Page 6 of The Auction (The Black Ledger Billionaires #4)

I have officially become the most bored tech genius billionaire to ever walk the face of this earth. Possibly the universe. And I’m not being dramatic. This is totally legit.

All my companies are running like oiled machines.

Data centers are operational and stable.

I finished a prototype schematic for a robotic AI assistant with full environmental and spatial AI awareness this morning. You know—just because I had nothing else to do.

I should’ve been proud of it, but I yawned through the whole thing.

Even got into my motorcycle cosplay—leather pants, no shirt, helmet confidence and that whole “is he a criminal or a Calvin Klein model?” aesthetic—and filmed a dozen thirst trap videos for my socials.

Nothing fancy. Just brooding helmet-eye contact and flexing in various lighting conditions while my bike purred beneath me like the damn slut she is.

My scripts will post them over the next two weeks, my bots automatically interacting with comments and feeding the fanbase their daily dose of digital wet dreams. I have nearly five hundred million followers. Most of them think I’m an enigma. Mysterious. Brooding.

I’m just really fucking bored.

Maybe I’ll fire off the robot specs to my top teams. Tell them the first team to get a working prototype before I do gets an all-expenses-paid cruise. First-class. Unlimited liquor. Full spa package.

I might even go into the office and challenge them to a build-off. Give the interns heart palpitations.

But even that sounds… meh.

So, I flick on the TV. Open Snapchat on the big screen. Pull up the map just to people-watch. It’s Friday night. Everyone’s out doing stupid shit they’ll regret by morning. Maybe I’ll find some inspiration in an underground fight I can join for shits and gigs.

One avatar specifically screams at me in an instant.

“And what do we have here?”

Cassidy Hayes’ adorable little avatar is bouncing along in a car like she has somewhere important to be.

I narrow my eyes.

“Well, well. Where’s my little chargee off to?”

Because yes—I’m babysitting her.

No—I didn’t ask for this.

Yes—I’m going to have way too much fun with it.

Her avatar stops moving, settling at a restaurant I don’t recognize from the bird’s eye view, so I zoom in.

Liotta.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Trendy spot. Pretentious name. The kind of place that serves radish foam and thinks charging twenty bucks for "heritage carrots" is revolutionary cuisine.

I grin as my boredom gives way to intrigue.

“Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

It takes me less than thirty seconds to crack their camera feed. They’re running the same third-party system I’ve seen a hundred times. I punch a hole through the shit-excuse for a firewall and scroll through their camera screens like I’m flipping TV channels.

And… bingo.

Cassidy Hayes is following the hostess through the space to a table for two.

And damn.

She’s a vision. Even in grainy black and white, there’s no mistaking her—long raven-black hair tumbling over one bare shoulder, her features sharp, elegant, fierce . The camera doesn’t do her justice, but it tries.

Her raven hair has volume for days and is just screaming for someone to run their fingers through the strands and pull.

I tilt my head, squinting a little.

“Damn. Could you wear a shorter fucking dress, Cass?”

Can’t tell the color. Their feeds are outdated and grayscale. But I know it will be on her Instagram story. Not that I look at it every day to know she always posts her outfit before going anywhere.

And there it is.

A full-length mirror selfie. Phone held to cover her face. She’s kneeling, back straight. Round ass fucking screaming at me in the deep purple mini that makes her skin glow.

The woman’s a work of art—and for reasons I can’t quite explain, I feel like punching a wall.

No, that’s bullshit, I know the reason and it’s the ass-wipe sitting across from her.

Button-up shirt, lazy smirk, and the kind of energy that screams I peaked in college.

Naturally, I hate his fucking guts.

So, I do what any rational, calm, definitely-not-jealous person would do.

I take a screenshot of his face and drag it into the CIA’s facial recognition software.

Yes. I have access.

Yes. It’s illegal.

No. I don’t care.

Their system is garbage. If they didn’t want me poking around, they should’ve made it harder.

While that processes, I flip back to the feed and start rerouting the restaurant’s cameras.

One by one, I rotate each lens until all fifteen of them are pointed at Cassidy’s table.

Fifteen different angles.

Fifteen goddamn Cassidy’s.

I could make a collage.

She’s laughing now. Leaning forward like she’s actually interested in whatever Discount Wall Street is saying. She’s smiling at this piece of garbage.

Nope. Don’t like that either.

I grab my phone, pull up her contact, and hover for a second thinking of what to send. Something subtle. Just enough to make her squirm.

JAXON: So… what cha doin?

A few seconds pass.

On screen, her phone lights up against the table. She glances down discreetly, just long enough to catch the preview. Doesn’t even open it. Just turns it over.

Face down.

Harsh.

“Mkay… so we’re gonna play hard to get.” That’s my favorite fucking game, Cricket.

I stretch out on the couch, crack my neck, and type again.

JAXON: Oh that sounds like fun.

Me, you ask?

Nothing much. Just… hanging out. Watching something interesting.

Still nothing.

She's nodding along now like this guy invented Bitcoin and didn’t major in fraternity keg stands.

