Page 104 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

DEAN

I saw Portia coming before she even got out of her car. There was a part of me that knew what was coming. The way she walked—shoulders squared, chin lifted—told me everything I needed to know. The email had come. The offer was real. I had avoided her last night because I knew this was the conversation she wanted to have. I had tried to stay away from her so it wouldn’t happen. Sticking my head in the sand was never going to work. I knew that, but it gave me some time to process and prepare.

When I heard that phone call yesterday, the fragile little fantasy I’d let myself believe in was over. Staying busy was the only way I could keep myself from spiraling. Maybe if I didn’t look at her, I could pretend this wasn’t happening.

Her ambitions were never here in this town. I knew that deep down. I’m not the sort of guy to expect or ask her to give up such a great offer all because I want her here. I’m also not the sort to follow a woman to pursue her dreams when my roots are firmly planted here. And San Francisco? That sounds like my version of hell. I know I can be a grumpy asshole as it is. Throw me into that inferno and I’ll be infinitely worse. She’d grow to resent me, and possibly hate me. It’s better to avoid that.

“Dean?” she whispered. Her eyes were pleading with me.

“It sounds like a great opportunity,” I said. “The dream job, right?”

“Well, yes. In a way.”

“Then you should take it,” I said. “That sounds right up your alley.”

I reached for the pull cord and yanked it hard enough I nearly pulled it clean off. The mower roared to life and I went back to mowing the lawn.

I felt her hand on my shoulder. I stopped walking but kept the mower running. She jerked my hands off the handle, cutting the engine again. I should have known there was no way she was just going to let me walk away that easily.

“Are you saying I should take the job?” she asked.

“Of course. It’s what you want. What you’ve always worked for.” My voice sounded foreign to my own ears—cold, detached, like I was negotiating a contract. “Chances like this only come once.”

Portia looked like I had slapped her. My guts twisted in knots. I had to look away. I wanted to reach for her, hug her, and tell her everything was okay.

But it wasn’t.

“Are we… is this over?” The question was honest and painful at the same time.

But if there was one thing I was good at, beyond building motorcycles, it was detaching. I could distance myself from pesky emotions. Feelings made me weak. I couldn’t afford to be emotionally invested in her or the situation. I had to take a giant step back proverbially and physically.

Her hand went to her hips. She glared at me, waiting for me to answer her. It was time to break her heart. I could practically feel the ice coating my own heart as I pulled back.

“You know this place isn’t right for you. Me either. I’m not someone you settle down with. I was naïve for thinking it could work.” The lie tasted bitter. “It was fun while it lasted, though. You’re fun. We had fun together, but I told you before I didn’t do relationships and shit like that.”

“Fun?” She choked out the word like it burned her throat. “That’s it? Fun?”

I forced a smirk. “Did you not have fun?”

Her eyes searched mine, and for a second, I thought she might actually swing at me. Instead, she just shook her head. “Wow.”

“What?”

“You’re really doing this?” Her voice cracked. “Just shutting down like none of it mattered?”

I crossed my arms, my pulse hammering against my ribs. “What do you want me to say, Portia? That I’ll move to San Francisco? Follow you around like some lost puppy?” I barked out a laugh. “That’s not me. You know that.”

“So that’s it?” Her hands clenched at her sides. “No discussion? No trying to figure something out?”

“There’s nothing to figure out.” The words came out sharper than I meant. “You’ve got one life. You really want to spend it tied to some small-town mechanic who’d hate every second of city living? You and I were never going to last. Even if you stayed, this thing would be over by the end of summer. That’s the way it goes.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought she might cry. I braced myself for it, ready to weather the storm of her tears. But instead, her jaw tightened, and she squared her shoulders. Good. Anger was better. Anger would make it easier for her to walk away.

“Don’t do that,” she said, her voice low and trembling. “Don’t act like this is nothing. Like we’re nothing.”

I shrugged, forcing my face into something neutral, casual, like this conversation wasn’t tearing me apart from the inside. “It is what it is, Portia. We had a good time. That’s all it was.”

She took a step closer, her green eyes burning into mine. “You don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to tell me what this was or wasn’t.”