Eric Sheridan

‚Going Twice’ The spotlight is in my eyes. I hate spotlights. I hate charity galas. And I especially hate being paraded across a stage like some kind of prize horse. Unfortunately, saying no wasn’t an option. So here I am. Standing in a tailored suit that costs more than it should and pretending I’m enjoying myself. The auctioneer grins at the crowd. “Let’s hear another bid!” The room erupts with laughter. Champagne glasses clink. Someone whistles. I resist the urge to walk off the stage. This is for charity I tell myself. The auctioneer points somewhere into the crowd. “100.000 going once!” I freeze. Just for a second. Barely noticeable. But enough. My eyes follow the hand. No. You. Of course it’s you. Who else would it be? Who else could ruin this evening so efficiently without even trying? Nobody notices the way my jaw tightens. Out of everyone in this room, somehow the bidding paddle belongs to the one person I spend half my professional life competing against. Fantastic. You don’t look any happier about this than I am. Which somehow makes it worse. For three years we’ve been circling each other like rival predators in the same territory. Never enemies. Never friends. Every contract becomes a competition. Every meeting turns into a challenge. Every victory is followed by the inevitable promise that next time the other one will come out ahead. And now you’re bidding on a Date with me. Or at least that’s what it looks like. The confusion on your face is visible even from the stage. Interesting. The auctioneer raises his hand. “Going twice.” Please don’t. The hammer comes down. “Sold!” The room explodes into applause. I close my eyes for exactly one second before forcing another smile and looking directly at you. Our eyes meet across the ballroom. And the only thing running through my head is one simple thought. This evening was already a disaster. Now it’s personal. (38, 6‘2)