Page 8 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

DEAN

I was elbow deep in the guts of a stubborn engine when I heard the door to my shop creak open. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Portia Watson. Right on time.

Part of me thought she would back out. Then again, she did bid twenty grand for the chance to hang out with me for a couple of hours.

Technically, that wasn’t true. Both of us knew damn well she didn’t bid on me. But when I considered my options, she seemed like the lesser of the twenty other evils trying to win that date with me. I could handle Portia Watson.

I kept my focus on the engine in front of me, my hands moving methodically as I tightened a bolt. I didn’t say a word as her footsteps echoed across the concrete floor, the sharp click of her heels sounding out of place in the grime and grit of my shop. We didn’t get a lot of heels in here. She stopped a few feet away. I could feel her eyes on me, waiting for me to acknowledge her. I didn’t. Not right away. She could sweat a little.

“Dean,” she said finally.

I grunted in response.

“We need to talk. Can you do that? Or is it all grunting and growling?”

I wiped my hands on a rag and finally looked up, narrowing my eyes at her. She was standing with her hands on her hips, already annoyed, wearing a dress that looked like it belonged at some fancy brunch, not in a motorcycle shop. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and her green eyes were filled with fire, like she was ready for a fight. Good. I wasn’t in the mood to make this easy for her.

I needed a little spice in my life. Portia seemed like she was prepared to deliver. Little Miss Hot Stuff thought she was going to stroll in here in her four-inch heels that made her legs look six-feet long and make demands?

Miss Hot Stuff was about to learn a lesson. No one ordered me around. No one made demands of me.

“You want to talk? Then talk.” I leaned back against the workbench and crossed my arms over my chest. “But make it quick. I’ve got work to do.”

“You told me to be here at six,” she said, looking offended. Then she took a deep breath, clearly trying to compose herself. “Look, I didn’t mean to bid on you last night. It was a mistake. I can’t afford to pay that bill. The coordinators won’t let me out of the deal. So I’m here to figure out a solution. I don’t want a date with you. No offense. I just need to fix this.”

I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Fix it?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m not here to go on some date with you. I just want to figure out how to make this right.”

I smirked, shaking my head. “Too late for that, sweetheart. I already covered the bill.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked genuinely shocked. “You what?”

“I covered the bill,” I repeated, my tone flat. “It’s done. So now, I’m going to get my money’s worth out of you.”

She stared at me, her mouth opening and closing like she was trying to find the right words. “You—you can’t just⁠—”

“I can,” I interrupted, cutting her off. “And I did. So unless you’ve got the twenty thousand lying around, settle in, Princess.”

She glared at me, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “This is ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well, life’s ridiculous,” I shot back, turning back to the engine. “Now, if you’re done complaining, I’ve got work to do.”

I could feel her standing there, seething, but I didn’t care. She’d bid on me, whether she meant to or not, and now she was going to deal with the consequences. I didn’t need her money—hell, the bid amount was nothing to me. Plus, I knew her story. She was back here because she was broke.

I wasn’t about to let the charity lose out because of a silly misunderstanding. The less fortunate got their money and a little extra. No harm, no foul. Not really. Now I wanted to see how she reacted. Would she stick around or would she leave the moment she understood I wasn’t going to stop her?

But Portia, stubborn to a fault, didn’t leave. Instead, she grabbed a wrench off the workbench and held it up. I glanced over at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you going to hit me with that?” I asked, my tone dry.

“We’ll see,” she said. “But for now, I want to help. You said you were going to get your money’s worth out of me, right? So let’s get to work, boss.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. She had to be bluffing. I could see right through her. But I had to admit, her determination was kind of cute.

“You think I want to get my money out of you by you working in my shop?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I hope you don’t think I’m going to work it off on my back.”