Page 122 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

My jaw clenched. Last year, this had been a joke. A stupid charity obligation I’d half-assed my way through. Then Portia had won by accident and my entire world had tilted on its axis.

Now?

I stood there while one of the other men was auctioned off. I knew him. Good family. Old money. But soft. The women were bidding, but the enthusiasm was dull.

A local banker with a receding hairline and a smile that screamed “I’m friendly, but don’t touch my money” was up next. He was a decent enough guy and would appeal to some of the older ladies looking for love. He had a steady job, clean record, no drama. Exactly the kind of man women in this town fawned over. Predictable. Safe. The bidding started slow but picked up when a woman in her mid-forties shot her hand up. “Two thousand dollars!”

Tom grinned like he’d just won the lottery, which only encouraged the bidding war. By the time the gavel came down, he’d gone for six thousand.

The crowd was eating it up. Bids flew in fast, and within minutes, another man was auctioned off. I watched them walking off stage, one after another.

And then there was one. I forced myself to grin and bear it. I’d get bought by one of the ladies in town and suffer through a dinner. I could do it.

“Folks, you all remember Dean Jackson,” the auctioneer said. “Last year, he went for the highest amount. Let’s beat that number! I’m going to start the bidding at one thousand. Don’t be stingy, ladies. Look at this guy. He’s worth every penny.”

I wanted to melt into the floor. Given the lights burning into me and the heat in the room, it was entirely possible. Worse things could happen.

The bidding started slowly, which was a small mercy. A few hands went up, but the numbers were modest—fifteen hundred, two thousand. I kept my eyes fixed on the back wall, willing this to be over. If I could just get through the next few minutes, I could retreat back into the shadows where I belonged.

But then, someone had to chime in.

“Five thousand,” a woman called out.

“Five thousand! Do I hear five-five?”

Another hand shot up. “Five-five!”

“Seven.”

The bidding war escalated from there. Another woman—someone I didn’t recognize—chimed in at seven-five. My stomach churned as the numbers climbed higher and higher. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Last year had been a fluke, a mistake. This was intentional.

I hoped they didn’t expect me to put out.

“Ten thousand dollars!” the auctioneer crowed.

Seth let out a low whistle from his seat at the table. “Damn, big bro. If I’d known you were worth this much, I’d have put you up for sale myself.”

I smirked. “You’d have to split the profits.”

“Hell no,” he shot back, grinning. “Finders keepers.”

I opened my mouth to retort when the room suddenly went still. Not quiet. Not hushed. Still. Like every molecule of air had frozen mid-breath. The auctioneer’s voice faltered for half a second before recovering, but I didn’t need to hear the stumble to know why everyone had stopped breathing. I felt her before I saw her.

Then her voice cut through the silence like sunlight through storm clouds. “Twenty thousand.”

Clear. Confident. Unmistakable.

My heart squeezed and I turned my head. There she was. Portia. Standing at the back of the crowd in a sleeveless white dress that glowed under the lights, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders. Like no time had passed at all. Like she hadn’t walked away from me nine months ago with the taste of her kiss still burning on my cheek.

And she’d just bought me. Again.

The auctioneer’s gavel cracked. “Sold! To the determined lady in white!”

The crowd erupted into applause, but all I heard was the blood roaring in my ears. Portia didn’t move, didn’t cheer with the others. She just held my gaze from across the room.

Seth clapped me on the back as I stepped off the stage. “Well,” he said, dragging out the word. “Ain’t that something.”