Sold To My Ex’s Dad: An Age Gap, Secret Baby Romance (Silver Fox Daddies)

Every auction has its own surprises, but none quite like her—a vision in coveralls that challenged my every expectation and instantly commanded my full attention.

Here I am, nursing my second whiskey of the evening, each sip less satisfying than the last. The auction’s buzzing energy seems to evaporate before it reaches me, leaving a dull hum in its wake.

To my right, a woman whose beauty would typically demand my full attention is making what could only be described as a valiant effort to engage me. Her name, something floral, escapes me as soon as she mentions it.

‘So, Patrick, what brings a man like you to an event like this?’ Her voice is smooth, a practiced melody of interest and allure.

‘Charity,’ I answer, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. ‘And a temporary escape from the monotony of my own kitchen.’

She laughs, a sound that’s supposed to be charming. ‘A kitchen? I would’ve taken you for the Wall Street type. You have that air about you.’

I offer a half-smile, the kind that usually suffices in these situations. ‘Executive chef, actually. My kitchen, my rules. Wall Street’s a different kind of jungle.’

‘Ah, a man who can cook,’ she purrs, edging closer. ‘I find that incredibly sexy. Maybe you could show me your culinary skills sometime.’

Under different circumstances, I might have entertained the thought. Tonight, however, the idea of extending this evening feels more like a chore. ‘Maybe,’ I say noncommittally, my attention already waning.

Just as I’m about to signal the bartender for another escape route—preferably something stronger—a stir at the edge of the stage captures my attention. The crowd’s restless murmuring shifts, focusing on a new figure stepping into the limelight.

Petite, with curls of gold tumbling around her shoulders, she walks with an unexpected mix of confidence and confusion, as if she’s as surprised by her presence on the stage as I am mesmerized by it.

Her outfit, an unlikely choice of coveralls with the sleeves tied around her waist and aviator sunglasses pushed up into her hair, somehow adds to her allure rather than detracting from it. It’s audacious, it’s different, and goddamn, it’s sexy.

In an instant, my boredom evaporates, replaced by an intense curiosity and an undeniable pull. Who is she? What’s her story? And why does the sight of her feel like a jolt of electricity to my system?

Our eyes meet—a brief, electric exchange that brands her vivid green gaze into my memory. Up until this point, my plan for the evening was simple: contribute to a good cause, secure a neat tax deduction, and mentally archive the night as just another societal obligation fulfilled. Yet, there she stands, transforming my neatly laid plans into afterthoughts.

She arouses me from the moment I lay eyes on her. My cock pulses to life, and all I can think about is slipping her out of those coveralls, her body underneath no doubt perfect.

I have to have her.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, let’s turn our attention to the next exciting opportunity of the evening. We’re thrilled to introduce a truly adventurous date with the lovely Allie. A chance to see New York City like never before, but I won’t spoil the surprise just yet. Let’s give a warm welcome to Allie!’

The auctioneer’s voice fills the room, effortlessly weaving excitement and mystery into the introduction. He pauses, allowing the anticipation to build, a smile playing on his lips as he gestures toward the stage.

‘Here she is, folks, in all her grace and charm. A bit shy under the bright lights, but don’t let that fool you—there’s an adventurous spirit waiting to share an unforgettable evening with one lucky bidder. Who’s ready to take that leap and discover what New York has in store?

‘Let’s start the bidding at a modest one thousand dollars, shall we?’ the auctioneer suggests, his voice echoing confidently through the ballroom. Hands shoot up almost immediately, signaling the crowd’s eagerness. The bids climb quickly, the numbers jumping from one thousand to two thousand, then four thousand with enthusiastic shouts and competitive gestures.

‘Five thousand to the gentleman in the back!’ the auctioneer calls out, his eyes scanning the room for the next contender. The pace quickens, the figures climbing as the excitement builds. ‘Six thousand here! Do I hear seven?’

‘Seven thousand!’ comes a call from the side, a determined bidder not willing to back down.

The auctioneer nods, his gaze sweeping across the room. ‘Seven thousand dollars! Who will give me eight?’

A pause, then ‘Eight thousand’ rings out clear and strong from another part of the room.

The auctioneer’s grin widens. The bids now come in with a rhythm that speaks to the captivated interest Allie has garnered. ‘Eight thousand going once, twice … anybody want to make it ten?’

There’s a moment of suspense, a collective breath held, then broken by the assertive voice of a new bidder. ‘Ten thousand dollars.’

The declaration silences the room for a split second, marking a significant leap in the stakes. The auctioneer, visibly pleased with the turn of events, beams as he addresses the crowd. ‘We’re at ten thousand, folks! Can I hear eleven?’

An older gentleman, with a confident flick of his wrist, raises his paddle. ‘Eleven thousand here,’ he announces, voice steady and sure.

Not to be outdone, I lift my paddle, catching the auctioneer’s eye. ‘Twelve thousand,’ I state, my voice carrying over the murmur of the crowd.

A younger guy, eager and perhaps a bit reckless, jumps in. ‘Thirteen!’ he shouts, a blend of challenge and excitement in his tone.

The auctioneer’s eyes gleam with the thrill of the chase. ‘Thirteen thousand, do I hear fourteen?’ he calls out, his gaze flitting between us, the masters of this escalating duel.

‘Fourteen thousand,’ the older man counters without hesitation, his paddle rising again.

I pause, letting the moment stretch, feeling the weight of the room’s anticipation. Then, with a calm that belies my racing heart, I declare, ‘Fifteen thousand.’

