Page 1 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

PORTIA

The grand ballroom smelled like cheese and steak frites. Not exactly my definition of fancy, especially after all the glitzy work events I’d attended in New York City earlier this year. Now those were fancy, pulling out all the stops with gourmet caterers, crystal stemware, and famous designers from Los Angeles. But this?

This had to be the seventh circle of hell.

“Ladies, this is your night!” The emcee’s voice carried through the packed room, his punchy baritone reminding me of announcers hosting fair games in community parking lots. Apparently, I was the only one who felt that way because all heads in the ballroom swiveled to look at the emcee on stage. He beamed, his enthusiasm for the evening twinkling in his eyes, and when he fanned his hands out wide, I could have sworn he wiggled his fingers. Jazz hands. The grown man made jazz hands.

“We’ve got them tall, short, young, and old,” he boomed. “Refined and a few rowdy ones, but don’t worry, they only bite if you ask!”

Ew.

The Larkspur Lake Charity Gala was the embodiment of why I left to pursue my dreams in New York to begin with—too stuffy, too pretentious, too small town.

But Alexis had insisted, and when Alexis insists, you don’t argue. She’d shown up at the Airbnb I was renting, a bottle of wine in one hand and a sequined dress in the other, and gleefully declared, “You’re coming, and you’re not allowed to say no.”

So here I was, standing in the grand ballroom of the lakeside estate, feeling like a fish out of water while beside me my best friend grinned as big as the emcee. The room was a sea of glittering dresses and pressed suits, permed hairdos, old bowties, and polished shoes.

I tugged at the hem of my dress, a borrowed number from Alexis that was a little too tight and a lot too sparkly. If I bent over, I was going to flash my hooha. I never should have left my rental in this scratchy monstrosity. I grumbled about the sequins scratching my underarms and getting caught in the hair at the nape of my neck. I never would have been caught dead in a dress like this in New York. Oh, how low I had fallen.

Alexis shot me a sidelong glance as I scratched at my armpit like I had lice growing there. “Let’s get a drink.”

“More like twenty,” I said. “I can’t believe you dragged me here. And in this torture device.” As we walked, I continuously tugged at the hemline of the dress, pleading with every tug for it to stay in place.

“Oh, stop,” she chided. “Don’t act like you’re too good for our small-town fun. Besides, you have killer legs and you should show them off.”

Small-town fun. Was there even such a thing? From where I was standing, this night was lunacy. An auction for charity—and the items being auctioned off? Grown men. I wasn’t sure what was worse, the outdated ballroom, the even more outdated formalwear, or the reality of why we were all here: to bid on men like desperate old biddies buying cardigans on cable shopping networks.

I couldn’t fathom the level of buyer’s remorse some of the women in this room were bound to feel when their night with the bachelor they “purchased” came to a close.

I groaned. “Why don’t I go home, and you tell me who bought who at this stupid auction?”

She linked her arm with mine and steered me toward the bar. “Come on, New York. Loosen up. It’s for a good cause.”

“Renting a dude for a night feels very weird,” I said.

“It’s a win-win.” Alexis winked. “We get entertainment, and the children’s hospital gets a bunch of money. You don’t have to buy a man for the night. You’re just here to watch these women stumble over themselves to try and get one of the bachelors.”

I accepted a flute of champagne and took a long sip. The bubbles tickled my nose. Watching the crowd, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Was this what passed for excitement in Larkspur Lake these days? A bunch of women fighting over men like they were the last Prada bags at a sample sale?

“Remind me, how did I let you talk me into this?”

“Because you love me and you secretly missed me like crazy,” Alexis said, feigning an exaggerated pout then breaking into a grin.

She wasn’t completely wrong. Despite everything—despite why I’d left this town in the first place—there was a part of me that missed it. Or maybe it just missed having someone like Alexis, who was refreshingly unfiltered and relentlessly optimistic. I’d always believed the world would be a better place if everyone was more like her.

But I’d missed more than just my best friend. I’d longed for the slow leisurely mornings that didn’t exist in New York. I’d ached for the way spring smelled here and for the beach, the quiet, and my parents.

“I think you just need to get laid.”

My drink almost sprayed from my mouth. “Oh my god! Alexis!” I looked around quickly, hoping nobody overheard. “Keep your voice down!”

She shrugged innocently, scanning the room with sharp eyes. Her energy was infectious, if not a little obnoxious. I didn’t want to know what she was looking for. Hopefully not an eligible suitor for yours truly. I hated to think what sort of one-liner she’d use to lure a man into my orbit. An orbit I would toss him out of in short order.

I felt eyes on me and looked up. A couple of women were trying to act like they weren’t looking at me.

Keyword trying.

This was nothing new. Since I’d come back home, people were talking, as people in small towns do. For the most part I could ignore it. But here, in the confines of the ballroom where whispers seemed to bounce off the walls and slither right into my ear canals, it was impossible to ignore them.