Behind Closed Doors

Part One

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"Bid. Bid on this one, Skye."

"They haven't even opened the doors for us to see inside," I say, glowering at my new friend Ella and wondering why I let her obsession with Storage Wars lead me to a real-life auction. Or maybe I do know. She isn't easy to say no to, but due to my limited finances, I have no choice but to be cautious with my bidding.

She balls a fist at her belly. "My gut says this one is for you."

I roll my eyes. "You're too dramatic and I don't bid on gut instinct. I'm a calculated buyer, not a spontaneous one."

"There's nothing wrong with spontaneous," she insists, her words as bold as her long red hair, while mine is a basic brown that fits my far more reserved personality. "You haven't bid on anything," she continues, pressing, "and I bought a unit that looks great and I did it by being spontaneous. This is the last unit of the day, Skye, and there's not another auction in San Francisco until next month."

"That's not a good reason to bid," I argue.

"A chance to make a profit is, though," she counters, and I glance up to find the thirty-something man in a cowboy hat who's been ogling me like I'm up for auction towering over Ella from behind to stare at me. The smirk under his dark mustache says he's enjoying our argument a little too much.

Grabbing Ella's hand, I pull her down the hallway of the climate-controlled indoor facility and away from the crowd of bidders that has now dwindled to about twenty. "If I don't get a unit, I don't get a unit," I whisper.

She plants her hands on her hips and doesn't soften her voice, proving she is as feisty as her red hair promises. "You're just scared. You have to have courage. Remember your goal—the whole reason you wanted to come with me. You want to save money and get out of that secretary's chair and into law school."

She's right. I do, and a shortcut to get there would be nice, but that just isn't how life works for me. "I'm waiting tables on the weekends to save money," I remind her. "My tips are exceptional. I'm fine."

"You'll be ancient when you get into law school, at the rate you're going."

"By my calculations, I have to save for two more years and then I'll have three years of school."

"Like I said. Ancient."

"Thirty is not ancient," I say, though she's hit a nerve. Life is passing me by and I'm ready to live it, not survive it.

"I was teasing about that, but you want to start a career sooner if you can. You can cut that down by a year and a half if you make auction hunting work."

This is what I get for making friends in yoga class, which I started in order to curb the stress of working for an attorney who excels at being an asshole as much as he does at winning in the courtroom, not to create more stress. "Well, you know," I say, lacing my words with the sarcasm I learned from my boss, "I guess we brunettes aren't born with balls like you redheads. I'm playing it safe. If I don't like how the unit looks when they open the doors, I'm not bidding."

As if on cue, the door to the unit is lifted and a look of scary determination flits across Ella's face. "Don't worry, Skye, honey. My balls are big enough for both of us. I have a feeling about this unit. I'll buy it and give it to you." She turns and disappears into the crowd, pushing and shoving her way to the front of the group despite loud protests. I gape. I only just met her two weekends ago when she talked me into doing online training for this, and good grief, somehow I haven't even asked what she does for a living. She must need money or she wouldn't be here. And even if she doesn't, I can't let her spend money on me. No. No way. That's not going to happen. And I might not know her well, but I can already see her in my mind, handing me a key to the unit and telling me I'll be wasting her money if I don't turn it around.

Dashing forward, I cut through the crowd and manage to get shoved and cursed at, proof these people take their auctions really darn seriously. Or that they're rude. Or both. I try to inch forward again and end up several steps in the wrong direction. My gaze collides with my crazy cowboy, and we have a silent communication. He is going to help me—that understanding comes a second before he turns and becomes my personal linebacker. In a blink, I'm at the front of the group, and Ella's nowhere to be seen. As I quickly try to determine what's in the unit before the bidding begins, in a flash my cowboy goes one step beyond what he's already done, placing himself in front of the auctioneer to talk up a storm, buying me time to decide if I want to buy this final unit. I lean left and right, seeing stacked boxes, hating the way we're only allowed to glance inside before making our decision to spend money.

Remembering my online auction-hunting class, I notice the boxes are neatly stacked and sealed, which means care was taken in packing and the contents are not likely broken. The person who owned the items seemed to care about them and since they are sealed, the owner hasn't come back and taken out the good stuff before the auction. It's not a bad unit, but I feel really sad for this person losing their belongings, and I remind myself that if I don't take the unit someone else will; this person's life's possessions are lost, no matter what.

The bidding starts and it quickly goes up to $300. Ella appears in the front row and raises her hand for $350. Bidding for me, I know, and I'm not letting that happen. My heart is racing, but I raise my hand and end up making it $400. From there, the bid moves to my ceiling of $500 so fast, I have whiplash. Ella raises her hand and bids again. I grab her arm. "No," I warn. "No higher."

"Six hundred dollars!" she shouts out, and before I can stop her, she's gone to $700. The deal's done. She's bought the unit and I'm going to have to pay. She's gotten lost in the high of bidding, in a way I can't and won't.

The crowd begins to dissolve and I let my face drop to my hands, dreading my return to the ramen noodles of my college days that I'd left behind last year. Ella grabs my arm and pulls it down. "Stop fretting. It's going to be an amazing buy." She glances at her watch. "It's only four o'clock. We have plenty of daylight left to dig through our units after we pay." She smiles at me. "Don't worry. I have some cash set aside for the sole purpose of turning this into a success."

"So is this your career?" I frown, a comment she once made coming back to me. "I've never asked, but I think I remember you making some comment about teaching?"

Her gaze cuts upward and back. "I have an endgame, and this is the means to that end." It's not really an answer and as she motions me forward, I get the idea that she's not eager to go where this conversation was headed. Like I'd hit a nerve. "Let's go pay and get our keys," she says.

Pay. Yes. We have to pay and I'm not letting her fund my unit, which means I'm going to be here all night digging through boxes to find a way to make back the money. My rent is due in two weeks and I need that extra $200 she just spent for me to write the check, without dipping into my savings, which I have a rule not to touch. And I learned the hard way that once you break your rules, you end up in trouble. And the last thing I need is more trouble when trouble is what I've left behind.

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