Page 21 of The Bossy Billionaire

I stand as Harrison comes back to the table, and I shake his hand.

“Good speech.”

“It’s a worthwhile cause. Now get your checkbook out,” he says with a grin, slapping my upper arm. I have never officially told him about my struggles, but we have been close for years. He knows it.

“First up tonight, we have an amazing prize of a luxury beach house in St. Barts, kindly donated by Dragonfly Wines. This five-bedroom, four-bathroom residence with a pool has direct access to the ocean and offers complete privacy. Fully secured with uninterrupted sea views. We will start the bidding at fifty thousand,” the auctioneer says, and I immediately put my hand up.

“Fifty thousand right here with Huxley Hamilton,” he says. Lucy is trying hard not to look at me, but the shock of my bid is evident in her tight shoulders. I smirk.

“Sixty thousand over here on my left.” An old guy on the next table ups my bid, but I remain unaffected. I saw the way Lucy looked at that prize. She needs warmth. It is the ideal place for her. I raise my paddle again.

“Seventy thousand,” the auctioneer says, pointing in my direction, and I nod to confirm.

This time, Lucy swivels in her chair, her big brown eyes looking at me like I am insane, and for once, I am thinking she is probably right.

“Seventy-five.” The older guy ups the bid again, and I remain stoic. I lift my paddle and don’t remove my eyes from Lucy when I tell the auctioneer.

“One hundred thousand dollars,” I state strongly and clearly, and a few gasps go up as the Rothschild men whoop and holler at the table.

Lucy swallows.

“Going once.”

“Going twice.”

“Sold to Huxley Hamilton at table one,” the auctioneer says, slapping his hands together, and I give Lucy a wink as her brothers clap and Harrison rubs my shoulders in joy. No doubt because I kicked off the auction with such a large amount, he is hopeful others will follow suit, and he is happy to get my money. I start mentally planning on when to take Lucy to St. Barts.

CHAPTER TWELVE - LUCY

I feel sick at the amount of money Huxley just bid, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He is a billionaire after all.

“I am just going to freshen up,” I say to no one in particular, needing a little breather after Harrison’s speech and Huxley’s display of wealth.

“Would you like me to join you?” Katie asks, looking at me in question.

“No. It’s fine.” I see Huxley looking at me with concern from the corner of my eye. As I walk across the room, I feel everyone’s eyes on me. My confidence wains a little, knowing that so many people are looking at me now just as they were when I was sitting with my brothers and Huxley, probably looking at every interaction and already gossiping about it. I push into the restroom and relax when I find it empty. Gripping the counter, I drop my head and sigh.

The night is only halfway through, and it already feels like I have been here for hours. I am constantly on guard, like a deer in the headlights, trying to act normal, speak properly, remember names, smile, nod, ask intelligent questions. My mouth hurts, and I am pretty sure my head will fall off my neck by the end of the night with the amount of nodding.

Everyone wants to talk about the fire. About my brothers. About my biological mother. Apparently, most of the crowd here tonight know her. Spoke highly of her charitable donations over the years. Smile and nod.

They spoke of how devastating it was to hear about her horrible death. Smile and nod.

Then they spoke about how sorry they were to hear about my leg, the months I spent in the hospital recovering, how traumatic it must have been. Smile and nod.

God, I want to punch something. I grab my bag and head into a stall, needing to sit for a bit. I lock the door and remain quiet, my mind too busy to relax entirely. The bathroom door opens, and two female voices chatter excitedly to each other.

“She is wearing a beautiful red dress. She looks amazing,” a familiar voice says, and even though I only met her tonight, I recognize it as Valerie Van Cleef, the only daughter of one of the richest families in Baltimore.

“Did you see her walking, though? She has a limp,” the other woman says, sounding a little familiar too.

“Not really. I mean, her limp is so small, you can’t really see it. She is so lovely to speak to,” Valerie says, confirming her identity to me even more.

“Oh my God, she is disabled.” My head rears up as I hear the familiar voice again. Sandra.

“She is not. Don't be so dramatic, it is not a good look on you. Besides, every man in this room is looking at her. Even Huxley.” That statement piques my interest, and I hold my breath so I don’t make a sound as I listen to their conversation.

“Oh, she could not handle a man like Huxley Hamilton,” Sandra purrs, and I roll my eyes.

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