Page 99 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

DEAN

“Keep an eye on the torque specs for the new build,” I said, tossing a wrench onto the workbench. “And double-check the alignment before you bolt that front end down. I don’t want it coming back because it’s wobbling at highway speeds.”

Jake nodded, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. “Got it, boss. Anything else?”

I glanced at the clock. “Yeah, I’m heading out for the rest of the day. If anyone calls, tell them I’ll be back in tomorrow morning.”

“Everything okay?” he asked. Jake knew better than most that I didn’t take time off unless it was serious.

“Everything’s fine,” I said, shrugging into my jacket. “Just something I need to take care of.”

He didn’t press. “Alright. We’ll hold down the fort.”

“Good.” I grabbed my keys off the hook by the door and paused. “Oh, and if Seth’s buddy shows up⁠—”

Jake groaned. “We kick them out.”

“Yep. I don’t want them hanging out.”

“Got it.”

I was making changes. I didn’t want them around. My shop wasn’t a flop house. They weren’t going to bring their bullshit around anymore. I had let things go for too long. I let Seth and his cronies crash on the couch and stay out of the heat all day. I should have kicked them out a long time ago.

But that was in the past. When Seth got out, things were going to be different.

I pulled on my helmet and climbed on my bike. I had the tools I might need in my saddlebags. But those were backups. If the delivery tracker was right, my little surprise should have been delivered to Portia’s office by now.

I rode into town and maneuvered the bike into a spot near her office. I carried my helmet inside. Portia was sitting behind her desk, her phone pressed to ear as she scribbled on a notebook.

She looked up as I walked in, her eyes lighting up with that smile of hers—the one that always hit me right in the chest. She held up a finger, mouthing one second before turning back to her call. I stood and just watched her.

Not creepy at all.

Her office was different now—more her. The walls were painted a soft sage green. She’d hung these big-ass framed photos of Larkspur Lake that made the room feel like it belonged in some fancy magazine. Her desk was cluttered but organized, pens and notebooks scattered in a way that somehow looked intentional. There were plants—real ones—sitting on the windowsill. She’d even added one of those cozy throw rugs that made the place feel less like an office and more like a living room. There were a couple of chairs and a couch. People could just sit back and chill and talk about the home they wanted to buy or sell.

The little kids area was in the corner with toys, coloring books, and plenty of books for the kids to read. It was good. It was a lot different from the realty office I used to buy my property. But that was Portia. She knew how to come to people where they were.

I didn’t realize I was staring until she hung up the phone and raised an eyebrow at me. “Sorry,” she said.

“I was just admiring the new additions,” I said. “It looks really good.”

She glanced around, a hint of pride in her expression. “Thanks. It’s coming together. Still needs a few finishing touches, but I like it.”

“You should,” I said. “It looks good. Professional. Inviting.”

“I got a delivery earlier,” she said with a grin. “Care to explain?”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just figured you might need a toolbox. Everyone should have one.”

She stood and walked over to the sleek black toolbox sitting by the door. “A toolbox? Dean, this isn’t just any toolbox—this is a lot.”

“It’s fully stocked—wrenches, screwdrivers, pliers, everything you’ll need for basic repairs around the house or the office. Even a power drill in there.”

“This is way too much. I mean, I appreciate it, but I don’t even know how to use half of this stuff.”

“Then I’ll teach you,” I said simply. “But as long as I’m around, I’ll be more than happy to handle these things for you.”

She walked over and kissed me. “Thank you. It was thoughtful.”