Page 101 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

I put down the hammer and waited for the other shoe to drop. I knew it was coming.

She was quiet for a long moment before responding. “I’d be interested in hearing more. Can you send over the details?” A pause, then a light laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yes. I appreciate the call.”

When she hung up, she kept staring at the phone like it might bite her.

I already knew. But I asked anyway. “Who was that?”

She looked up, and there it was—that spark I had seen when she told me she was going to open the brokerage. Ambition. Excitement. Hunger.

“That was a brokerage in San Francisco,” she said slowly. “They’re interested in me.”

I kept my face neutral, my voice steady. “That so?”

“Yeah.”

The word hung between us, heavy with unspoken implications.

In the silence, a terrible truth settled in my gut like a stone.

Portia didn’t belong here. Not really. This town was my home—the lake, the shop, the life I’d built. But her? She was wildfire contained in a mason jar, and San Francisco was offering her the open sky. She was meant to do big things. She couldn’t do that here.

And if I wasn’t careful, I’d be the one holding the lid.

I forced a smile. “Sounds like a hell of an opportunity.”

Her eyes searched mine. “It is. Huge. When I got fired in New York, I had sent them my resume.”

I nodded, the weight of her words pressing down on me like a physical thing. “Right. That makes sense.” My voice sounded distant, even to me. I grabbed the hammer from where I’d set it on the desk and shoved it back into the toolbox.

“I’ve got to go,” I said abruptly. I didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. If I did, she’d see it—the gut-punch realization that she was already slipping through my fingers before I’d even figured out how to hold on to her.

“Oh. Okay. Is everything okay?”

“Yep,” I lied, snapping the toolbox shut with more force than necessary. “Just remembered something I need to take care of at the shop.” I walked over and gave her a kiss. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Dean—” Her voice stopped me just as my hand hit the doorknob.

I paused but didn’t turn around. My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped a chain around it and was pulling tighter and tighter. I had to get away from her before I begged her to stay. There was no way I was going to do that to her or to myself.