Page 2 of Auctioned To Be Mine

“I’ve got you. Go.”

Drew slid into the driver’s seat once I exited the car. As I buttoned my suit jacket and smoothed the navy material, he pulled away from the curb and took an immediate left to park in the back lot. Sighing, I turned to move toward the front doors.

As I turned, I collided with someone that smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, and I took an abrupt fall, landing hard on my ass.

What the hell?

I looked at a young woman who had fallen to her knees in front of me on the sidewalk. She was scrambling to collect the contents of her purse that had gotten loose. She blew a strand of curled blonde hair out of her eyes and shook her head as she muttered to herself. I caught bits and pieces.

“Jerk… watch where you’re going… standing right there… how rude.”

She shoved lip gloss into her purse, along with a small notebook, a leather wallet, keys, and hand lotion. Finally, she looked up at me, her blue eyes looking over my suit and then locking onto my gaze. “Are you okay?”

“Watch where you’re going, will you?” I told her, annoyed.

Her eyes widened. “I was just standing here minding my own business. You watch where you’re going.”

She pushed to her feet and slid the strap of her small purse over her bare shoulder. Her cheeks were nearly the same shade of pink as her dress. Little flowers hung from her ears on gold chains, her full lips shimmered with gloss, and her eyelids were dusted with a subtle gold sparkle. She had the longest lashes I’d ever seen, and her scowl was so scrunched they touched her eyebrows.

Kind of adorable, I thought.

She noticed a bit of dirt clinging to the hem of her dress and brushed at it frantically. When it didn’t come out, she pointed a finger at me. “I just bought this! Ugh.” Shaking her head, she spun on her heel and marched to the front doors of the restaurant.

She disappeared inside and I stared up at the doors, delaying my fate for another few seconds. Then I mustered the nerve to head inside, where the hostess greeted me with a big smile, addressed me by name, and saw me to the table I’d reserved for Chantilly and me. Near the back door, tucked away from other tables, with a window view of the small courtyard patio where other diners were sipping specialty cocktails and sharing appetizers.

Chantilly had already arrived.

She sat with regal posture and snapped pictures of the table setting with her phone. She straightened the gold cutlery, adjusted the bread basket and bowl of oil and balsamic, and snapped more pictures. Then she turned the lens toward herself and took some selfies.

She’d done herself up nicely. I had to give her credit for that. Her auburn hair was done up in a twist at the back of her head and secured with a sparkly black pin. One strand hung loose to frame her face. Her eyes were a bit dark, lots of shadow and heavy shades, which felt ironic considering the video I’d just watched of her critiquing the artist for his heavy-handed approach.

She spotted me coming and perked up. “Callum! Hi!” She sprang up from her seat, hurried over, and greeted me with a hug and a peck on each cheek.

I could feel the waxy imprint of her lipstick on my skin as we both took our seats.

“You look dashing,” she told me. “Like James Bond.”

“Thanks. You look lovely as well.”

She dipped her cheek to her shoulder in a bashful gesture. “You think so?”

“Yes, otherwise I wouldn’t have said so.”

“You’re so funny.” She giggled and slid the cocktail menu toward me. “I hear they make a beautiful rosehip martini here. I’m going to try one. Maybe you could get an old fashioned or a whiskey on the rocks? Something masculine that will look nice in a photo with my drink. I want my followers to know I’m being treated to a nice evening out with a billionaire.” She pumped her overly plucked eyebrows.

Fucking hell. Here we go.

“I’m probably going to stick with water this evening,” I said carefully.

I could have sworn her right eye twitched.

She cocked her head. “Water? Oh, no, no, no. That won’t do. Darling. I’m a Giles. You’re a Blackwell. Water?” A giggle burst out of her that turned heads all around us. I wished I could turn into a liquid so I could spill onto the floor, be mopped up by staff, and squeezed into a filthy mop bucket.

It would have been better than this.

Chantilly caught a passing waiter, ordered her rosehip bull shit, and an old fashioned for me.

“You’ll love it,” she assured me.