The Virginity Pact

19 - kiss and tell

But our most dangerous enemies, are the ones we never knew we had.

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"I can't wait," I smile, scrolling through gowns on my iPad. There's a few that've caught my eye--a forest green one in particular that I absolutely have to have.

"I can tell," Holden laughs lightly beside me. "If that's the one you like, I'll buy it," he says, glancing from the Versace dress that I've been staring at for 8 minutes back to me.

I stop myself from giving him a look. Even when we were just friends he'd want to pay for things for me. Now that we've been dating for a week he offers even more often.

He's the only one that sees behind the designer clothes and handbags my aunt and uncle have paid for. Probably because I still work for him.

I feel like he sees me as dirt poor, and it's getting on my nerves. I don't need his or anyone else's handouts. I'm perfectly capable.

Plus, I'd hate to ask him or anyone else to buy the $8,000 dress, no matter how badly I can't get it out of my mind.

"Thank you," I say sweetly, holding in my rant. "But it's really okay. I get my pay check in a few days."

He opens his mouth to say something and I give him a pleading look.

He closes his mouth and narrows his eyes at me, before getting distracted by a curl that's fallen into my face.

He pulls on it gently, then lets go, letting it spring back up. I giggle and he tucks the strand behind my ear.

"I'm nervous," I say truthfully after a second, licking my lips and setting my iPad down on the coffee table.

"Don't be," he says, with a small shake of his head. "You'll win it."

I exhale and give a forced smile, nodding slightly.

I fucking hope so.

I could've jumped for joy when the mail came 2 days ago and I got a letter inviting me to the Hamilton Ball. In fact, I did jump for joy--with an obnoxious squel. I RSVP'd immediately.

Elijah's also been invited, and the girls. None of them are submitting to be chosen for the money, though. Holden doesn't even want to go.

Balls like this are exactly the kind of thing he doesn't like. If it wasn't for me and the dozens of potential investors there, he wouldn't even be going.

"Have you had any ideas?" I ask, standing up and pulling open his refrigerator, grabbing the apple juice.

He's been busy trying to think of another fundraiser. He still needed to generate 24 million dollars.

I can't even fathom that amount of money. Truly, I cant.

"I'm thinking a date auction, since it's almost Valentine's Day," he says.

I wrinkle my nose, finding it hard to be supportive of the idea.

"You know, hot girls in red dresses lined up, guys bidding to go on dates with them," he explains.

"I know what it is," I say, rolling my eyes. "It's sexist."

Auctioning girls off like a car or a painting? That's disgusting.

"Do you have another idea?" He asks, raising his eyebrows.

I think for a second. Bake sale? Car wash? Those worked when my soccer team wanted to get money for hoodies, but this is a slightly different situation.