Bought By His Brother’s Best Friend

Shane

"What do you mean, you can't make it?" I gripped my phone tighter, trying to keep my voice low as I paced the narrow backstage corridor.

All around me, event staff rushed by with clipboards and headsets, finalizing the set up for the evening's charity auction.

Tyler's sigh crackled through the speaker. "I'm sorry, Shane. We're grounded. The snow's coming down so hard they've shut down the entire airport."

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling my stomach twist into knots. My brother, NHL star Tyler Bennett, was supposed to be the highlight of tonight's bachelor auction—the grand finale that would bring in thousands for the children's sports foundation.

"How bad is it?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. Tyler wouldn't bail unless it was impossible.

"Bad enough that the team's bunking at an airport hotel. No flights in or out until tomorrow at the earliest." There was genuine regret in his voice. "I'm sorry. I know how important this charity is. I tried everything, Shane."

I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes for a moment. The muffled sounds of the gala filtered through from the main ballroom—the clinking of champagne glasses, the gentle hum of string music, the excited chatter of donors who'd paid thousands per ticket to see and bid on local celebrities.

"It's fine," I said, though it wasn't. "I'm just glad you're safe."

"Can they move me to the next event? Or auction off something else instead? Signed jersey? Tickets to a game?"

I checked my watch—thirty minutes until the auction began. "I don't think they can restructure the entire program this late. But I'll figure something out." That was my job after all, as both Tyler's agent and his brother—solving problems, making things work.

"Thanks, Shane. You always do." The relief in Tyler's voice made me stand a little straighter, despite my anxiety. "Hey, call me after and let me know how much they raise."

"Will do. Stay warm."

I ended the call and took a deep breath. The foundation had been counting on Tyler's star power. Hockey's golden boy would have fetched at least fifteen thousand dollars for a charity dinner date. The entire event had been promoted with his face on the posters.

"There you are!"

I turned to see Marjorie Davis bearing down on me, her silver hair immaculately styled and her slight frame draped in a shimmering blue gown that matched her formidable energy. As the event organizer and foundation director, she ran these charity functions with military precision.

"Please tell me Tyler's on his way." Her smile was hopeful, but the worry lines around her eyes deepened when she saw my expression.

"I'm sorry, Marjorie. His flight's grounded due to weather. There's no way he can make it tonight."

Her smile collapsed. "But he's our big finish! The headline bachelor! We've been promoting him for weeks."

"I know." I glanced at the lineup board where Tyler's name sat at the very bottom, highlighted in gold marker with a star beside it. "Maybe we can end with one of the other bachelors? That actor from the medical show seems popular."

Marjorie shook her head. "Dr. McDreamy has to go on early because his agent insisted he needed to be at another event by nine-thirty." She pressed her fingertips to her temples. "This is a disaster. The audience expects a Bennett. Half the women here came specifically because Tyler's being auctioned."

I nodded, my mind racing through options. "What about a video call? Tyler could appear on the big screen, say hello, and then people could bid⁠—"

She arched an eyebrow. "A virtual appearance isn't the same as being here in the flesh. It won't inspire the same enthusiasm. We're short of our fundraising goal, and Tyler was our sure thing."

The disappointment in her voice made my chest tighten. This foundation had helped Tyler get his start in hockey when we were kids. Our parents couldn't afford equipment or league fees, but the foundation had covered everything. Now kids like we were depended on tonight's success.

"There has to be something we can do," I said.

Marjorie's gaze traveled slowly up and down my frame, and a calculating look appeared in her eyes. "There is."

"Great, what is it?" I asked, relieved she had a solution.

"You."

I blinked. "Me what?"

"You could take Tyler's place."

A startled laugh escaped me. "That's... that's not a solution, Marjorie. I'm not Tyler. I'm just his agent."

"You're his brother. You're a Bennett. You have the same bone structure, the same charming smile." She reached up and straightened my tie with a maternal gesture. "You're handsome, successful, and single. Why wouldn't you be auctionable?"

"Because nobody came here to bid on me," I said, feeling heat rise to my face. "They want Tyler the NHL star, not Shane, the guy who negotiates his contracts."

"Sports agent to the stars," she corrected. "That's how we'll present you. Women love a man in a well-tailored suit who knows how to close a deal."

"Marjorie—"

She took my hands in hers, her grip surprisingly strong for a woman in her sixties. "Shane Bennett, I have watched you grow from a scrappy teenager into a fine young man. Do you know how many children we can help with the money from tonight?"

I swallowed hard. Low blow, but effective.

"The audience might be disappointed," she continued, "but they'll understand if we explain the situation. And they're good people who care about the cause. They'll bid."

Would they, though? Tyler was the face everyone recognized from sports drink commercials, and his thoughtful and inspiring quotes in post-game interviews. I was the behind-the-scenes guy who preferred it that way.

