4. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Bella
If I blink too hard, I swear my fake eyelashes will fly right off. How did I let Stacy talk me into this?
“Stacy,” I hiss, gripping the edge of the vanity table. “I look like a Las Vegas showgirl.”
“You look gorgeous ,” she sings, fluffing my curled hair with manic energy. “You’re going to knock ‘em dead.”
“I’m going to knock you dead if all this makeup doesn’t wash off with plain old soap and water.”
She ignores me and adjusts the neckline of my dress. It’s classy, black, and sleek… but a lot more body-hugging than I’m used to. I don’t do glam . I do flannel, boots, and whole lot of dog hair. This version of me feels like a stranger in borrowed skin.
Then I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—and okay, maybe I don’t look half bad. Even if I do feel like an imposter.
The town hall is packed when Stacy guides me toward the staging area. The auction’s already in full swing—hoots, whistles, and someone calling out dollar amounts with way too much enthusiasm. I spot too many familiar faces in the crowd, including my book club, the mayor’s wife, and one of my vet techs.
This is so humiliating.
I’d rather be mucking out kennels.
“And now,” the emcee announces, drawing the crowd’s attention, “please welcome one of Hawks Roost’s most beloved citizens. The heart behind Fielding Rescue & Rehab… Miss Bella Fielding!”
I step onto the stage, lights blinding, heart pounding.
It’s too much. The attention, the eyes. I want to shrink into myself, disappear back into the shadows with a cup of tea and a senior dachshund.
Then I spot him. Bruce.
The cheating ex who treated my heart like a dog with a chew toy.
He’s seated front and center in a tailored suit, arms casually draped over the back of his chair like he owns the place. Which, knowing him, he probably tried to do at some point. He’s made his fortune flipping properties and pretending to be charming while doing it. Stupid real estate mogul with a smarmy smile.
He winks at me, and I see red. The nerve he has! How dare he? What’s he even doing here?
Suddenly, the blood that was boiling a mere moment ago chills in my veins. Bruce wouldn’t waste his time coming to a charity event… unless he plans to place a bid.
Oh, no. I’ve made good on my vow to never speak to him again, ignoring his calls and text messages. But if he’s the highest bidder, I’ll have no choice but to go on a date with him.
I spin on my heel to march off the stage, but Stacy’s anticipated this. She’s standing right behind me with a smile pasted on her face.
“And now, let’s open the bidding for a date with Bella Fielding!” the auctioneer calls.
I hear someone call out, “Two hundred!” A second bidder raises the price by $100 a moment later.
Then Bruce stands, oozing confidence. “One thousand dollars.”
The crowd murmurs. He’s just raised the price by several hundred dollars, no doubt expecting to end the bidding.
I swallow hard, pulse racing. I quickly start to pray. Please God, don’t let Bruce win. Please, please, please, please, please…
A woman near the back raises her paddle. She’s tall, dressed in a chic black suit, and her hair is pulled into a precise bun that screams assistant-to-someone-important.
“Five thousand,” she says coolly.
Heads turn. Whispers ripple.
Bruce’s smile falters.
“Six,” he bites out, jaw tight.
“Ten thousand,” the woman replies without blinking.
The room gasps . People are sitting forward now, necks craning.
I’m frozen. Who is she? And why is she bidding on me ?
Not that I mind. Honestly, I’d choose anyone over Bruce. In a heartbeat. Even this mystery woman. I may not swing that way, but at least she never cheated on me with someone who called me “sweetie” while filing invoices.
Bruce adjusts his cuffs like he’s trying to play it cool, but I can tell he’s iriritated. “Eleven.”
The woman lifts her paddle again. Her voice doesn’t rise, but the room still falls silent as she says, “Twenty thousand.”
Someone drops a glass. I hear Mrs. Cranford from the bakery whisper, “Well, I never!”
Bruce glares, but he doesn’t raise the bid. He just sits down, defeated and sulking.
The emcee looks stunned. “Uh—twenty thousand going once… going twice… sold to the lovely lady in the back!”
Applause breaks out, along with a hundred hushed conversations as I step off the stage, heart pounding harder than ever. Stacy meets me halfway, eyes wide and sparkling with gossip-fueled adrenaline.
“Who is she?” she breathes, glancing back at the woman, who calmly tucks her paddle under her arm and returns to her seat.
“I have no idea, but she just donated enough money to fix the transport van.” And she saved me from a date with Bruce.
Whoever she is, I owe her. Big time.