Page 36 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

Alexis grinned. “Deal. And if she does, just remind her that her last article about the ‘scandalous return of Portia Watson’ read like she needs a freaking life. She’s not exactly winning any journalism awards here.”

I laughed, feeling a little lighter already. “Fair point.”

“Now, we need to get you festival ready. You can’t show up looking like you just rolled out of bed.”

I glanced down at my outfit—a simple tank top and jeans—and shrugged. “What’s wrong with this?”

She gave me a look that could only be described as mildly horrified. “Everything,” Alexis said, dragging me toward the back of the shop. “This is the Lake Festival, Portia. You need to look like you’re ready to own the town, not like you’re about to mow the lawn.”

She rummaged through a rack of dresses, pulling out a few options and holding them up to me. I groaned. “Seriously, Alexis, I don’t need to dress up. It’s not a fashion show.”

“It’s definitely a fashion show,” she shot back. “Especially for you. You’re Portia Watson. You’ve been gone for years, and now you’re back. People are going to be watching. Might as well give them something to talk about that doesn’t involve Dean Jackson or your career.”

I sighed but didn’t argue further. She was right, as much as I hated to admit it. If I was going to face the town, I might as well do it looking like I had my life together—even if I felt the opposite.

“Here,” she said, thrusting a pretty sundress into my hands. “Try this on.”

I retreated to the fitting room and slipped into the dress. It was lightweight with a neckline that was just daring enough to feel confident without being over the top. The soft floral print made me feel lighter, somehow. Like maybe I wasn’t just the girl who had come crawling back home.

When I stepped out, Alexis clapped her hands together. “Perfect. You look incredible.”

I glanced at myself in the mirror and felt a small spark of something I hadn’t felt in a while—pride. “Thanks,” I said quietly. “For this, and for pushing me to go. I needed it.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t mention it. Now, let’s get you some shoes and accessories. You can’t wear sneakers with that.”

By the time we were done, I barely recognized myself. The dress, paired with strappy sandals and a delicate necklace Alexis insisted I borrow, made me feel like a completely different person. Someone who wasn’t afraid of a few stares or whispers. Someone who could walk into the Lake Festival and hold her head high.

We went upstairs so Alexis could change. There was no way I was going to be the only one dressed up. I didn’t want people to think I was trying to look pretty. That would just spark another article from little Miss Lila.

When we got to the festival, it was already in full swing. The beach was packed with people, the air filled with the smell of grilled food and the sound of laughter. I was trying to pretend like everything was cool, but it was hard when I could feel eyes on me from every direction.

I forced a smile, and with Alexis beside me, we made our way over to the lemonade stand and bought a couple.

I sipped my lemonade, the tartness sharp on my tongue, and tried to ignore the way people’s heads turned as Alexis and I walked through the crowd. I could feel their eyes on me, hear the whispers that trailed in my wake.

Alexis elbowed me gently. “Head up, shoulders back. You’ve got this.”

I nodded, forcing a smile just as Mrs. Hargrove, who’d been my eighth-grade English teacher, approached with her husband in tow. “Portia Watson! My goodness, it’s been years. How are you, dear?”

Her tone was warm, but I couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes flickered over me, like she was assessing every detail of my appearance. Looking for cracks, I thought.

“I’m doing well, Mrs. Hargrove,” I said with a smile. “It’s good to be back.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you,” she said, before moving along.

We ended up running into a group of people I didn’t know but they seemed to be Alexis’s friends.

“So,” one of them said in that way that said it was going to be a catty or invasive question. “How does it feel to be back in town?”

I forced another smile. “It’s… different.”

“I bet,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “I heard you and Dean Jackson have been spending a lot of time together.”

I stiffened, my grip tightening on my cup. “There was that whole auction thing, but we’ve just talked a few times. That’s it.”

The girl raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Uh-huh. Well, if you ask me, you could do worse.”

I didn’t respond, just took another sip of my lemonade. If only they knew what happened the other night. I had the forethought to put a little makeup on the hickey. It had faded, but in the dress, it would have been visible without a coverup.