But the foundation had given Tyler his chance. In many ways, it had given me mine too. Without hockey, Tyler wouldn't be where he was, and I wouldn't have built my career representing him and other athletes.

I sighed, already regretting what I was about to say. "What time do I go on?"

Marjorie's face lit up. "Nine forty-five. Right after the concert pianist."

"I'm going to look ridiculous up there," I muttered.

She patted my cheek. "You're going to look like exactly what you are—a hero helping children." She glanced at her clipboard. "Now, we'll need to prep you. The bachelors wait in the green room until they're called. Each one gives the emcee a little bio to read, then walks the stage, and the bidding starts."

My mouth went dry. "Bio?"

"Just the basics. Occupation, hobbies, what your ideal date would be." She waved dismissively. "Hank will help you with it. He's with the other bachelors now."

Before I could protest further, she was steering me toward a door marked "Green Room," her hand against my back.

"Chin up, shoulders back," she instructed. "And remember to smile. It's for the children."

* * *

The green room was alive with nervous energy. Eight men in various stages of anticipation milled around, some practicing their runway walks, others helping themselves to the small bar set up in the corner. A large TV monitor showed the stage where a local news anchor was being auctioned off to enthusiastic bidding.

"Five thousand dollars! Do I hear fifty-five hundred?" came the emcee's voice through the speakers.

"That's Jacob Johansen from Channel 4," said a voice beside me. "He always does well. Great hair."

I turned to find a man with a clipboard and a headset—Hank, I presumed—studying me with open curiosity.

"You're not Tyler Bennett," he said bluntly.

"Observant," I replied, then winced at my own sarcasm. "Sorry. No, I'm Shane Bennett. Tyler's brother. He's stranded at an airport, and somehow I've been drafted as his replacement."

Hank nodded, unsurprised. "Marjorie's persuasive." He held out his clipboard. "Let's get your info for the introduction. Name, age, occupation."

"Shane Bennett, thirty, sports agent."

He scribbled on his form. "Hobbies?"

I hesitated. What did I do outside of work? "Hockey, I guess. Cooking."

"Cooking works. People love a man who can cook." He didn't look up from his writing. "What's your ideal date?"

"I don't know. Something simple but thoughtful? A nice dinner and conversation where you actually get to know each other?"

Hank smiled for the first time. "Good answer. Genuine." He made a few more notes, then handed me a small glass of amber liquid. "Dutch courage. You look like you need it."

I accepted the bourbon, taking a sip and feeling the warmth spread through my chest. "That obvious, huh?"

"Most of the guys get nervous, even the ones who signed up voluntarily." He glanced at the monitor where the bidding had reached eight thousand for the news anchor. "Just remember, it's not about you—it's about how much money you can raise for the cause."

That was actually comforting. I wasn't here to be judged personally. I was a means to an end. A fundraising vehicle.

I took another sip of bourbon. "How much time do I have?"

"You're last, so about forty minutes." Hank checked his watch. "Enough time to get comfortable with the idea, not enough to work yourself into a panic. Perfect timing."

I chuckled despite myself. "You're good at this."

"Fifth year running this event. I've seen everything—bachelor who fainted, bidding war that turned into a shouting match, surprise proposal from the stage." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Just smile and wave. The emcee will do the rest."

For the next half hour, I watched as bachelor after bachelor was called to the stage.

Some played it cool, others hamming it up for the audience. The bidding was enthusiastic, with most going for three to five thousand dollars. The Broadway dancer fetched seven thousand, setting the evening's record so far.

With each successful auction, my anxiety ratcheted higher. These men were all accomplished, charismatic and, most importantly, expected. The audience had come prepared to bid on them. I was a last-minute substitution for the main event, the disappointing understudy nobody paid to see.

"Bennett, you're on deck," Hank announced, gesturing me toward the stage entrance.

My legs felt wooden as I followed him to the wings. On stage, the concert pianist was taking his final bow as the emcee announced his winning bid of five thousand dollars.

"Ready?" Hank asked, adjusting my tie.

"No." My voice came out as a croak.

He grinned. "Perfect. The nervous ones always do better. They seem authentic." He pushed a bottle of water into my hand. "Quick sip, then it's showtime."

I drank. My throat so tight I could barely swallow.

Through the curtain, I could see the audience—a sea of elegant gowns and expectant faces.

They'd been promised Tyler Bennett, NHL superstar.

Instead, they were getting me.

The pianist exited to enthusiastic applause, nodding at me as he passed. The emcee's voice boomed through the ballroom.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we've come to our last bachelor of the evening!"

A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. I wiped my palms on my pants.

"We had advertised NHL star Tyler Bennett," the emcee continued. "Tyler had an away game this afternoon, which he won, but unfortunately he and the entire team have been grounded by weather."

Disappointed sighs echoed throughout the room. My stomach churned.

"However!" the emcee said with a smile. "We are fortunate to have another Bennett with us tonight. Please welcome sports agent extraordinaire, the man behind some of the biggest deals in professional hockey, Tyler's brother—Shane Bennett!"

