Page 117 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

PORTIA

I stared at my laptop screen, scrolling through rental listings for what felt like the hundredth time. The coffee beside me had gone cold, forgotten as I hunted for something—anything—that would get me out of this rental. Being this close to Dean was like a constant ache, a bruise I couldn’t stop pressing.

“Two bedroom, walking distance to Main Street,” I muttered, clicking on a promising listing only to find it was already rented. “Of course.”

My eyes kept drifting to the window, where I could see the edge of his property. I forced myself to look away. No good would come from torturing myself like this.

I needed distance. Physical distance. The emotional kind would have to come later. I thought about purchasing a home, but nothing on the market right now appealed to me. And what did appeal to me was out of my price range. So, for now, I was a renter.

Unfortunately, I was not finding anything. I told myself if I could just hold out until the end of summer, the market would be flooded with listings. All the summer people would be bailing out. But that felt like forever. And there was nothing to say Dean would even let me stay.

My phone buzzed with a text from Dad.

How are you holding up?

I typed back quickly: Fine. Looking for a new place.

You can always stay with us.

I smiled despite myself. Moving back in with my parents at twenty-seven wasn’t exactly the dream, but the offer touched me. I’d been so determined to prove myself, to show everyone I could make it on my own, that I’d forgotten what it felt like to have people who were just there. No conditions. No expectations. Just there.

Thanks, Dad. I might take you up on that.

I set my phone down and looked out the window again, unable to help myself. Dean’s truck wasn’t in the driveway. It hadn’t been for days. I’d spotted him once, riding his motorcycle out at dawn, his shoulders hunched against the wind. He looked like a man running from ghosts.

More like running from me. Boo.

I closed the laptop and checked the time. It was time to get to work. I slid my laptop into my bag and dumped out the rest of my coffee.

I grabbed my keys and headed out the door, the late morning sun warm on my face. I drove to my usual parking spot and walked down to the coffee shop.

The scent of freshly ground beans and baked goods wrapped around me like a hug. There were a couple of regulars scattered at tables with their laptops or newspapers.

“Hey, Portia.” Sarah smiled as I walked up to the counter. “The usual?”

“Yeah, thanks,” I said, returning her smile as I dug my wallet out of my bag. “You know me too well.”

Sarah chuckled, already reaching for a cup. “Double shot oat milk latte, extra foam. You’re one of my easiest customers.”

“That’s a good thing,” I said.

“How’s business?”

“Picking up,” I replied.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to the end of summer,” Sarah said.

“Why?” I asked. “I would think all the business means good tips.”

“Yes, but I’m over it. I’m ready for lazy Saturdays and Monday morning moms.”

I laughed. “I get it.”

She handed me my coffee.

“Thank you,” I said. “Hang in there. We’ve only got a few weeks left.”

She just laughed and helped the next customer. I adjusted my grip on the overstuffed folder of contracts tucked under my arm, the laptop bag hanging on my shoulder juggling my coffee in the other hand. The last thing I expected was to collide with a solid wall of muscle—until I looked up and found myself staring into familiar blue eyes.