Page 95 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

We pushed the furniture around, positioning it where she wanted it.

“So, tomorrow night,” I said.

Portia looked over at me. “Nervous?”

“No.”

“Liar.” She grinned, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “It’s just dinner, Dean. Good food, good wine, and my mom destroying us all at Hearts afterward.”

I froze. “Hearts?”

“Family tradition. Why?”

A slow smile spread across my face. “I grew up playing Hearts on my parents’ boat. Your mom better watch her back.”

Portia’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, this I have to see. My mom sheds that sweet innocent grandma persona and turns into a card shark. You’re in for a treat. She’s ruthless. Doesn’t matter if you’re family—she’ll take your chips and your pride.”

“Good, I like a challenge.”

“Just don’t come crying to me when she cleans you out.”

I pulled her into my arms. “I’ll survive.”

Later, as we locked up the office, I realized I wasn’t nervous about tomorrow anymore. The Lake Festival dinner had been one thing—polite small talk with near-strangers. But this? This was different. For the first time in years, the thought of family, of belonging, didn’t make me want to run. It made me want to stay. Especially when it involved me being with Portia.

“I don’t know if I should drive,” Portia said as we walked to her car.

“Let’s walk,” I said. “It’s a nice night. And I’ll get to hold your hand.”

She burst into laughter. “Like we’re going steady?”

“Something like that.”