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“But why do I have to be nude?” I ask, thoroughly confused. Charlotte huffs. At least, she tries to. The sound comes out as more of a snort than anything thanks to her clogged sinuses and droopy nose. She sneezes into a tissue, shivering as she clutches her throw blanket. “It’s performance art,” she says, her voice nasally. “The servers and the guests are supposed to be equal in order to show how we’re all human underneath it all.” “Blow your nose, babe. I can hardly understand you.” My roommate groans. “Pretty please? I already said I would go.” “Call in sick.” “The gig pays a thousand bucks. I need the cash or else I can’t make rent.” I laugh softly, swooping in from the kitchen with a piping hot cup of ginger tea. I hand it to her and watch her attempt to breathe in the steam. “Well, I do want you to make rent,” I tease, earning myself a pointed, though tired, glare. “Aurora, I swear to God—” “I don’t know, Cee. This is… extreme, to say the least. Nude serving? I mean, come on.” “Priscilla Kelp is a very famous performance artist. She’s eccentric, but her work is always tasteful. Besides, I don’t think it’s nude nude. You’ll be clothed in lace and stuff. Clothes are optional, that’s all. Besides, the guest list is heavily vetted. You’re not gonna get any creeps in there, I promise. Nobody’s allowed to bring their phones, so you don’t have to worry about pictures and stuff.” “I’m going to have to take your word for it.” Charlotte squirms in her spot on the couch, her forehead shiny with sweat and matted red hair. I’ve already given her a few of my extra sweaters to toss on for warmth, but she still shivers like it’s zero below in our quaint, two-bedroom apartment. Charlotte is the only person I know who gets sick in the middle of summertime. Our apartment is underwhelming in every sense of the word. Ugly popcorn ceilings, mute beige walls, creaking wooden floorboards. Most of our furniture is mismatched, discovered at the local consignment store or fortuitously swiped from the curbside. It’s cramped, not to mention stupidly overpriced. Then again, you’d be hard pressed to find a place in New York City that could be classified as affordable. Don’t get me wrong, we get by comfortably enough, but a lot of Charlotte’s money is the result of inconsistent modeling work, and some months the paltry sum I earn freelancing is next to non-existent. In an ideal world, I would be in California working with the giants. Microsoft or Google, to be exact. It’s been my dream ever since writing my first line of code to work for some of the biggest tech giants in the world. The four years I spent dedicating my time to computer engineering at MIT should have made it easier to get my foot in the door. Unfortunately, everyone and their mother with an MIT degree has the exact same line of thinking. Competition is stiff at the top, and while I’m exceedingly good at what I do, I didn’t quite make the cut. I made it through three stages of interviews only to receive a politely worded, clearly impersonal rejection letter. Dear Aurora Foster, Thank you for your time, but after further consideration, yada yada yada… I was thankfully able to land myself a paid internship elsewhere, but that brought me here, to arguably one of the most expensive cities in the world. There are worse things than working for CyberFort. It’s a reputable cybersecurity company with a quickly expanding clientele, and I’m confident my skillset will be of great use, but I’d be lying if I said it was my first choice. I’d never say that aloud, of course. Beggars can’t be choosers, and with the plans I’m saving up for, I really need every penny I can get my hands on. “Everyone’s gonna wear masks and stuff,” Charlotte continues after a swallow of tea. Her voice comes out a bit clearer, steadier. The hot drink must be helping. “And if you’re really uncomfortable, you can just leave after you get paid…in cash.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Just ask Priscilla’s personal assistant for the money beforehand.” “This sounds an awful lot like one of those creepy parties I read about the other day.” I anxiously spin my mother’s wedding ring around my finger, one of the only keepsakes I have left of hers. “You need to spend less time on the internet, my friend,” Charlotte counters. “I’m a programmer. The internet is my second home.” “It’s obviously going to sound ridiculous when you say it out loud like that.” I inhale slowly. The more I think about it, the less weird it all seems. Maybe Charlotte’s finally rubbing off me. The Big Apple is no stranger to eccentric artists. I don’t know the first thing about Priscilla Kelp, though I’ll admit the name does sound vaguely familiar. Charlotte takes a deep breath. “I know this is a huge favor to ask—” “Humongous,” I correct. “But you fit my description perfectly. We’re the same height, same size, same hair color. I know they hired me through my agency, but I guarantee you Priscilla won’t notice the difference. Stick to a corner, serve a few glasses of champagne, and—” she paused to sneeze “—then you’re paid and outta there!” “My internship starts tomorrow,” I stress. “I need a full night’s sleep. You know, start the day off on the right foot or whatever?” “If you do this favor for me, I’ll do your laundry for a whole week.” I shrug. “I have like four rotating outfits. It’s not exactly a herculean task.” Charlotte crinkles her nose. “I really need to take you shopping, but fine. How about I do the dishes for the whole week instead?” “The whole month,” I barter. She sighs, throwing her head back. Her mouth falls open, a strangled groan rising from her chest. “Okay! God, you’re the worst.” I beam at her, reaching for her mug. “I guess you don’t want this, then.” Charlotte clings to her tea. “No, shoo. I want it.” “Send me a pin for the address before I change my mind.” “Thank you, Aurora. You’re a lifesaver.” “I know,” I say, tossing her a wink. “Now, tell me, do I have to show up nude? Or is it an arrive-and-change-into-uniform sort of deal? Should I shave? How does this work? I have so many questions.” “Come as you are,” my best friend says after another sneeze. Poor thing needs to take her medicine in an hour. “That’s what Priscilla said, anyway. She wants to appreciate the human form.” I sigh, moving through the narrow hall to return to my bedroom. “Ridiculous,” I say, mumbling to myself. I shift through my things quickly, snatching up my backpack and sweater, pausing for a moment in front of my wardrobe mirror. It’s not like I’m a prude or anything. If people want to get buck naked together at an event, who am I to judge? Well, okay. That’s a lie. I’m judging a little. Even dressed in my dark blue jeans and loose black shirt, I can appreciate my figure. I like the roundness of my hips and the dips of my waist. Not to mention I have long legs and a slightly shorter torso that give the illusion that I’m taller than my five-foot-six. Charlotte tells me all the time that if my career as a software engineer doesn’t work out, I have a good chance of being picked up as a model at her agency—but only with her referral, of course. I’m slightly comforted by the anonymity of the event. Charlotte mentioned something about masks and lace? I suppose I might feel a bit braver, more comfortable with this whole nude serving thing if I’m allowed to hide my face. With a thousand bucks on the line and rent due in a few days, I tell myself to suck it up. People can look all they want. I have nothing to hide. And if someone dares to touch me, I’ll scream bloody murder. It’s really that simple. My phone dings in my back pocket. Charlotte sent me the address. “The Ritz?” I squawk. “They’re hosting a naked art gala at the Ritz?” “I told you,” Charlotte coughs weakly from the living room. “It’s a fancy gig. Lots of VIPs or whatever. You’re not gonna get any creeps.” “Or I’m gonna get a lot of rich creeps who think the rules don’t apply to them,” I grumble. Casting my reflection one last look, I pull on my sweater and sling my backpack over my shoulder. I just need to keep my head down and hopefully avoid looking straight at anyone else or their… parts. I take my mother’s wedding ring off and stash it in my jewelry box. I’d rather not lose it at some weird nudist party. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can block it from my mind and never talk about it again. Ever. Keep reading Highest Bidder: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C12DQZD3