Auctioned To Be Mine (The Billionaire Legacy #5)

Chapter 1

CALLUM

My brother and I pulled up to the curb in front of the expensive restaurant where I was about to have a date. Dread filled me at the prospect of walking in there, and I considered driving away.

The valet moved toward my car, unaware of my inner battle, and bent over so he could speak to me through my open window. He had a face full of pimples and precisely eight beard hairs.

“Would you like me to park your car for you, sir?”

I studied him. How old was this kid? He must have been the restaurant owner’s son to justify letting him get behind the wheel of such luxury and speed. Not a business risk I’d take, but hey, to each their own.

“Give me a few,” I told him.

My brother Drew sat in the passenger seat scrolling on his phone.

He was the second oldest child in the family, with me being first, but sometimes the age gap felt a lot longer than two years.

It was probably the mischievous smile on his face, like he never took anything seriously.

“He’s going to put a dent in it for sure. ”

The kid overheard and sulked back to his spot at the podium, guarding all the other restaurant guests’ keys.

Drew chuckled and held his phone out to me.

“Your date hasn’t changed a bit since the last time I saw her.

” His pitch rose with amusement that he tried to conceal with a cough.

“Chantilly Giles is an influencer now? Isn’t her father too rich for her to be in the business of instant gratification and doom scrolling? ”

Leaning over, I peered at a video she had posted to her socials a couple days ago. It showed her berating a server and demanding free food. Otherwise she would put the restaurant on blast. I cringed.

Chantilly’s parents were friends of the family, and my brothers and I had seen them all occasionally.

Mostly banquets, fundraisers, galas, that sort of thing.

I’d never had a conversation with her that inspired anything other than boredom and the white-hot desire to escape.

Her dad and ours got along well enough, and I had to wonder if Dad owed her family a favor or something, and that’s why I’d been sent to “court” her.

Tonight, that desire to run was making my palms itch.

Drew scrolled to the next video. Chantilly stood in front of a wall mural, criticizing the artwork right in front of the artist himself. He stood in stony silence while she shared her wisdom about his color choices and “heavy-handed strokes.” Like she knew what the hell she was talking about.

Drew shot me a sympathetic glance. “This is rough, man. She’s insufferable.”

“She’s going to fly too close to the sun one day and get burned.”

“At least our old man made sure we knew the value of hard work and a dollar.” Drew locked his phone and slid it in his pocket. “Can you imagine if we’d turned out like her?”

Drew was right. Dad raised us with some old-fashioned work ethic, discipline, and a relentless drive to blaze our own trails in the world.

Which, perhaps, had backfired because none of his sons or our sister, Cleo, had decided to follow in his footsteps and pursue work in the movie industry.

But at least none of us turned out like Chantilly.

“Let’s go over the plan again,” I said.

“Dude, you’re fine. This is an easy plan. Trust me.”

“What’s stopping you from leaving me to my fate in there and laughing the entire time while you’re safe in the car?”

Drew shrugged. “I guess you’ll just have to have a little faith.”

Faith. Sure. The only thing I had faith in was that this whole evening was going to be a waste of time, and Chantilly’s personality would send me spinning off a ledge.

The woman was a spoiled and entitled trust-fund brat who used her good looks and family name to get whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, from whoever she wanted.

The staff at the restaurant had no idea what kind of unholy hell was about to rain down on them.

Drew nudged me with his elbow. “Time to go.”

A groan escaped me and I hung my head. “I’ve got another minute.”

Drew laughed. “Don’t be a chicken shit. She may be a brat, but she’s just a girl, and you’re a Blackwell. Maybe she’ll appreciate that you’re slumming it with her and she’ll act right.”

I stared blankly at him.

Drew held up both hands. “Okay, okay, fine. She’s going to be lame as fuck.

But when the night is over, you and I are going to have a lot to laugh about.

Now get out there and hit her with your best smile so she won’t claim you sabotaged things from the jump.

Dad will be livid if he thinks you tanked this on purpose. ”

“Keep an eye out for my text. If you ghost me…” I trailed off, fixing Drew with a stare and silent threat.

“I’ve got you. Go.”

Drew slid into the driver’s seat once I exited the car. As I buttoned my suit jacket and smoothed the navy material, he pulled away from the curb and took an immediate left to park in the back lot. Sighing, I turned to move toward the front doors.

As I turned, I collided with someone that smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, and I took an abrupt fall, landing hard on my ass.

What the hell?

I looked at a young woman who had fallen to her knees in front of me on the sidewalk. She was scrambling to collect the contents of her purse that had gotten loose. She blew a strand of curled blonde hair out of her eyes and shook her head as she muttered to herself. I caught bits and pieces.

“Jerk… watch where you’re going… standing right there… how rude.”

