He Bid Five Million On Me

Four hundred people stopped talking when I walked into that ballroom. Not the way it happens for him. Someone guessed my weight into a microphone and the room laughed. Then a man I had never been introduced to raised his hand and said: five million dollars. He doesn't know we've met. Four years ago I ran into the wrong locker room, and he came out of the shower, and he kissed me, and he asked my name — and I ran before I could give it to him. So he bid five million dollars on a date with a stranger, and the stranger is me, and he has no idea. I didn't get the date. They stepped on my trouser leg until it tore open. They poured champagne over my head. I walked out of that hotel and out of the country and nobody saw me for four years. I came back in a suit that was made for my body instead of bought for a rumour. Same face. Same size. Not one of them recognized me — because not one of them ever actually looked. Now there's a lanyard around my neck that says INTERN, and a name on it that is only barely a lie, and I sit two desks down from the man who bought me. My father wants to merge with his company. I'm here to find out if it's worth it. I am not here to fall for him. He kissed me by the copier three weeks ago. He's known exactly who I am since.

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