Read Online The Bachelor's Promise (Bachelor Auction) by Naima Simone - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Naima Simone
Tags: Romance, auction, millionaire, Entangled, blackmail, indulgence, bachelor auction, Mistaken Identity, Naima Simone
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pale eyes. “Fine,” he lied. Anything to get her moving. But no way in hell was he accepting her money. He’d find some way to return it. Maybe Noelle would find Boston University had awarded her an unexpected book stipend. As the chief operating officer of a well-respected and successful company—not to mention wealthy—he could wield some influence to make that happen. “Are our negotiations complete? Can we finish packing your things now?”
Her head dipped in a slow nod, but suspicion and wariness remained in her unwavering stare. “Yes, we’re through.” She turned and headed for the stairs. “I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” she muttered.
He would be happy to explain it to her…just as soon as he figured it out himself.
Chapter Six
“ Holy shit .”
In one of the fairy tales Noelle used to love, a frog had retrieved a golden ball from a well for a princess in exchange for the chance to sleep beside her on her pillow. Instead of following through on her promise and carrying the frog up to the castle with her, the princess had abandoned him beside the pond. So the frog had to make his way up to the huge castle by himself.
The formal, imposing foyer with its shiny, tiled floor and sweeping, spiral staircase wasn’t a gleaming structure of turrets and towers, but Noelle definitely identified with the frog. Small. Out of place. Overwhelmed. Wondering, What now?
Because she was definitely out of her pond.
Aiden’s home—his penthouse—was simply breathtaking.
Even from the entrance, where her feet remained glued, she glimpsed an unparalleled and gorgeous view of Boston Harbor through the walls and walls of arched glass. The winter sky, Boston skyline, and Charlestown’s Navy Yard practically inhabited the cavernous apartment.
Not for the first time since she’d followed his Escalade across the city in her rusted-out Honda, the differences between her and Aiden struck her with the stunning power of a haymaker. From the $100,000 car, to the eleven-story, imposing monolith that stretched across the waterfront of Charlestown’s Navy Yard and masqueraded as an apartment building…to the palatial penthouse that would’ve given the Kardashians’ digs a case of penis envy, the dissimilarities kept piling up.
She and Aiden may have originated from the same poor, crime-ridden Chicago neighborhood, but they were worlds apart. Hell, universes.
What the hell am I doing here?
“You can come in, you know,” Aiden drawled, circling around her frozen figure. He carelessly dropped his keys on a wide table that boasted a tall metal sculpture of a tree with thick branches and leaves, a twisted, gnarled trunk, and massive roots.
Her heart thudded in her chest, her artist’s sense aching to trace the whorls and knots etched in the trunk. To get up close and study the exquisite workmanship.
“It’s called ‘Healing,’” Aiden rumbled from beside her. He stared at the hand she hadn’t realized she’d stretched toward the piece of art. Hell, she hadn’t even been aware of crossing the length of the foyer and approaching the table.
“Of course,” she murmured, lowering her arm and tucking it under the cardboard box she balanced on her hip. “It’s an olive tree.” The symbol for peace, victory, blessings…and healing.
She studied the sculpture with new eyes. Her time working in a Chicago art gallery under her mentor had taught her several things: how to identify talent; how to purchase artwork people would buy—which sometimes had nothing to do with talent; how to merge the worlds of creativity and finance; how to price art; and how to soothe nervous, and often inexperienced artists and their egos. She’d also learned that, for the most part, serious buyers—whether collectors or one-time purchasers—purchased pieces they connected with. That spoke to them.
So why did Aiden own this particular piece? What about this tree resonated with him so deeply he’d not only
Her head dipped in a slow nod, but suspicion and wariness remained in her unwavering stare. “Yes, we’re through.” She turned and headed for the stairs. “I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” she muttered.
He would be happy to explain it to her…just as soon as he figured it out himself.
Chapter Six
“ Holy shit .”
In one of the fairy tales Noelle used to love, a frog had retrieved a golden ball from a well for a princess in exchange for the chance to sleep beside her on her pillow. Instead of following through on her promise and carrying the frog up to the castle with her, the princess had abandoned him beside the pond. So the frog had to make his way up to the huge castle by himself.
The formal, imposing foyer with its shiny, tiled floor and sweeping, spiral staircase wasn’t a gleaming structure of turrets and towers, but Noelle definitely identified with the frog. Small. Out of place. Overwhelmed. Wondering, What now?
Because she was definitely out of her pond.
Aiden’s home—his penthouse—was simply breathtaking.
Even from the entrance, where her feet remained glued, she glimpsed an unparalleled and gorgeous view of Boston Harbor through the walls and walls of arched glass. The winter sky, Boston skyline, and Charlestown’s Navy Yard practically inhabited the cavernous apartment.
Not for the first time since she’d followed his Escalade across the city in her rusted-out Honda, the differences between her and Aiden struck her with the stunning power of a haymaker. From the $100,000 car, to the eleven-story, imposing monolith that stretched across the waterfront of Charlestown’s Navy Yard and masqueraded as an apartment building…to the palatial penthouse that would’ve given the Kardashians’ digs a case of penis envy, the dissimilarities kept piling up.
She and Aiden may have originated from the same poor, crime-ridden Chicago neighborhood, but they were worlds apart. Hell, universes.
What the hell am I doing here?
“You can come in, you know,” Aiden drawled, circling around her frozen figure. He carelessly dropped his keys on a wide table that boasted a tall metal sculpture of a tree with thick branches and leaves, a twisted, gnarled trunk, and massive roots.
Her heart thudded in her chest, her artist’s sense aching to trace the whorls and knots etched in the trunk. To get up close and study the exquisite workmanship.
“It’s called ‘Healing,’” Aiden rumbled from beside her. He stared at the hand she hadn’t realized she’d stretched toward the piece of art. Hell, she hadn’t even been aware of crossing the length of the foyer and approaching the table.
“Of course,” she murmured, lowering her arm and tucking it under the cardboard box she balanced on her hip. “It’s an olive tree.” The symbol for peace, victory, blessings…and healing.
She studied the sculpture with new eyes. Her time working in a Chicago art gallery under her mentor had taught her several things: how to identify talent; how to purchase artwork people would buy—which sometimes had nothing to do with talent; how to merge the worlds of creativity and finance; how to price art; and how to soothe nervous, and often inexperienced artists and their egos. She’d also learned that, for the most part, serious buyers—whether collectors or one-time purchasers—purchased pieces they connected with. That spoke to them.
So why did Aiden own this particular piece? What about this tree resonated with him so deeply he’d not only
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