Page 14 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

By the time I locked up the shop and headed home, the sun had long since set. The typical muggy feeling and eight million mosquitoes swarmed me as I walked to my place. I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings—I was too busy trying to convince myself that I didn’t care about Portia or what had happened earlier—but then I caught sight of movement near the lake.

It was her. Portia.

She was walking alone. She had changed out of the dress and was wearing a pair of shorts and sandals. A tiny tank top rose just above her waistline. The moonlight caught in her hair, turning it silver, and for a moment, I just stood there, watching her. She paused at the edge of the lake, her gaze fixed on the small island in the center, out in the distance. It looked ominous in the dark, just a shadowy mass of trees and shoreline, but I knew what it meant to her. I remembered that night, even if I hadn’t been there. Everyone in town did.

I didn’t call out to her. I didn’t say a word. I just stood there, watching as she stared out at the water, lost in thought.

Judging by the expression on her face, I suspected she was thinking about her life choices and how she ended up back here. I often did the same thing. Usually, I just stared out at the water, but I knew her gaze was on that island. I knew she was thinking back to that night and hating the fact she was here again.

I forced myself to keep walking. It wasn’t my business. I didn’t care. Portia wasn’t my problem.

The problem was me—I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

I walked up the gravel driveway to my place. The large house loomed ahead, dark and quiet, just the way I liked it. I didn’t bother flipping on the lights as I stepped inside. I didn’t need them. I knew every inch of the place by heart.

The bottle of whiskey was where I always left it, on the counter next to the sink. I grabbed a glass, poured myself a drink, and carried it to the living room. I didn’t sit. I just stood there, staring out the window into the night.

The lake stretched out in front of me, its surface calm and glassy under the moonlight. Portia was still there. She hadn’t moved far from where I’d seen her earlier. She was still at the edge of the water, her arms crossed like she was holding herself together. The breeze caught her hair, and even from this distance, I could see the way her shoulders slumped, like the weight of the world was pressing down on her.

I took a sip of the whiskey, letting the burn distract me for a second. It didn’t work. My eyes stayed locked on her, no matter how much I told myself to look away. She wasn’t my business. But damn if she didn’t have a way of pulling me in, even when I didn’t want to be pulled. I was probably just feeling guilty for letting my brother and his friends hassle her.

She turned then, like she could feel me watching her. Her gaze drifted up to where I was standing. I knew she couldn’t see me, but maybe she could sense me watching. Either way, she turned and walked to the rental house.

I finished my whiskey and headed for bed.

The next day, the damn auction article was everywhere. One of the hundreds of pictures that had been taken of us at the event was plastered on the front page. It couldn’t have been a worse picture, which I had a feeling was the intention. It was Portia and me, standing awkwardly on stage, her looking like she’d rather be anywhere else and me looking like I wanted to bolt. The headline was ridiculous: Local Girl Returns Home… and Wins Herself a Jackson.

Ridiculous.

It was all anyone could talk about. I heard it at the gas station, at the diner, even from a couple of guys who stopped by the shop to pick up parts. Everyone had an opinion, and none of them were subtle about it.

I was busy working on a carburetor that was acting up when Seth walked in.

He had that stupid grin on his face. “Making headlines again,” he said.

“Does this town have nothing better to talk about?” I shook my head.

“What’s the deal with the two of you?” he asked.

“There’s no deal. Don’t believe everything you read online.”

“I don’t but I believe my own eyes. Portia was looking real cozy in here last night. Are you guys hooking up?”

I shot him a look. “You’re worse than the rest of the gossips in town.”

He held up his hands, still grinning. “Hey, I’m just saying. First me, now you. She must really like the family. She paid twenty grand for one night with you. That’s pretty impressive. At least I never charged her when we dated in high school.”

I turned back to the bike I was working on, my hands tightening around the wrench. Seth knew how to push my buttons, and he was doing it on purpose. He always did but he’d really been chapping my ass these last couple of days.

“You know, I heard she’s been through a lot,” Seth continued. “Coming back here after everything that happened in the city? It can’t be easy. Maybe she just needs someone to⁠—”

“Can you fuck off already?” I snapped, cutting him off. “I don’t care, Seth. Stop being a pain in my ass.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “You sure you don’t care? Because you’ve been staring at that bolt for the last five minutes, and I’m pretty sure it’s already tight.”

“You’re a dick,” I said. “You have no respect for women. For anyone.”

Seth’s grin faltered for a moment, but he recovered quickly, shrugging it off. “Respect? Come on, Dean. You’re the one who’s always saying people are a waste of time. But look at you now. Portia’s got you all twisted up and you can’t even admit it.”

“She doesn’t have me anything,” I growled, slamming the wrench down on the workbench. “You, on the other hand, have me ready to pull my own hair out. I know you’re bored but maybe read a book or something.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll leave you to your brooding. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when she winds up breaking your heart.” He laughed and walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

And my thoughts, unfortunately, were still on Portia.

By evening, I was done. I’d spent the whole day trying to focus on work, but every time I thought I’d put her out of my mind, something would bring her back. The article. Seth’s stupid comments. The memory of her standing by the lake, looking so lost. Maybe she did have me all twisted up. Fuck that. I just needed to forget about her.

I locked up the shop and headed for home, thinking about the leftovers I was going to eat with the whiskey I planned on downing. On the way past the house she was in, I spotted her again. She was outside her rental, struggling with the screen door. It was hanging off its hinges, and she was trying to prop it up with one hand while holding a toolbox in the other. She looked frustrated, her hair falling out of its ponytail and her cheeks flushed from exertion. I told myself to keep walking. It wasn’t my problem. That had to be my new mantra: not my problem.

But before I could stop myself, I was walking up to the rental house.