Page 16 of The Celebrity Bidder

Later, back at the shelter, I sit on the breakroom couch and flip through pages until I find the interview.

Interviewer:“There are rumors that you’ve been off the market. Any truth to that?”

Wylie:“I’m not seeing anyone right now. I’m… recovering from something real. Something I let slip away.”

Interviewer:“Care to elaborate? Is she perhaps someone we know? A certain model from your last movie?”

Wylie:“No, she’s not in the industry. She runs an animal rescue. Loves dogs more than most people. She’s funny, and passionate, and the kind of person who gives more than she ever asks for. I’ve never fallen so hard or so fast.”

Interviewer:“It sounds like it’s going to take some time to get over her.”

Wylie:I’m not sure I ever will.

I blink, and for a second, everything around me blurs.

He was talking aboutme.

I’d convinced myself it was just a fling. A fairytale. Something too big and too bright to last.

But he wanted more.

He still does.Or he did at the time of the interview, anyway.

And suddenly, all the excuses I used to keep myself safe—about needing to stay grounded, about not belonging in his world—feel small and cowardly.

I pull out my phone and call the only person who might know how to reach him.

Nadine answers on the second ring. “Bella?”

“Hi. I know this is out of the blue, but I just… I saw the interview. And I think I made a huge mistake.”

There’s a pause, then a soft, knowing laugh. “Took you long enough.”

“I need to talk to him. Just for a minute.”

“Well,” she says, “as fate would have it, he’s flying back to Hawks Roost tonight. Lands at his helipad just after sunset.”

“Can I—?”

“I’ll make sure the gate’s open.”

I hang up and breathe in deep.

The sun is setting when I reach the edge of Wylie’s property. The hum of the helicopter grows louder until it crests above the trees, circling once before landing with a graceful, practiced ease.

The blades slow, the engine powers down, and the door opens.

Wylie steps out.

And when he sees me, he stops dead in his tracks.

Then he runs.

“Bella,” he breathes when he reaches me, eyes searching mine.

“I tried not to love you,” I say, voice shaking. “But it’s impossible. I’m not built for a life in the spotlight, but… maybe I can be your Carl Dean?”

His brows draw together. “Who?”

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