Page 21 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

PORTIA

I was desperate to do something with my time rather than pace my rental house. I was used to being on the go in the city. If I wasn’t actively working or trying to hunt down leads for work, there had always been people to see and places to go. Free and paid things to do. The city was just always moving.

Back here in Larkspur, I had nothing going on. I didn’t have a job. I had exactly one friend. No hobbies to speak of. The house was clean. It wasn’t like I was really a slob. It wasn’t even my house. It was a rental and a temporary one at that. It wasn’t like I could renovate or do yard work. My options were pacing, lounging by the lake, or going to visit Alexis. I knew she was working. She had a lot of work. A purpose. Something I was sorely lacking right then.

I felt like I was surfing. Riding a wave that was going to crash down any minute. My wave in Manhattan crashed. I got up and moved home. Once again, I was riding another wave that was bound to crash at any minute. When my savings ran out and I couldn’t pay rent, then what? I could get a job but doing what? Waitressing? I honestly didn’t know. I was a failed realtor. I didn’t dare try and hang my shingle here. People would laugh me right out of town.

When this wave crashed, I was going to go under. There would be no soft landing for me.

I grabbed my keys off the counter, unable to stand the quiet of the house any longer. My thoughts were too loud, too suffocating. I needed air, movement, something to distract me from the spiral I was in. The lake was too still, too serene—it only made me feel more restless. Alexis’s shop was my only option, even if she was busy. At least there, I wouldn’t be alone with my thoughts.

I drove through the streets I’d known my whole life but they now felt foreign. The town hadn’t changed much—not really—but I had. Coming back here felt like stepping into a pair of shoes that didn’t fit anymore. Too tight in some places, too loose in others. I didn’t belong here, not like I used to. But I didn’t belong in Manhattan either. So where did that leave me?

I pulled up to Alexis’s shop. The bell above the door jingled as I walked in. She looked up from the sewing machine, her face lighting up when she saw me.

“Portia! Hey,” she said, moving a pile of fabric off the chair next to her. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I lied, forcing a smile. “Just… bored. Thought I’d come by and see what you’re working on.”

She gave me a knowing look but didn’t press. “Well, you’re in luck. I’ve got a mountain of orders to get through, so you can help me.”

“Uh, I don’t know if I have any business sewing anyone’s clothes.” I laughed.

“You can just do some pinning, and I’ll do the sewing. Idle hands and all that. It’s strangely cathartic to sew. It focuses your mind.”

I snorted. “I definitely need that.”

For a little while, it felt almost normal. Like I wasn’t the town’s latest gossip fodder. She had the tin of cookies on the counter. While she sewed and ate, I pinned hemlines or repairs. I couldn’t count the number of times I poked my fingers with the needles. I was going to go home looking like a pin cushion.

The door pushed open. Before I ever saw the woman, I smelled her. It was a lot of perfume. I forced a smile when I saw Cara Thornton. She had been born and raised in town and would probably die here. Sooner rather than later. She was still spry, but she had to be pushing eighty.

“Oh, what a surprise!” she exclaimed when she saw me.

“Hello, Mrs. Thornton.”

“Oh, honey, don’t look so serious!” she said with a laugh.

I didn’t think I wore a serious expression but I tried on a smile just in case.

“I’ll get the dress,” Alexis said and rose from her seat. She pulled a gown from a rack and held it out for her.

“Perfect!” Cara said.

She took it and walked into the dressing room. I shot Alexis a look. Alexis just smiled in return.

Cara grunted and groaned a few times before stepping out of the dressing room. She immediately went to the platform like she had done this a hundred times before.

“So, how was your date?” Cara asked, looking at me in the mirror.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I was at the auction,” she said. “Dean Jackson? That’s a prime cut of steak if I ever saw one. I don’t blame you for going all out for that one. If I was thirty years younger, I would break me off a piece of that.”

Thirty years? How old did she think Dean was? How old was Cara?

I felt my face heat. “I didn’t—” I started, but she waved a manicured hand, cutting me off.

“Oh, hush now, sugar. No need to explain yourself to me. I would have done it myself if my Arthur hadn’t been sitting right next to me. He’s the jealous type.” She shot me a wink in the mirror as Alexis bent down to readjust and pin the hem of her gown. “And you should’ve seen the way Dean looked at you after you won. Whew! That was a moment, let me tell you.”