Page 123 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

PORTIA

Earlier that night

I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing my hands over the white dress Alexis had made for me. The fabric was soft but structured, hugging my figure just enough to make a statement without screaming for attention. It was a version of a summer dress but just fancy enough to also serve as a gown for any black-tie occasion.

Alexis stepped back, her critical eye scanning me from head to toe. “You’re going to blow the room away,” she said finally, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips. “No one will know what hit them.”

I turned to the side to check out my ass. “You sure? I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”

“Trying too hard?” Alexis threw her hands up. “Portia, you’re walking into that auction knowing exactly who you’re bidding on. If anything, you’re not trying hard enough. I would be showing way more cleavage.”

I shot her a glare in the mirror, but she just laughed. She had a point, though. I did know who I was bidding on—Dean Jackson. Again. And no matter how much I tried to play it cool in my head, my heart wasn’t fooled. It hadn’t stopped racing since I’d made the decision to go through with this.

“You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. Last year was… well, it was chaos. You guys have avoided each other all this time.”

“It’s time,” I said. “I hate doing this dance. Anytime we see each other on the street, we pretend we don’t. It’s better now that I moved out of the city limits and on the total opposite side of his place, but it’s still hard.”

“I know.” She nodded. “You guys haven’t talked at all?”

“Not really. I saw him at the grocery store once. He asked how I was doing and it was so weird.”

“Have you heard anything about his dating life?”

I shook my head. “Nope. As far as I know, he’s still single.”

She laughed. “If he’s not, his girlfriend is about to have some serious competition.”

“What if he doesn’t want to see me?” I asked.

“Portia, if he didn’t want to see you, he wouldn’t be avoiding you.”

I frowned. “That makes zero sense.”

She laughed. “Think about it. If he really didn’t care, he wouldn’t go out of his way to steer clear of you every time you’re in the same room. You don’t avoid something—or someone—if they mean nothing to you. You just exist around them. And Dean? He’s not just existing. He’s dodging. Big difference.”

I stared at her, her words sinking in. “So what does that mean?”

“It means he cares,” she said matter-of-factly. “Maybe too much. And maybe it scares him.”

I chewed on my lip, turning back to the mirror. The woman staring back at me looked confident, put together, like someone who knew what she wanted. But inside, I felt like a storm of uncertainty, all swirling questions and no answers.

“What if this is a mistake?” I whispered.

“Then it’s a mistake you need to make. But I don’t think it will be. Look, Portia, you’ve spent months trying to move on, but you haven’t really been able to, have you? And neither has he. Maybe it’s time to stop running from whatever this is and face it head on.”

I nodded slowly, letting her words settle over me. She was right. I couldn’t keep living in this weird limbo, pretending I didn’t care or that everything was fine when it wasn’t. Whether tonight ended in disaster or something else entirely, I needed to know. I needed to know if there was still something between us, or if I was clinging to a ghost of what might have been.

The drive to the auction was a blur of nerves and second-guessing. I thanked the Uber driver and climbed out. If things went well, I wouldn’t be leaving alone. If this whole silly plan blew up in my face, I would be going home in another Uber.

Inside, the room was already buzzing with energy. The air smelled faintly of wine and expensive perfume, and the low hum of conversation filled the space. I didn’t approach him. Instead, I found a spot near the back of the room and lay low. The servers were clearing tables. I had planned it that way. I didn’t want to have dinner. My goal was to sneak in at the last minute.

The auction started, but I stayed seated behind a very tall man. My palms were clammy. I wiped them discreetly on the side of my dress. I should’ve stayed home. Should let someone else win him. Anyone else.

But when his name was called and he stepped onto that stage—tall, brooding, and as unreadable as ever—something in me snapped. Maybe it was the way he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else but here. Maybe it was the way his jaw tightened when the bidding started to climb. Or maybe it was the memory of him and what I thought could be and then never happened.

“One thousand to the lady in blue!”

“Twelve hundred from table nine!”