Hank gave me a gentle push, and suddenly I was walking onto the brightly lit stage. The spotlight felt hot and exposing as I moved to stand beside the emcee, trying to remember what Tyler had said about these situations: stand tall, smile naturally, look confident even if you're not.

"Shane is thirty years old and one of the rising stars in sports management," the emcee read from his card. "When he's not negotiating million-dollar contracts, he enjoys hockey—it runs in the family!—and cooking. His ideal date? A thoughtful dinner with great conversation."

I managed a smile and a small wave, grateful that the lights were bright enough that I could only vaguely make out the audience's expressions.

"Bidding for an evening with Shane will start at one thousand dollars," the emcee announced. "Who'll give me one thousand?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

I stood there, smile frozen on my face, as seconds ticked by with no response. The emcee cleared his throat.

"Remember, all proceeds go to the Children's Sports Foundation, providing equipment and opportunities for underprivileged youth. Let's start the bidding at five hundred dollars."

More silence. My collar felt suddenly too tight, and I resisted the urge to tug at it. This was what I'd feared—standing on stage while an entire ballroom of people decided I wasn't worth opening their checkbooks for.

"Come now, ladies and gentlemen," the emcee tried again, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. "Shane Bennett is a successful sports agent with his own firm. He's responsible for negotiating some of the biggest contracts in the NHL. Surely we can start the bidding at five hundred?"

I scanned the room, hoping to spot Marjorie. Maybe she could signal one of her friends to place a pity bid, just to break this excruciating silence. Standing not too far from the stage, I saw her anxious face. Next to her, a server was delivering champagne to a table of well-dressed donors.

One of them, a dark-haired man in an impeccably tailored suit, glanced up at the stage. Even from this distance, I could see a flash of recognition in his expression.

Wait—was that Damien Roth? My heart gave an odd little jump.

I hadn't seen Tyler's old college roommate in months, maybe longer. What was he doing here?

"Perhaps we should—" the emcee began, preparing to cut this disaster short.

"Five thousand dollars."

The deep voice rang out across the ballroom, and every head turned toward its source. Damien Roth had risen from his seat, one hand raised elegantly.

The emcee's face lit up. "Five thousand! We have five thousand dollars from the gentleman at table three. Thank you, sir!"

I stared at Damien, surprised and relieved. He met my gaze, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Was that amusement? Pity? I couldn't tell, but I was too grateful for the rescue to care.

"Do I hear fifty-five hundred?" the emcee asked, renewed enthusiasm in his voice.

The room remained silent. My moment of relief began to fade as I realized no one was going to challenge Damien's bid. This was still humiliating, just in a different way—saved by a single pity bid from my brother's best friend.

The emcee tried again. "Five thousand going once..."

"Ten thousand," Damien called out, raising his own bid.

A confused murmur swept through the audience. The emcee blinked. "Sir, you're bidding against yourself."

"I'm aware," Damien replied smoothly. The gentle authority in his voice carried across the room. "Twenty thousand dollars."

Gasps and excited whispers erupted around the ballroom. At Damien's table, an elegant older woman in a diamond necklace laughed and patted his arm, saying something that made him smile.

The emcee, clearly thrown but delighted, recovered quickly. "Twenty thousand dollars! We have twenty thousand dollars for an evening with Shane Bennett!"

My cheeks burned with a complicated mix of embarrassment and gratitude. Twenty thousand dollars. For me. From Damien Roth, of all people.

"Going once," the emcee called, scanning the room for any challengers. There were none. "Going twice..." Another pause. "Sold! To the gentleman at table three for twenty thousand dollars!"

Applause filled the ballroom as the emcee shook my hand. "Congratulations," he whispered, for my ears only. "Highest bid of the night."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. As I exited the stage on shaky legs, I found Marjorie waiting in the wings, beaming.

"Twenty thousand!" she exclaimed, embracing me tightly. "You did it, Shane! You broke our record!"

I had done nothing except stand there awkwardly, but I returned her hug. "I'm just glad it worked out."

"More than worked out," she said, eyes sparkling. "Now, go thank your generous bidder while I get the check processed. He's done us a tremendous service tonight."

As I made my way through the backstage area toward the ballroom, my mind raced.

What would I say to Damien? We'd never been particularly close—our interactions limited to the occasional group dinner when he and Tyler got together. And now I owed him an evening of my company, purchased at an astronomical price.

But more confusing than that was the inexplicable flutter in my stomach at the thought of spending time with him. I'd always found Damien Roth intriguing—successful, composed, with an intensity that commanded attention—but I'd never allowed myself to examine that interest too closely.

Now, as I stepped back into the glittering ballroom to find him, I couldn't ignore the nervous anticipation coursing through me. Whatever his reasons for that outrageous bid, this night had taken a turn I never could have predicted.

And somehow, I wasn't entirely sorry about it.