Page 13 of Billionaire Wolf Needs a Fake Girlfriend

I nodded. "Let's set something up."

The auctioneer came up to the stage and announced the start of the auction.

We said our goodbyes with a quick hug. "She's too good for you. You'd be a fool to let her go," he whispered in my ear.

I didn't respond, but his words lingered in my mind. He was right. Even if this was supposed to be a means to an end, it was becoming something more. Something which I wasn't ready to admit to myself yet. We took our seats and as soon as the first piece was revealed, Sasha gasped.

"That's an original 1992 Shades of Fire chiffon dress," she breathed out, her voice full of awe. "I've always wanted to see it in person. It's a masterpiece."

Her passion for design and love of vintage fashion shined brightly from her eager eyes. She leaned forward in her seat, her cheeks flushed as she admired the piece on stage. "That's one of my favorite pieces from the archive. I didn't know they were going to auction it off."

"You should bid on it. It would be a great addition to your personal collection."

She hesitated. Her gaze flicked from the auctioneer to me, and then back again. A longing expression came over her face. "I don't know. It's probably going to be way out of my budget."

Before I could respond, Cam's voice cut through the crowd. "I'll start at $10,000."

Sasha's eyes widened in surprise, and she turned to look at Cam, who winked at her from across the room. I clenched my jaw, my protective instincts and competitive streak flaring up. Cam was playing games.

The bidding quickly escalated, with several other guests joining in. Sasha watched the proceedings with a mix of awe and disappointment, clearly wishing she could participate. When the bidding reached $50,000, I raised my paddle. "$60,000."

Sasha gasped, turning to me with wide eyes. "Denver, what are you doing?"

"Winning that gown for you," I said, my voice firm.

Cam raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he raised his paddle. "$70,000."

I shot him a glare, my jaw tightening. "$80,000."

Cam smirked, clearly enjoying himself. "$90,000."

Sasha tugged on my sleeve, but I ignored her. I gritted my teeth, my grip on the paddle tightening. "$200,000."

The room fell silent, the auctioneer looking between Cam and me. Cam leaned back in his seat, raising his hands in surrender.

The auctioneer slammed the gavel. "Sold to Mr. Roberts for $200,000!"

Sasha stared at me, her expression a mix of shock and gratitude. "Denver, that's too much. You didn't have to do that."

I shrugged, trying to play it cool, but I couldn't hide the slight smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. A primitive part of me basked in the success of acquiring the dress for her. "Don't flatter yourself. I just didn't want Cam to outbid me. Besides, that dress belongs in the collection of someone who knows how to appreciate it."

She looked at me, her hazel eyes shimmering with something I couldn't quite place. Gratitude, maybe? Or something deeper? Before I could figure it out, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. "Thank you," she whispered, her breath warm against my skin.

The rest of the evening passed without incident. We left after I paid for the dress arranging for it to be delivered to the penthouse. Sasha seemed to be in a good mood. As we drove home, she sang along to the stereo, her voice slightly off-key but full of joy.

I glanced at her. "You're terrible at singing," I said, but she just laughed.

"Good thing I'm not a pop star, then."

I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips.

We arrived home and the first thing Sasha did as she stepped past the front door was kick off her heels. I paused in the doorway and watched her. It was such an everyday maneuver and it showed that she felt comfortable and at home in my penthouse. Warmth burst in my chest. There was no denying it. Everything so far today felt so right. Even though it was supposed to be pretend, it all felt so real.

"Sasha," I said, clearing my throat when I realized how hoarse my voice sounded.

Sasha spotted the bags of takeout on the dining table and sniffed the air. "Is that eggplant parmesan? I would have asked to come home earlier if I had known that was what we were having tonight." She looked at me, her eyes wide and full of happiness. Whatever I wanted to say could wait until later.

"Yeah, I ordered some takeout from Allegro. I hope you like Italian?"

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