Page 64 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

The interview wasn’t challenging—it was condescending. The man across from me smiled too much, spoke to me like I was some lost little girl instead of a woman who’d built a career in one of the most competitive real estate markets in the country. It might have flopped in the end because I couldn’t close deals fast enough to invest in the next sale, and I didn’t have the clientele the brokerage needed in the city, but I wasn’t a newbie. I knew real estate.

“We don’t get a lot of high-maintenance types around here,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “But I’m sure we could find you something simple to start with.”

Simple?

I spent years fighting tooth and nail for my place in the industry, and this man was offering me simple like I was fresh out of college.

I kept my expressions neutral, but inside, I was fuming. I forced a polite smile and straightened in my chair. “I’m not sure you understand, Mr. Henderson. I’ve been in real estate for several years. I’ve handled high-value properties in New York City. I’m not looking for something ‘simple.’ I’m here to bring value to your team.”

His smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, I don’t doubt that, Miss Watson. But Larkspur Lake isn’t New York. Things move a little slower here. People like to take their time, get to know you. It’s a different game.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk like he was about to impart some great wisdom. “We have a lot of retirees here, folks who’ve been in the same house for decades. They don’t need a big-city agent swooping in and trying to sell them on something flashy.”

My jaw tightened, but I kept my voice steady. “I understand the market here is different, but that doesn’t mean I can’t adapt. I grew up here, Mr. Henderson. I know the community.”

“Of course,” he said, nodding slowly like he was humoring me. “But let’s be honest—you left for the big city and came back when things didn’t work out. That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in our clients.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. He wasn’t just questioning my skills; he was questioning my worth. My mind raced, trying to find the right words—something sharp, something that would cut through his condescension. But before I could respond, he stood, signaling the end of the interview.

“Thanks for coming in, Miss Watson,” he said, gesturing toward the door as if I’d overstayed my welcome. “We’ll be in touch.”

I rose slowly, my legs feeling unsteady beneath me. My face burned with a mix of anger and humiliation, but I forced myself to keep my chin up. I wasn’t going to let him see how much his words had stung.

“Thank you for your time,” I said, my voice clipped but polite.

I was in such a hurry, I nearly collided with a woman coming around the corner. It took my brain a couple of seconds to register the face I was staring at.

My old boss. The woman who’d fired me back in New York.

I froze, my heart pounding. “What are you doing here?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

She tilted her head, smirking. “I could ask you the same thing. Didn’t peg you for the small-town type.”

I clenched my jaw, schooling my expression. I was not going to let her see just how much I disliked her. That gave her the upper hand. That would make her think she won. “Just exploring my options.”

Her smile widened. “Funny. I thought you’d be clawing your way back to the city by now. Guess I was wrong.” She looked around the main street area of town. “Little places like this are desperate for a helping hand. I thought my brokerage might do well to expand. Too bad you aren’t still with us. It might have been your bread and butter.”

I forced a tight smile, my chest burning with anger and humiliation. “Yeah. Too bad.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I just walked away, my heels clicking against the pavement as I made my escape. I got in my car and blasted the AC. I was suddenly very hot. My pits were sweating. I drove away with my mind racing.

I didn’t drive straight home. I couldn’t go back there the same failure I was when I left an hour ago. I didn’t know what I was expecting. Maybe it was my own ego, but I really thought I was going to walk into that small-town firm and blow their socks off with my experience. I was expecting to walk away with a job.

I pulled into a scenic overlook, staring out at the lake, the rolling hills stretching beyond it. I sat there, letting my frustration burn itself out, until the realization hit me like a gut punch. I didn’t want that job.

Not just because of the brokerage owner’s condescending tone or because running into my old boss had ripped open old wounds. I didn’t want it because it wasn’t right.

I’d spent so much time trying to rebuild what I’d lost that I’d never stopped to ask myself if I even wanted it anymore. And my personal life was getting just as messy as my professional one. What if I was running headfirst toward two things that were going to hurt me?

That thought scared the hell out of me.

I sat there at the overlook longer than I intended, the silence of the lake only disturbed by the occasional car driving by. The water shimmered under the late afternoon sun, calm and unbothered, but my mind was anything but.

I leaned my head back against the seat. “What are you doing, Portia?” I muttered to myself. It wasn’t the first time I’d asked myself that question lately. But this time, it felt heavier. More urgent.

I thought about New York—the city that had chewed me up and spit me out. I’d gone there with fire in my chest and stars in my eyes, convinced I’d make it big. And for a while, I did. Or at least, I thought I did. But then it all fell apart. The deals dried up, the clients moved on, and before I knew it, I was sitting in my car after what was definitely a failed interview.

“Failure,” I whispered the word like it was something dirty. Because that was how it felt. Like a stain I couldn’t scrub off no matter how hard I tried. It felt like everyone was watching me, waiting to see if I’d stumble again.

I couldn’t let them witness my failure in real time.