Page 18 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

DEAN

I tried to forget about Portia. I told myself that helping her with the damn door was a one-time thing, just like the auction was a fluke. But when I lay in bed that night, arms crossed behind my head, my mind kept circling back to her. The way she looked standing on her porch all hot and flustered and wearing those shorts that made her legs look crazy long. The way she offered me a damn cookie.

I groaned and rolled over, punching the pillow under my head. This was ridiculous. I didn’t have time for this nonsense—for her. Portia Watson was danger wrapped in a pretty package, and I didn’t need her flipping my life upside down.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I grabbed it, half-hoping it was work-related so I could distract myself. But it was Seth. Of course.

Hey, come out. We’re at Joe’s.

The last thing I wanted to do was hang out at the bar. Things were different these days. It was no longer fun to sit at the bar with my brother. His drinking had gotten heavier, and when Seth got shitfaced, he started shit. Especially with the summer people in town. Messing with tourists almost always led to drama.

He’d been kicked out of every bar in town, but because of who I was, they always let him back in. That wasn’t helpful. I certainly hadn’t asked them for any favors. If I had my way, I would have everyone cut him off for a few months to let him get his head back on straight.

I texted him back and let him know I was in bed. He replied with the usual bullshit comment, asking which hand I was using. I sighed and set the phone back down. Once again, I flopped back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling, but my mind wandered right back to Portia again.

That stupid auction had thrown everything off balance. I hadn’t been planning to get involved—hadn’t wanted to—but when I saw her standing there with that look on her face like she was about to cry, something in me snapped. Now here I was, twenty grand lighter and unable to stop thinking about her.

The next day, I threw myself into work. It wasn’t hard to do. Summer was our busiest time of year. Everyone wanted new motorcycles to ride and enjoy the summer weather. Making custom bikes took extra time, but I wouldn’t send anything out those doors until it was perfect.

After scanning the schedule for the day, I got right to work. Some people thought it was crazy that I still got my hands dirty. But for me, the shop was everything. It was where I found peace, where I could lose myself in the hum of machinery and the rhythm of problem-solving. The smell of oil and metal, the feel of a wrench in my hand—it was my happy place.

I didn’t even mind talking to the customers. Usually, I wasn’t the friendliest guy. I didn’t like most people. But bikers, real bikers, were cool to talk to. We talked bikes. Rides. Ideas on how to make their chopper unique.

I was deep into building a beast of a bike. When this baby got running, it would sound like a jet engine. The world was in balance again and I was in my flow state. Then Seth showed up in the afternoon.

This time, he wasn’t alone. A woman was draped over his arm, giggling. He dug through my fridge for a beer. I watched in irritation as he made himself at home, as if my place was just another one of his hangouts. It had always been that way with him.

He cracked open a beer, took a drink, and then passed it to the woman. “So, you and Portia, huh?” the woman asked.

I ignored her. It was rude but so was busting in here while day-drinking. But Seth wasn’t the kind of guy to take a hint. He never had been. He took another swig of beer and nudged the woman next to him, who giggled like she’d just told the funniest joke in the world. She was one of those types—designer clothes, perfectly styled hair, and a look in her eye like she was always searching for the next piece of gossip to spread.

Despite Seth not really having two pennies to rub together, he managed to attract some of the wealthy socialites that hung out at their luxury lake houses for the summer. I figured it was them fulfilling some weird fantasy. A walk on the wild side with no strings.

“Tell him what you read in that post,” Seth urged.

“Oh, yeah, I read all about it,” she chimed in, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “Portia Watson thought she was going to strike it rich in the city. And clearly she’s looking for another way to get rich quick. There’s no shame in the game, though. My first and second ex-husbands were wealthy. And that left me wealthy. We all do what we have to.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I muttered.

“Wasn’t it?” Seth asked with a laugh. “They say a picture is worth a thousand words. The pictures all over the papers say about ten thousand words.”

I slammed the wrench down. “What’s your problem, Seth? You got nothing better to do than come in here and run your mouth? It’s the middle of the day and you’re already drunk.”

“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” the woman said.

I took a deep breath to calm down. “What are you talking about?”

The woman pulled her phone out and flashed the screen at me. “One of the local reporters, who just happens to be a friend of mine, published an article.”

“Let me see it,” I said.

She handed me the phone. I skimmed it, feeling something twist in my gut.

“Jesus,” I exhaled. “When was this published?”

“This morning,” she answered. “Portia’s name is all over town now. She’s big news. I really want to meet this chick. I bet we can be friends.”

I clenched my jaw, the words on the screen blurring as my pulse ticked up. Some damn reporter had dug into Portia’s past, unearthing what was clearly nobody else’s damn business. The headline alone was enough to make my stomach tighten. I wasn’t sure what pissed me off more—the fact that some nosy journalist had dredged this up or the fact that, when Portia saw it, she would probably try to crawl into a hole.