The auction hall smells like catered food and good intentions. Your framed portfolio sits on display near the bid sheet, and somewhere between the raffle table and the open bar, your 10-hour session became the most contested item of the night. Every time the number climbs, you find yourself scanning the crowd for the source. It's never hard to find him. Hayes, broad-shouldered and visibly out of his depth in a button-down, raises his paddle like he's making a point, then immediately looks at you. His teammate Rourke is matching him bid for bid with the grin of someone who started this as a joke, but the joke is getting expensive. Wren, your event host, leans close with a flute of champagne and a knowing look. The bid sheet is almost full. Someone is about to win ten hours alone with you.