Page 34 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

I gulped down water. “Hell, if I know.”

The sound of a sharp laugh cut through the air. I turned to see Seth and his crew standing now, stretching like they’d just run a marathon instead of doing absolutely nothing. Seth caught my eye and flashed a grin that made my stomach twist. He sauntered over, hands in his pockets, as casual as if he hadn’t just spent the last three hours lounging around while the rest of us worked.

“Stage looks good,” he said, nodding toward the structure we’d just finished. “You guys really outdid yourselves.”

I stared at him, the heat of the day making my temper flare hotter than usual. “Yeah. Would’ve been nice to have some extra hands.”

Seth shrugged, unfazed. “You know me, Dean. I’m more of a supervisor type. Besides, you didn’t ask.”

I clenched my jaw so hard I thought my teeth might crack. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

He laughed, clapping me on the shoulder like we were sharing some inside joke. “Relax, man. It’s just a stage. Not like it’s life or death.”

Tom and Rob exchanged a look but stayed quiet, wisely keeping out of whatever was about to go down. Seth laughed and walked away. I had a feeling he knew I was about to lose my shit.

“Alright,” I said. “Let’s finish the stairs for this thing. I need a cold beer and a lot of AC.”

Tom and Rob nodded, their expressions a mix of relief and exhaustion. We moved to the pile of lumber for the stairs, each of us hauling a board over to the stage. My hands were sore, my back stiff from the hours of bending and lifting, but I didn’t let it show. Complaining wouldn’t get the job done any faster.

Fortunately, the stairs were the easy part. We quickly assembled them before standing in the shade of an oak tree.

“Hey, guys!” a woman yelled at us. “Come get some lunch. On the house.”

“She doesn’t have to tell me twice,” Tom said.

The three of us walked over to the food truck and ordered sandwiches and drinks. It was the break we needed. None of us talked or bothered with manners. We wolfed down the food like we might never get the chance to eat again.

Unfortunately, we weren’t finished for the day. I saw one of the ladies that ran the four-square club walking toward us. I didn’t even know people did four-square until two years ago when I had been recruited to help put together the floor they needed to do their little dance.

“Shit,” I muttered. “It’s too late for me, but you guys can still run.”

“What?” Tom frowned. He made the mistake of looking over his shoulder. “Shit.”

“Too late,” Rob muttered.

We were roped into putting together the portable dance floor. Of course, nothing was ever easy, and the project took far longer than I hoped.

Later, when I was taking a break and trying to cool down, Seth found me once again. I had assumed he had left in search of air-conditioning away from the sights and sounds of hard work. I knew he had a strong aversion to both.

“Hey, big bro. You got some cash on you?”

I stared at him, my patience wearing thin. “Not for you.”

Seth’s smirk faltered, but he didn’t back down. “Come on, Dean. I just want to have a good time at the festival. You know, make the most of it.”

I shook my head, my voice firm. “I said no. I’m not buying you booze or whatever it is you think you need. It’s time for you to grow the hell up, Seth.”

Seth’s face twisted into a sneer. “Is this Portia talking? She’s got you all twisted up, doesn’t she?”

Something snapped inside me. Before I could think, I grabbed the front of Seth’s shirt, yanking him closer. “Drop it,” I growled, my voice low and dangerous. “Stop saying her name. And get the hell out of my face.”

Seth’s eyes widened, but he didn’t fight back. He just nodded, pulling free from my grip and backing away. “Alright, alright. I’m gone. Shit, you’re cranky when you’re hot.”

“I’m cranky when I’m busting my ass and you’re lounging around like you’re some fucking king too good to do peasant’s work.”

He smirked and shook his head. “Whatever.”

I watched him leave, my chest heaving with anger. I didn’t know why Seth always had to push my buttons, why he couldn’t just leave well enough alone. And bringing Portia into it? That was a low blow, even for him.

“Dean!” one of the guys called out, snapping me out of my thoughts. “You gonna help us with this or what?”

I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. “Yeah, coming.”

I walked back to the group, my muscles protesting every step. The portable dance floor was almost finished, but the last few sections were the hardest to align. We were all sweating buckets. I knelt down to help secure the final piece, my hands moving mechanically even as my mind buzzed with irritation.

“Alright,” I said, standing up and brushing sawdust off my jeans. “That’s it. We’re done.”

The others let out a collective sigh of relief, dropping tools and wiping their faces with bandanas or shirt sleeves. The festival setup was finally complete. The town square looked transformed—colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, the stage stood ready for performances, and vendors were setting up their booths, shade tents over picnic tables. It was a good feeling, seeing all that hard work come together, even if it had been a slog.

“Beer,” Tom muttered, already heading toward the nearest bar tent. “I need beer.”

I didn’t argue. A cold drink sounded perfect right about then.