me at Mercy Hospital tomorrow morning,” she told him.

  “That’s a strange place for a date.”

  This time, it was her turn to smile. “Oh, you and I are not going on a date.”

  He was confused. “Then why…?”

  “Be there by ten,” she said, walking away. “And don’t be late.”

  Tristan watched as the woman hurriedly left the room. He wanted to know why the hell she bid on a date with him if she didn’t want to go out with him. Before he had a chance to go after her, he was swarmed by a group of female autograph hounds. For now, it was business as usual. He’d have to wait until Friday morning to find out what Viola Turner was up to.

  Chapter One

  Mercy Hospital boasted one the best burn units in the State of Texas. When Alexa breezed through the employee entrance on Friday morning, she was high on agitation and low on caffeine. Her morning commute on I-35 was always hectic. Folks in Dallas had a saying: If the hot weather didn’t kill you, the traffic jams would. She still felt small vestiges of road rage simmering inside her, but she hoped it didn’t show on her face. Here, she was Dr. Alexa Kennedy, and she had to appear confident and in control.

  She walked to the nearest staff elevator and pressed the up button to get to the administrative offices on the tenth floor. As she stared at the “M” logo embossed on the elevator doors, she mentally ticked off her “to do” list, which included checking on her Pawpaw, who was at home recuperating from a broken hip. He was the only family she had left, and at seventy-four, he seemed to suffer a new ailment each day. After she completed her rounds, she would check on him. She had planned her busy day down to the microsecond, and nothing short of a catastrophe was going to get her off track.

  The elevator doors opened and the “M” parted to reveal a handsome man standing inside. Alexa stepped back, momentarily caught off guard. This was the staff elevator. Was he a new doctor? Something about his appearance seemed out of place. His hair was neatly sectioned and tightly braided into six fat cornrows that traveled from his forehead to the nape of his neck. His tailored navy suit was cut perfectly. Even beneath the fabric of his jacket, she could tell he had muscles in all the right places.

  Her heart thumped erratically when the man crossed his arms and flashed her a brilliant, white smile. “I don’t bite, if that’s what you were wondering.”

  She smiled back as she entered the elevator. “This elevator is reserved for staff members,” she said, feeling the need to explain her behavior. “I was just surprised to see anyone else.”

  His dark eyes casually swept the length of her body before responding. “How do you know I’m not a staff member?” he asked.

  He was looking at her like a prime piece of meat at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse. “I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t on staff,” she told him. “You just don’t look like any of the doctors we have around here.” And Lord, I mean that in all sincerity. “Would you press ten please?” she asked, pulling her white lab coat over the designer blouse and skirt she wore.

  As he pressed the button for the tenth floor, she saw an Omega peeking from beneath his sleeve. The platinum band of the watch contrasted nicely with his mahogany-brown skin. He turned his attention back to her and she saw him glance at the nametag on her coat. “Well, Dr. Kennedy, we can’t all fit into some stereotyped mold.” There was a sexy undertone in his voice.

  “True,” she agreed. “It was rude of me to make assumptions.” He looked young, but there was a confident cockiness about him. Maybe he really was a doctor. Was it too much to believe this man could be a professional that she could regard as her academic equal? Someone who would take her seriously when she spoke and not be intimidated by her ambitions? Someone who could stimulate her mind as well as her sex drive? Humph! It would be easier to find life on Mars than to find a man like that.

  “What’s your specialty?” she asked.

  He gave her a look that could melt butter. “A little bit of this and a little bit of that.” He licked his lips and she noticed how full and sensual they were. Perfect for kissing.

  Her eyes roamed his entire body in one quick glance. She didn’t usually go for men with braids. They weren’t her type. It wasn’t the hair that turned her off. It was the ego and all the thug-life drama that usually came with it.

  She was always suspicious when it came to men. Her past dating experiences were like a three ring circus. From laughable clowns who wanted her to pay for everything, to tightrope walkers who refused to commit, to freak show oddities who could shape-shift from respectable dates into aggressive beasts. She’d seen it all. But something about him was different. He was clean-cut, confident, and sexy. Yes, definitely sexy.

