Page 44 of Auctioned to the Billionaire Stalker

Her eyebrows hit her hairline. “Oh, really? Are you dating someone I don’t know about? Your parents haven’t mentioned anyone.”

“Not yet,” I said, standing with my hands in my jean pockets. “But I think I will be soon.”

***

It didn’t take me long to decide I wasn’t cut out for stalking. I was impatient, grumpy, and I didn’t blend into the background very well.

But I was doing my best. Daisy hadn’t given me much choice, though. After the whole debacle I liked to call ‘date gate,’ I hadn’t been able to see her. She no longer delivered my lunches. So this was the only way I was getting to see her.

My stalking had kicked up several notches.

It was a typical day, after I was all moved in to my new home, and I was following her at a distance in my Camry. I had to go pretty damn slowly to stay behind her bike and at least somewhat out of view. It wasn’t easy.

And I knew she’d seen the Camry before, but I thought it was less noticeable than my Aston Martin. I was pretty sure I knew where she was going, but I was doing a shit job of getting any details. I cringed thinking back to my last attempt.

I’d approached a guy I’d seen her talking to after one of her classes.

“So, she’s pretty, huh?” I had said, ‘casually’ leaning against a tree outside the business building on West Bay University’s campus.

“What?” The guy was sitting on a blanket, guitar in hand, and playing songs terribly in an obvious and douchey way to pick up girls. “Who are you talking about?”

I nodded my head in Daisy’s direction. She was wearing shorts so short her ass cheeks were practically hanging out, a tight Dinardo’s Deli tank top, and pink cowboy boots. She looked like a music video come to life.

“She’s alright,” the guy lied, slobber practically hanging from his mouth.

Then she flipped her long, thick hair over, pulled it all into a high ponytail, and stood up straight, making her large breasts push against the confines of her shirt.

Both of our mouths were hanging open. “Alright?”

He sighed. “Yeah, man, what do you want me to say? That I’ve been gunning for her since freshman year even though I know I don’t stand a shot with her?”

Well, that was refreshingly honest. I chose to ignore most of what he’d said. “What do you know about her?”

“Not much. She’s gorgeous, obviously, but she’s nice.” He stared at her. “Girls like her? They’re not usually nice, but she really is. She remembers my name because we had a project together four years ago. She always asks about my mom, too, who had cancer during that time. She’s just sweet.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I know she went through a bad breakup with a guy who didn’t deserve her,” he continued.

“Oh, yeah?” I wanted to know more, but I didn’t want to appear overly eager.

“Yeah. Myers Harris. Real asshole. He’s rich and good-looking, and he cheated on her the whole time they were together. With her friends.”

I felt sick at my stomach for her. That had to hurt so badly when she found out. “That’s awful.”

He nodded. “Word is that she lost all her scholarships because she was torn up about it and now she has to work two or three jobs.”

“What?” My voice came out louder than I’d meant for it to, but that tends to happen when you almost have a heart attack. “What are you talking about? I know she works at Dinardo’s Deli, but where else does she work?” Please don’t say one of Nico Salazar’s gentleman’s clubs.

He chose that moment to glance up at me. And frowned. “Who are you anyway? You look familiar…” he looked me up and down, “and kinda old. Why are you asking about Daisy? You some sort of creep?”

“Nope. And I’m only thirty.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Dude. That’s old.”

I decided it was time to move on. “Thanks.” I hurried onto the sidewalk and got as far away from the guy as I could. He looked like he probably playedCaveSphere. Of course, most college-aged guys did. But he looked as if he might be a ‘Spherical,’ which is what our more extreme fanbase called themselves.

I couldn’t have him recognize me. I was wearing sunglasses, a backwards ball cap, athletic shorts and a T-shirt, but you never knew. There aren’t many handsome, built video game designers who are six-four and carry themselves well.

I got into the Camster. That’s what my sister had called my car when we were young, and it stuck. It was like a Camry mixed with a hamster. It was during her hamster phase, when she’d had a complicated habitrail that took up much of her room. Still, some of the little guys found a way to escape. It wasn’t weird in those days to wake up to a hamster sitting on my chest, staring at me. Horrifying, but not weird.

Now here I was on another weekday, heading away from campus after solidifying what I knew of her schedule.