Page 41 of The Auction
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can'tlookanywhere but him.
Because Jaxon never takes his eyes off me. Not even when the auctioneer recites the totals with more and more disbelief. He’s locked in, throwing out numbers like they don’t matter. Like they’re loose change.
The room has gone silent around us, except for the gasps and murmurs. No one expected this and Christ, neither did I.
“Fifty million,” Elijah calls, his voice sharp and triumphant.
The entire audience loses it. People are whispering, stunned. Someone actually chokes on their drink and coughs.
I take a shaky step forward, lips parting. “Jaxon?—”
But he doesn't move. He’s planted like a monument of fury, every muscle coiled tight beneath that white shirt.
“One hundred million.”
“Twohundred million.” The competitor boasts and that does it.
Jaxon exhales through his nose—slow, measured—then, to my utter horror:
“One billion dollars and…”
He reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet, cracking it open like it’s nothing more than an inconvenience.
“Let’s see,” he says, pulling out cash fanning through the bills. “Two hundred and thirty-three dollars and…”
He pauses to dig in his pocket.
Yes. His actual pocket.
The man pulls out change.
“…Seventy-four cents.”
And then—he throws it.
The bills flutter like confetti as they scatter to the ground at the man’s feet, coins hitting the marble with a metallic clatter.
The roomerupts.
Gasps. Laughter. Someone in the back actually yells, “Holy shit.”
Jaxon turns his body fully toward his competitor, hands shoved casually back in his pockets.
“Say another fucking number,” he growls, voice low and sharp as a knife. “And I’ll double it again, Elijah. Fuckingtryme.”
The guy opens his mouth—then closes it. Swallows hard.
Jaxon has him and he knows it.
Everyone does.
The auctioneer—who’s been riding this chaos like it’s the Kentucky Derby—steps in with perfectly timed drama.
“Going once…”
Silence.
“Going twice…”
