Page 134 of Bite Me

I’m dizzy. Suddenly, everything is scarier and a lot more permanent. Being legally tied to a stranger I know nothing about seemed like something I could manage before, but now?

“Five million.”

“Six million.”

Maybe I’m in way over my head. This was truly the worst idea I’ve ever had. I do need someone to tell me when it’s too much or, at the very least, be there to help me put out the fires I create.

“Seven million.” Haven lifts his hand.

Something tells me the things these people have planned won’t be pleasant.

“Any takers? Going once. Going twice.”

“Ten million.” Dacre’s voice is smooth as velvet.

My heart clamors in my ribs as he walks forward through the aisle in a three-piece suit. The bidding begins again, now a battle between Haven and Dacre.

He’s here. He came for me.

Dacre stands with one hand in his pocket, raising his bet with the other. I almost laugh at how beautiful he looks, standing near the stage lights with such calm resolve.

“Fifty million,” Haven says, and the bidding starts again.

My pulse rises with each passing bid. What is Dacre doing? This amount of money is unfathomable.

“One hundred million.”

Whispers sweep through the crowd as the bidding grows higher, but my eyes never leave Dacre’s. All the fear disappears in his calm, steady words. No matter how high the bid grows, he doesn’t show any ounce of fear.

I was right. He does love me like I thought he did. There’s no doubt in my mind that he would come for me, no matter what mess I left behind. He’s my glue.

“Five hundred million,” Dacre says with calm finality.

The bidding halts as the announcer repeats the words.

“Five hundred million. Going once? Going twice . . .”

This is Dacre’s money. His trust fund money.

And he’s absolutely willing to drain every last drop of it for me. My heartbeat is the only sound in my ears as the crowd cheers at the final words.

“The bid goes to Dacre Everhart.”

Chapter Fifty-Three

Dacre

My heart nearly stops when I see her. The long, white, satin dress that hugs her curves and falls off her shoulders, the veil that drags after her. Her heels click as she descends the stairs, and her glitter is a mess on her face, as if she’s shed a few tears.

I reach out my hand, and she jumps into my arms.

“What are you doing here?”

“I told you I’d take care of you.”

“What about your grandfather . . . The fiancée?”

“The video you saw was footage from the night after the dinner. I never signed anything.”