She shoved lip gloss into her purse, along with a small notebook, a leather wallet, keys, and hand lotion. Finally, she looked up at me, her blue eyes looking over my suit and then locking onto my gaze. “Are you okay?”

“Watch where you’re going, will you?” I told her, annoyed.

Her eyes widened. “I was just standing here minding my own business. You watch where you’re going.”

She pushed to her feet and slid the strap of her small purse over her bare shoulder.

Her cheeks were nearly the same shade of pink as her dress.

Little flowers hung from her ears on gold chains, her full lips shimmered with gloss, and her eyelids were dusted with a subtle gold sparkle.

She had the longest lashes I’d ever seen, and her scowl was so scrunched they touched her eyebrows.

Kind of adorable, I thought.

She noticed a bit of dirt clinging to the hem of her dress and brushed at it frantically. When it didn’t come out, she pointed a finger at me. “I just bought this! Ugh.” Shaking her head, she spun on her heel and marched to the front doors of the restaurant.

She disappeared inside and I stared up at the doors, delaying my fate for another few seconds.

Then I mustered the nerve to head inside, where the hostess greeted me with a big smile, addressed me by name, and saw me to the table I’d reserved for Chantilly and me.

Near the back door, tucked away from other tables, with a window view of the small courtyard patio where other diners were sipping specialty cocktails and sharing appetizers.

Chantilly had already arrived.

She sat with regal posture and snapped pictures of the table setting with her phone. She straightened the gold cutlery, adjusted the bread basket and bowl of oil and balsamic, and snapped more pictures. Then she turned the lens toward herself and took some selfies.

She’d done herself up nicely. I had to give her credit for that.

Her auburn hair was done up in a twist at the back of her head and secured with a sparkly black pin.

One strand hung loose to frame her face.

Her eyes were a bit dark, lots of shadow and heavy shades, which felt ironic considering the video I’d just watched of her critiquing the artist for his heavy-handed approach.

She spotted me coming and perked up. “Callum! Hi!” She sprang up from her seat, hurried over, and greeted me with a hug and a peck on each cheek.

I could feel the waxy imprint of her lipstick on my skin as we both took our seats.

“You look dashing,” she told me. “Like James Bond.”

“Thanks. You look lovely as well.”

She dipped her cheek to her shoulder in a bashful gesture. “You think so?”

“Yes, otherwise I wouldn’t have said so.”

“You’re so funny.” She giggled and slid the cocktail menu toward me.

“I hear they make a beautiful rosehip martini here. I’m going to try one.

Maybe you could get an old fashioned or a whiskey on the rocks?

Something masculine that will look nice in a photo with my drink.

I want my followers to know I’m being treated to a nice evening out with a billionaire.

” She pumped her overly plucked eyebrows.

Fucking hell. Here we go.

“I’m probably going to stick with water this evening,” I said carefully.

I could have sworn her right eye twitched.

She cocked her head. “Water? Oh, no, no, no. That won’t do. Darling. I’m a Giles. You’re a Blackwell. Water?” A giggle burst out of her that turned heads all around us. I wished I could turn into a liquid so I could spill onto the floor, be mopped up by staff, and squeezed into a filthy mop bucket.

It would have been better than this.

Chantilly caught a passing waiter, ordered her rosehip bull shit, and an old fashioned for me.

“You’ll love it,” she assured me.

I reached for a piece of bread.

She smacked my hand. “Wait! I’m not done taking pictures. Wait until our drinks arrive so I can stage the table.”

Fuuuuck me.

In half an hour I could blow this whole thing off, text Drew, and kick off our plan to get me the hell out of here.

Until then, I was stuck with LA’s most irritating influencer.

Self-consciously, I looked around the restaurant, wondering if anyone would recognize me here with this wildly annoying dinner date.

I didn’t want people thinking we were a couple.

Our drinks arrived, and my plan to not consume alcohol went out the window when Chantilly sent her drink back three times because the bartender had to get it “just right.” By the time her cocktail finally suited her standards, I’d downed my entire drink and put in an order for a second. I almost asked for a triple.

“You know,” Chantilly mused, resting her chin in the palm of her hand.

Her long, ruby red manicured nails pressed into her cheek.

“We’ve wasted so much time. You and I could have gotten together way sooner than this.

What were our fathers dilly-dallying about?

We’re a great match. You’re the most handsome bachelor in LA.

I’m, well, you know.” She gestured down at herself and batted her lashes at me.

“Come sit next to me so we can take a selfie and mark the occasion.”

“The occasion being?” I asked dryly.

“Our first date, of course! We can put this picture up at our wedding.” She squealed. “How do you feel about white roses and lilies?”

Drew, you’d better be ready to blow this night up sooner rather than later and get me the fuck out of here.