I drum my fingers once, grin wide.

JAXON: Are you out?

Nothing.

JAXON: With friends?

I know her phone is buzzing every few seconds with my texts.

Her hand reaches for her wine, jaw tight.

She picks up her phone again. Glances at the screen. Taps out a reply with her thumb.

CASSIDY: Why are you texting me?

I can hear the irritation in those four words.

I respond immediately.

JAXON: I don’t know. Thought we were bonding.

Don’t you feel this emotional connection?

CASSIDY: No.

JAXON: Ouch.

That’s cold, Cricket.

Like… ice bath in the Arctic cold.

You’re lucky I’m into emotional unavailability.

She rolls her eyes so hard on screen it’s a miracle they stay in her skull. She says something to her date—laughs again—and it grates like nails on a chalkboard.

JAXON: I sure could go for some fried goat cheese with fig jam right about now.

She freezes.

Head tilts. Eyes narrow. She glances at the plate that just hit their table.

CASSIDY: Are you here?

JAXON:

She starts scanning the room like she’s about to start flipping tables. My head falls back as my laugh bounces around my empty penthouse.

“God, this is better than cable.”

She texts again, fingers flying.

CASSIDY: Are you spying on me??

Jaxon: I prefer the term vigilant admirer.

Or if we’re being formal—light stalker.

Definitely not spying. That implies clearance.

This is more of a… rogue operation.

On-screen, she looks around once more—slower this time. Like she’s really considering it.

Then she types something, slams her phone facedown.

CASSIDY: UNBELIEVABLE.

I shift one of the camera feeds, zoom in tight on the dude’s face.

“What a fucking cocksucker.”

He’s a very animated talker. I take a series of world-class screenshots, catching him in perfectly ridiculous expressions that look like he’s both constipated and holding in a sneeze.

“Ew!” I squint and lean closer to the screen like it will help. “What the fuck is that?”

I zoom in. And this couldn’t get any better than if I were scripting it.

Tooth spinach.

Big ol’ leaf wedged in his front teeth like he’s pre-gaming for a Jurassic Park audition.

JAXON: You should tell him he’s got something in his teeth.

Like, half the produce aisle.

Her lips twitch. Almost a smile but she schools it fast.

CASSIDY: I will not tell him.

Now leave me alone.

JAXON: Can’t.

I’ve got a job to do.

CASSIDY: Stalking me isn’t a job.

JAXON: A little light monitoring.. if anything.

Her nostrils flare. I zoom in, frame it and hit the screenshot. That’s art.

She types again, stabbing the screen.

CASSIDY: Where are you sitting?

I’d like to slam that flambé in your smug face.

JAXON: Mmm, I love foreplay.

You look unbelievable tonight.

I attach the screenshot and hit send.

On-screen, she blinks. Sees it. And if looks could kill, I’d be a smoking crater in the middle of Manhattan.

She’s livid.

God, I love it.

Without moving her head, her eyes lift—straight up.

Right at the camera I’m watching her through.

My grin kicks up a notch. I lift my beer in salute like she can see me.

I snag another screenshot and send it to her.

JAXON: Hey, beautiful.

Right then, the corner of my screen lights up with a notification the facial recognition results just hit.

Finance Douche is now identified, and I immediately initiate a full background check.

Pings come back faster than a Red Bull-fueled coder during a hackathon.

My jaw tightens. “My, my. What a colorful history we have here.”

CASSIDY: Don’t call me that.

JAXON: He doesn’t deserve that dress.

I stand, grabbing my phone, heading to the closet.

JAXON: I mean look at this guy…

I fire off the screenshots I’ve been collecting like trading cards.

One of him mid-bite—mouth wide fucking open. Eyes rolled back into his head.

JAXON: It’s giving “I identify as a Sea Bass” energy.

Cassidy lifts her napkin to her mouth, trying— failing —to hide her smile.

Gotcha.

She quickly sobers, glancing around at more cameras. Guilty. Slightly paranoid.

JAXON: Yes, Cricket.

Every camera in the place is watching you right now.

I tug on a pair of dark jeans, black tee hugging my chest, cologne spritzed at my neck.

CASSIDY: This is quite concerning.

I’m sure the police would be interested in this information.

I think I’ll give them a call.

As I lace my boots, I chuckle low in my throat.

“Oh, Crick. You’re playing into this too perfectly.”

You just don’t even know.

JAXON: You should.

In fact, I’ll do it for you.

CASSIDY: Why are you really texting me?

Well… she’d figure it out sooner or later so might as well let the cat out of the bag now.

JAXON: Jonathan asked me to keep an eye on you.

The house.

Whatever. Same thing.

There’s that eye roll again. I feel honored I can evoke it from her so easily.

CASSIDY: Good night Jaxon.

She clicks the side button, and the screen goes black.

She turned it off. She actually turned the fucking phone off.

Oh.

Hell.

No.

You wanna play games, little Cricket?

I’m in. I’m so fucking in, you have no idea.