Page 2 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

“Portia Hart, back in Larkspur Lake,” someone murmured behind me, their tone dripping with curiosity and judgment. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t need to. I knew what they were thinking. The girl who left to conquer the world, only to come crawling back with her tail between her legs.

“Ignore them,” Alexis said. “They’re just jealous because you actually had the guts to leave this place.”

I forced a smile. “Yeah, well, look how that turned out.”

Alexis squeezed my arm. “Stop it. You’re not a failure. You’re just… regrouping. Everyone hits a rough patch. Home is your touchstone.”

Alexis had this effortless way of making everything sound like poetry. Like it was supposed to be the way it was. But me being back here was anything but how it was supposed to be.

“Easy for you to say,” I said. “You didn’t come back to your hometown with nothing to show for it.”

“You don’t have nothing,” Alexis argued. “You’ve got experience, connections, and a killer work ethic. So what if your real estate business didn’t take off? You’ll figure something out. You always do.”

I wanted to believe her, but the weight of my failures was a heavy burden to carry. I’d left Larkspur Lake six years ago with big dreams and even bigger ambitions. I was going to make it in the city, become a luxury real estate agent to the stars, and never look back. But the city had chewed me up and spit me out, leaving me with nothing but a mountain of debt and a bruised ego. Coming back to Larkspur Lake had felt like admitting defeat, and I hated it.

I did not like humble pie. It was bitter. Chewy. Hard to swallow.

“Besides,” Alexis continued, “you’re not the only one who’s had a rough go of it. Remember Jodi Jenkins? She got divorced last year, and now she’s living with her parents. And don’t even get me started on Mark Thompson. He’s on his third failed business venture.”

I chuckled despite myself. “Thanks for the pep talk, but I don’t think comparing myself to other people’s failures is the healthiest way to cope.”

Alexis grinned. “Hey, whatever works. Now, come on. Let’s scope out the bachelors. You never know—maybe you’ll find your next great love tonight.”

I rolled my eyes but let her drag me into the crowd. The charity gala was famous for its bachelor auction, where local single men were auctioned off for dates, with the proceeds going to charity. The auction was almost as old as I was. I had never actually attended one before. Mostly because I didn’t have the kind of money it took to buy one of the guys. It was all in good fun, but the idea of bidding on a man felt ridiculous. Events like these were for members of the country club who had fat bank accounts—not for little nobodies like Alexis and me.

Alexis swirled her champagne and nodded across the room, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Okay, so that guy over there? The one in the navy suit? He’s a doctor. Super nice, but a little boring. And that one?” She pointed discreetly to a man with a beard and a leather jacket. “He’s a musician. Total bad-boy vibes, but I heard he’s still hung up on his ex. Whomp, whomp.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And you know all this how?”

Alexis shrugged. “Small town, remember? Everyone knows everyone’s business.”

“Who are you bidding on?” I asked.

She scoffed. “Like I can afford this. Look around at the money we’re surrounded by. Mrs. Lowe over there is fresh off a divorce and let me tell you, she scored big in the settlement, and I doubt there’s a better way she can stick it to old man Lowe than spending his cash on one night with one of those bachelors.”

I laughed and took another sip of my champagne. Okay. Fine. She had me intrigued. “Who’s that?” I asked, nodding at a blonde woman that looked like she’d fallen into a vat of spray tan.

“That is Lauren Peyton,” Alexis said with a wicked grin. “The town’s former queen bee. You remember her.”

I raised an eyebrow, watching Lauren gesticulate animatedly to a group of women around her. My stomach did a weird flip-flop. The idea of bumping into her tonight made me want to hide behind a potted plant.

“I thought she would have married rich and ended up in some seaside mansion,” I muttered.

As if sensing we were talking about her, Lauren glanced over and locked eyes with me. Her surprise morphed into a wide, gleaming smile that was as fake as her skin tone. She started toward us like a heat-seeking missile, and I braced myself for impact and collateral damage.

“Portia!” she squealed, pulling me into an overly enthusiastic hug that reeked of Hawaiian Tropic. “I almost didn’t recognize you! Look at you! Still so… city chic!”

“Lauren,” I said, forcing a polite smile. “It’s been forever.”

“It has!” She stepped back, holding me at arm’s length as if inspecting me for wear and tear. “We need to catch up. You have to tell me everything. Are you back for good?”

“Oh,” I said casually, smiling through the heat that burned my cheeks. “For now.”

“Well, we’re so glad to have you back.” Lauren’s eyes twinkled, but not with genuine happiness at my return. No. They sparkled the way my old cat—RIP sweet Catrick Swayze, gone too soon—looked at the red dot of a laser pointer.

I was about to compliment Lauren’s dress in an attempt to diffuse whatever this weird tension was between us, but she spoke first.

“I need to talk to the mayor,” Lauren said. “We’re working on a little something.”