  She was tempted to give him some cute, flirty response, but surprisingly, she couldn’t think of a single thing. Maybe all those muscles were getting in the way of her logical thinking process. She’d graduated in the top of her class in medical school, yet she was sadly lacking when it came to interacting with the opposite sex. Since she had no snappy comeback, she kept it strictly professional. “Welcome aboard, Doctor. Uh, I don’t even know your name.”

  “Rex,” he supplied for her. “And in case you were wondering, I do make house calls.”

  Her jaw dropped at his comment. She was both shocked and intrigued. This brotha knew what he wanted and he wasn’t afraid to ask for it! Before she could respond, the elevator stopped, signaling the end of their ride. She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved by the fact that she would probably never see this man again. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know him any better. In her mind, he was perfect. He was a handsome doctor. She didn’t want to screw it up with a lethal dose of reality.

  The elevator doors opened, engulfing them in the bustling activity of the administrative offices. A group of interns crowded into the small space with her. She quickly stepped out and walked on unsteady heels toward her office. She knew she must be imagining things, but she swore she could feel the man’s eyes watching every move she made. At the end of the long hall, she glanced back. The elevator was closed, the “M” was back in place, and the stranger was nowhere to be found.

  As she passed the front desk where the head nurse was sitting, she called out, “Good Morning, Rhonda.”

  “Good Morning, Dr. Kennedy,” Rhonda gave her usual brisk reply. Rhonda was a stern, forty-seven year old ex-Navy captain. She was also a damn good nurse. She kept all the other nurses on the floor in line – and some of the doctors too.

  “I’m headed to my office to make a few calls.”

  “Dr. Turner was looking for you. She asked to see you as soon as you came in.”

  “Thanks,” Alexa told her. Her calls would have to wait. Viola Turner was not only her friend, but she was also the Chief of Medicine at Mercy Hospital. No one ignored a summons from her.

  * * *

  When she arrived at Viola’s office, she found that she was not alone. Of the four visitors scattered around the spacious room, Alexa recognized only one, Dr. Ben Peterson, the hospital’s Head of Surgery. He acknowledged her immediately with a thumbs-up sign. She held back a smirk. Peterson was a first-class jackass.

  For as long as she could remember, there had always been someone from the Peterson family at Mercy Hospital. Ben came from a long line of doctors, surgeons, and other first-class jackasses. He probably thought his name plus his family’s endless supply of money gave him the right to act superior to everyone else. For years, he’d been bullying the staff, threatening board members, and coercing anything walking in a dress to sleep with him.

  Alexa wrinkled her nose as if there was a bad smell in the room. “Sorry to interrupt,” she addressed Viola. “You wanted to see me?”

  Viola smiled politely, keeping her professional mask in place. No one would ever g
uess that the two of them had been close friends for many years. And that was just the way they wanted it. They didn’t need everybody in their business, screaming favoritism. After work hours, they let their hair down. But at the office, they were strictly business, always maintaining appearances in front of the staff and board members.

  When Viola spoke there was no hint of her former South Carolina accent. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Dr. Kennedy. I’d like you to meet a few of our board members,” she said. “Drake Randolph, Julia Grant, and David O’Connor. And I believe you already know Ben Peterson.”

  Alexa shook hands with everyone except Ben. “Pleased to meet you,” she said. She felt like a little kid in the principal’s office. She’d never met any of the board members before.

  “Have a seat,” Viola invited.

  Alexa sat down on the plush, cream leather sofa. Directly across from her, Viola’s small frame was perched on the edge of her massive desk, her dark, slender legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles.

  “I guess you’re wondering why we’ve asked you here.”

  “Yes,” Alexa answered patiently. Everybody was staring at her as if they were all in on some scandalous secret that she wasn’t aware of.

  Viola gestured toward a man with crow’s feet and sandy-blond hair. “I’ll let Mr. O’Connor explain.”

  He stood up. “Thank you, Dr. Turner.” He turned to Alexa. “As a member of the Board of Directors for this hospital, I have been impressed with the great technological strides Mercy has made. It’s a privilege to serve an organization with such dedicated doctors who put patients first.” He passed a hand through his wavy hair. “But keeping up with technology takes money. Lots of money. Soaring medical costs, fights with insurance carriers, high volumes of staff turnover, and expenditures for state-of-the-art equipment have taken a toll on all of us. To be blunt, this hospital is losing money. In order to stay afloat, we need to aggressively raise more capital and bring a greater awareness of our programs to light. That’s where you come in.”