Page 14 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

At one point, he leaned over and nudged a plate toward me. “Try this,” he said, his voice smooth and confident.

I hesitated, but the look on his face made it clear he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I took a small bite. “Good,” I said. “What part of the frog is it?”

“What?” he asked, blinking. “It’s risotto with truffles.” He watched as I took another bite, this time more confidently.

“It’s delicious,” I admitted, warming to the flavor as I allowed myself to relax a little.

He nodded approvingly before returning to his own food. We barely talked while we ate. The food stole the show, lighting up my mouth like fireworks. Was this what rich people ate? It was a far cry from ramen noodles with cut-up hot dogs, which was one of my specialties. The chefs here were slightly more talented than I was, every mouthful a delight.

As yummy as everything was, each bite was also a reminder of the giant gulf between Roman and me. He was like a king and I was the mule lugging boxes around and taking orders. This moment was fleeting, like smoke in wind.

After tonight, our paths would never cross again. I would remember this night for the rest of my life but he would probably forget about it by the end of the week.

After dinner, Roman leaned back in his chair, clearly relaxed. I, on the other hand, couldn’t stop spiraling. The evening, the luxury, my clothes, my everything—it was all wrong.

“So,” he began, his tone conversational. “Isn’t this better than getting yelled at by your boss and the auction people?”

I nodded. “It’s not the worst evening ever.”

“High praise from you,” he said, chuckling. “This is my life. Luxury cars, private jets, multi-million-dollar deals. The works.”

“And?”

He went on, telling me about his hotel empire, the businesses he’d acquired, the obscene amounts of wealth he’d amassed. He barely paused to take a breath. I didn’t know if he was trying to impress me or just talking. He spoke like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he was talking about the weather.

At one point, he shifted the conversation to the auction. “Do you know they forced me into this?” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to do it, but my PR team wouldn’t let it go. Now look where it’s gotten me.”

That stung, even though I knew he wasn’t trying to insult me.

As he snapped his fingers to get the attention of a nearby server, something inside me snapped, too.

“Don’t do that,” I said before I could stop myself.

He turned his head slowly, his brows raised. “Do what?”

“Snap your fingers at them,” I said, gesturing toward the server. “It’s rude.”

For a moment, I thought he was going to unleash his wrath. I had heard stories about Roman Kelly’s temper. But instead, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then, to my surprise, he started laughing.

“You think you’re in a position to tell me what I can and can’t do?” he asked, his tone mocking.

“Yes,” I said, refusing to back down.

He snapped his fingers again, this time with a smirk, and instructed the server to clear the table and refill our drinks.

I couldn’t stop myself. “I’m so sorry about that,” I said to the server, my voice gentle.

Roman’s head snapped toward me, his amusement fading. “What are you doing?”

“Apologizing,” I said, glaring at him. “Because clearly, you don’t know how to behave yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I said, my voice steady. “Men like you think the world revolves around you. You think snapping your fingers at someone is acceptable just because you’re rich? You have no idea what kind of day they’ve had. You don’t know what they’ve been through before starting their shift to serve some entitled jerk who thinks he’s better than them.”

My heart was pounding. I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. But I wasn’t done.

“For the record, you’re not. Better than them, I mean.”