The auctioneer turns his attention to me, a nod of respect for the bid. ‘Fifteen thousand from the gentleman at the bar. Do we have sixteen?’

The young man, not ready to bow out, pushes further. ‘Sixteen!’ he asserts, his determination painting him as a worthy adversary.

‘Seventeen thousand,’ says the older man, his voice now carrying a hint of challenge.

With a glance toward Allie, who watches the proceedings with both awe and curiosity, I steel myself for the next leap. ‘Eighteen thousand,’ I say, locking eyes with her for a fleeting moment.

The auctioneer, basking in the excitement of the bidding war, turns to the crowd. ‘Eighteen thousand going once … going twice …’

The tension is palpable, a thick cloak enveloping us all as we wait for the final hammer. In this scenario, amidst a sea of onlookers, the stakes are more than monetary—they’re a pledge, a declaration of intent and interest, masked beneath the veneer of philanthropy.

“Twenty thousand!” calls out the younger man, a sneer appearing on his lips after he says the words as if he’s convinced he’s clinched the win.

The room is charged, every eye locked on the unfolding drama of the bidding war. The rapid climb of the bidding has become the evening’s main spectacle, drawing curious glances from every corner of the ballroom. Even those backstage, previously absorbed in their own preparations, find themselves drawn to the edge of the curtains, craning their necks to witness the battle of wills and wallets.

Feeling the weight of the room’s anticipation, I lean back in my chair, a sigh escaping me. This isn’t my typical way of handling business at an auction—I prefer to keep my wealth under the radar, letting my culinary achievements speak for themselves. Yet here I am, caught in a game that’s strayed far from its starting point.

It’s time to end this.

I stand, my voice cutting through the crowd’s whispers and murmurs. ‘Twenty-five thousand,’ I announce, loud and clear, the finality in my tone unmistakable.

A collective gasp sweeps through the ballroom, a wave of shock at the sudden jump. Heads turn, whispers grow louder, but my focus narrows down to one thing—the blonde on the stage.

Her reaction is immediate and unguarded. Eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, she’s a picture of stunned beauty. With the spotlight casting her in an ethereal light, I’m captivated.

The auctioneer, momentarily taken aback as well, quickly regains his composure. ‘Twenty-five thousand! Any counters?’ he challenges the room, though his tone suggests he knows the game is all but over.

The ballroom falls silent, and the previous contenders bow out with nods and murmured concessions, recognizing the conclusion of the bidding war. No paddles rise, and no voices dispute. It’s an unequivocal victory, won not by the monetary amount but by the statement it makes.

As the auctioneer declares, ‘Sold, for twenty-five thousand dollars!’ the applause is automatic, a ritual acknowledgment of the auction’s highest bid.

For me, however, the ceremony fades into the background, overshadowed by the lady on the stage across the room. Her expression shifts from shock to a complex mix of emotions—gratitude, curiosity, perhaps even intrigue.

As the applause diminishes, the auctioneer makes his way over to me, his hand extended in gratitude. ‘Mr. Spellman, your generosity tonight is unparalleled. Thank you for your wonderful donation to the Bright Futures Foundation. Your contribution will make a significant difference.’

I shake his hand, allowing myself a brief moment of satisfaction. Of course, supporting the charity was my initial intent. The Bright Futures Foundation’s mission to provide opportunities for underprivileged children is a cause close to my heart, a reminder of the bigger picture beyond the glitz of tonight’s event.

Yet, as much as I’m committed to the cause, I can’t deny that my focus has shifted, honing in on a singular point of interest—Allie.

The excitement bubbling within me is a rare sensation that I haven’t felt in quite some time. It’s a heady cocktail of anticipation, curiosity, and, admittedly, a touch of nervousness. The auctioneer’s instructions to head backstage to finalize the payment and meet my date for the evening only heighten my senses.

I make my way through the crowd, nods and murmurs of congratulations following me, my thoughts solely on the upcoming encounter.

I can’t remember the last time I was this excited. The evening, which started as a routine gesture of philanthropy, has morphed into the beginning of something entirely unexpected.

As I make my way backstage, I’m intercepted by the older gentleman who was bidding against me. There’s a warm smile on his face, a stark contrast to the competitive intensity from earlier.

“Patrick is it?” he starts, extending his hand. “I just wanted to thank you for making the auction quite the spectacle. Haven’t had that much fun in a while.”

I shake his hand, finding his demeanor surprisingly congenial. “Glad to hear it. It was quite the bidding war, wasn’t it?”

He chuckles, nodding. “Indeed, it was. Allie looked like she’d be a fun gal to take out, but I’m glad it was you who won her over in the end. Make sure you show her a good time, will you?”

There’s sincerity in his words, and I can’t help but feel a sense of respect for the man. “I plan to. Thank you. It was all in good fun and for a great cause.”

He pats my shoulder with a grandfatherly affection before parting ways, leaving me with a sense of warmth and an unexpected camaraderie.

My brief moment of reflection is interrupted as I catch the glare of the younger man who’d also been in the fray. His look is sharp, a silent challenge lingering in his eyes, but no words are exchanged. His demeanor doesn’t faze me; instead, it reinforces the frivolous nature of his participation.

I nod in acknowledgment, though he offers no response. I turn away, leaving the silent standoff behind.

The backstage area is a hive of activity, but my mind is singularly focused. The previous encounters fade into the background, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. My anticipation builds with every step, eagerness, and curiosity about the woman who’s unwittingly turned an ordinary evening into an adventure I hadn’t anticipated, guiding my movements.