Page 11 of Never Been Worse

Ava and I sit for the next thirty minutes, listening to rich people overbid on various items: a hot air balloon ride, a horrifying painting of a grinning clown, a luxurious spa trip, and a self-defense girls afternoon among them.

Finally, my attention is piqued, and I roll my shoulders back, ready to win.

“And our next item is one dinner with Wes Holden of Atlas Oaks!” the auctioneer croons.

Ava found a great person for this job; his voice and humor really keeping up the entertainment of the night, but now that he’s on the one item I was interested in, I want him to shut up and get it over with.

From the corner of my eye, I see Clarissa turn to her friends with an excited smile.

Too fucking bad, bitch.

While I have nowhere to stay and no longer have the collection I hoped would launch my career, I have a good amount in savings that I’d been setting aside for some far-off wedding I didn’t realize would never come. What better way to spend it than to get a tiny, minuscule bit of revenge on the man I can’t touch without putting my friends in danger?

I down the last of another glass of champagne and smile at Ava; the look is probably a bit loopy, but what do I care? I have to focus.

“We’re going to open our bid at $500. Anyone?” the auctioneer asks, and instantly Clarissa’s paddle goes up.

“Five hundred,” she says sweetly, and her friends clap like she’s doing some grand gesture.

“Five fifty,” I say confidently, lifting my paddle.

Someone behind me shouts two thousand, and Clarissa counters with $2,100.

I lift my paddle once more.

“Twenty-five hundred,” I say, shoulders back, chin tipped.

“Three thousand!” a voice from the edge of the room says. This goes on, the bidding war commencing, but I stand strong.

“Seventy-five hundred,” I say when it’s down to just me and Clarissa. Where we’re seated, I can see her, but I don’t think she can see me, at least not well, as she keeps shifting to try and catch a good look at me.

“Harper!” Ava says, under her breath through gritted teeth. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes. I’m winning,” I whisper back, keeping that smile on my lips. “Help a girl out so I don’t use all of my savings on this, will you?” I ask.

When Clarissa raises her hand up, Ava smiles, standing and moving around the room smoothly, saying hello to people as she goes along. She grabs pop star Willa Stone’s hand, knowing her through Jaime, who has guarded her a few times, a few tables over, and tugs her to where my enemy is.

I watch as Ava whispers something to Willa, who nods excitedly, and then finally, they make it to Clarissa as she ups her bid to $9,750. My stomach churns at the figure, despite the tax write-off and the good cause, it’s an irresponsible amount of money.

But once again, I remind myself, where has being responsible gotten me?

Ava taps on Clarissa’s shoulder, and she turns around with an annoyed look before smiling sweetly when she sees Willa. Ava begins doing what she does best, schmoozing, with Willa stepping in as well, gushing over her like she’s a fan, and Clarissa eats the attention up.

“Ten thousand,” I say loudly.

But Clarissa is too busy being the center of attention, having pop star Willa Ford in front of her and giving her the time of day. Her friend taps her shoulder, but Clarissa glares at her, brushing her off with a bit too much force, her entire table of friends giving each other a look I take note of.

It seems her little crowd of admirers might not be as admiring of her as I thought.

“Ten thousand, going once…” The room stays quiet as I look around the room. “Going twice...” I fight the urge to smile before I win. “Sold! To the pretty girl in gold!”

Ava and Willa wave goodbye as soon as the auction ends, and I watch as Clarissa realizes she lost, her face going red with anger as she looks to the auctioneer, moving quickly to the stage to argue. I can’t hear the conversation, but I see the auctioneer shake his head and shrug like there’s nothing he can do while Clarissa throws a full-on tantrum.

I watch as a few attendees take pictures and post them on social media with pleasure.

Finally, I let myself smile, and after everything in the past few weeks, it feels so foreign on my lips.

“What the hell was that?” Ava asks with a laugh, a bit of concern in her eyes like she thinks I might snap.

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