Page 106 of Scarlett and the Big Bad Billionaire
“Budget is not a problem,” I assured him. “And these two are worth it. They deserve the very best.”
He smiled and rushed away, presumably before I had a chance to change my mind.
“You do too, sweetheart,” Mom said. “I hope you’ll allow yourself to have it. Because you can have anything you want now… as long as you know what that is.”
“I do,” I assured her. “I finally do.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT
BIDDER 47
Gray
The auction had drawn an even bigger crowd than I’d expected, though maybe Ishouldhave expected it after all the publicity surrounding my “outing” as Inksy last weekend.
Once again, the ballroom at Indigo Point was full. Some of the same players were here, but there were many new faces, art investors from around the world who’d flown in with only a few days’ notice.
Thankfully, Viridian had security well in hand, and the auction was going well.
Really well. The Renoir had just sold for seventy-eight million to a private phone bidder in the United Arab Emirates.
Victoria tugged on my jacket, and I leaned down to hear her whisper.
“Don’t feel bad,” she said. “In a hundred years, yours will go for twice that much. It’s hard to compete with these dead guys.”
I laughed. “I don’t want to compete with them. I just want you to be happy and satisfied with the proceeds you’re giving to the charities Scarlett picked out.”
At Victoria’s urging, I’d donated a few more of my pieces to the cause. They’d all sold for surprisingly high sums.
Only the one I’d given to Victoria remained.Confluence—Scarlett’s favorite. The auctioneer’s assistant was placing it on the block now.
“I’m sort of regretting selling that one now,” Victoria said. Her expression was melancholy. “Maybe Shady Acres really would’ve put it on the dining room wall where I could see it every day.”
“If you’d accept my offer to move into the townhouse on the harbor with me, you could be surrounded by my paintings all day long, every day.”
She laughed. “How am I going to find a new sweetheart if I’m tied down to one man? No thank you. I’ll be happier at the retirement home where I plan to acquire a harem of more age-appropriate beaus. Besides, you’ll want privacy with your new bride.”
If only.A painful spasm gripped my heart, bringing the never-ending longing back to the forefront of my mind.
I hadn’t heard from Scarlett, though the florist in Anoka assured me she’d delivered the bouquet to her workplace and followed my other instructions to a T.
Victoria must have read my expression because she said, “Don’t worry, son. She’ll come around. All hope isn’t lost.”
The bidding began, and the selling price forConfluencequickly rose into the twenty million range. Glancing down and seeing the wistful way Victoria gazed at it, I excused myself to step out of the room, walking across the hall to a small private salon.
From behind its closed door, I dialed the auction company’s switchboard and threw my hat into the bidding ring. If she wanted to keep the painting, by God she was going to have it—at any price.
Someone in the ballroom raised the bid by a million dollars, and I matched it, adding a million more. For a few minutes, bidder number forty-seven and I went back and forth, driving the price up.
When it reached thirty million, I started to sweat. I mean, yes, I was a billionaire, but was a painting of mine really worththatmuch? And whowasthis mysterious bidder number forty-seven? I had to see.
Phone still in hand, I crossed the hall again to the ballroom, scanning the crowd to locate the determined art collector. Whoever he was, he sure had a hard-on for my work.
The auctioneer spoke again. “I have thirty million. Am I bid thirty-five?”
I hit the button on my phone to bid thirty-five million then watched carefully to see who matched me.
There.A paddle went up in the middle of the room. It bore the number forty-seven. Ah, the art collector wasn’t ahe.
