Page 30 of Auctioned To Be Mine

I looked at her. “Getting dressed?”

“You’re trying to look good.”

“That’s generally the goal when getting dressed.”

She set her drink down on the side table and stood up. Her eyes moved over my suit. It was the same look she got when she was thinking up a new idea for the wedding stuff. I didn’t like being on the receiving end of it.

“What if you didn’t?” she said slowly.

“Didn’t what? I feel like I’m missing something.”

“What if you didn’t try to look good.” She walked over to me, arms crossed. “Think about it. Chantilly is expecting you to show up looking like you did at the auction. All polished and perfect. What if you showed up looking… less than perfect?”

I blinked. “You want me to look bad on purpose?”

“Not bad exactly. Just not your best.” She was warming to the idea now. I could see it in her eyes. “Give her the ick. Make her lose interest.”

Drew sat up straighter. “Oh, this is good. This is really good.”

“I thought we were done with psychotic ideas,” I said.

“It’s genius,” Cleo countered. “Look, you’re stuck going to this dinner. But nowhere in the rules does it say you have to make her fall in love with you. In fact, it would be better for everyone if she didn’t.”

“She already thinks we’re soulmates,” I said.

“Then give her a reason to rethink that idea.” Cleo was already moving toward my closet, rifling through the hangers. “We need to find you an outfit that makes you look bad in her videos. She wants an accessory. Don’t give her one.”

“Shouldn’t be hard to make him look bad,” Drew quipped.

I flipped him off. “I don’t own unflattering clothes.” And then because I couldn’t resist. “It’s impossible to make me look bad.”

“Watch me.” She emerged with a polo shirt I’d forgotten I even had. It was from some charity golf tournament three years ago, and it had a logo embroidered on the chest that was about three sizes too large. “This. This is perfect.”

I stared at the shirt. “That’s puke green.”

“Exactly.” She tossed it at me. “Put it on.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Callum, do you want to spend the entire evening listening to Chantilly plan your wedding, or do you want to give her a reason to back off?” Cleo had her hands on her hips now. “Because I promise you, she’s already picked out flower arrangements.”

I looked at Drew for backup, but he was nodding enthusiastically.

“She’s right,” he said. “This is your best play. If you’re not good for her videos, she’ll be so disappointed she might even leave before dessert. Wear capris. Boat shoes with no socks.”

“I don’t own capris.”

“I can make any pants capris,” Cleo said. “Above the ankles. Tight in all the wrong places. You’ll look like a real douche. Trust me.”

I held up the polo shirt and examined it more closely. The color would make me look sick, like I’d been drinking all night and was trying to ride out some rough seas. “I’ll look like I was sitting in the splash zone at an exorcism. I can’t wear this.”

“You can and you will.” Cleo was back in my closet, this time emerging with a pair of khakis I’d worn exactly once to a family barbecue. They were too short, hitting awkwardly above my ankles. They also had a grease stain on the front. I wasn’t sure why the housekeeper had even put them in my closet. “This is the look.”

“Those don’t even fit me properly.”

“That’s the point.” She thrust them at me. “Come on. We’re doing this.”

I looked between my two siblings, both of them grinning at me like they were brilliant. This was the dumbest plan I’d ever heard. It was juvenile. It was petty. It was beneath me.