Page 17 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

“It’s fine, alright? We don’t have to pretend to like each other. Or care. After tonight, you go back to your life, and I go back to mine. Order restored. Let’s just have some quiet pie together. Eat up. Diner pie is good for the immune system.”

Her words caught me off guard. Not the part about the pie. I fully expected it to turn on me, despite how good it tasted. It was the other part.

Most people fell over themselves to make a connection with me, to stay on my radar, to insert themselves into my life. But Kaira? She acted like she hated me, clearly wanting nothing to do with me.

It was a very odd feeling, rejection. It got under my skin like itching powder, which was ridiculous. She was no one to me, a minor detour in life’s long journey.

And yet… I couldn’t help but like it.

She’d stood up to me. She’d called me out. She didn’t care about my name, my money, or the power I held. Even my most charming smile couldn’t win her over, and I had been on several magazine covers where it was featured prominently.

Kaira had spoken up because her values mattered more to her than I did. She didn’t care if I liked her or not. She had an opinion, and she wasn’t afraid to share it.

That was rare. And, to my surprise, I respected it. I also respected her request for quiet pie. We finished in silence. Whatever it did to my guts, the pie was worth it. Lost in a sugar daze, when the waitress brought the check, Kaira grabbed it before I could.

“Are you out of your mind?” I asked. “I’ll buy the pie.”

“No, it’s the least I can do,” she said, dropping a twenty on the table.

I stared at the bill, then at her. “Cash?”

She shrugged. “Some of us don’t carry black cards.”

I almost laughed at the comment. Almost. Instead, I said, “Thank you for the dessert.”

She said nothing but I thought I caught the edge of a smile as we walked back to the car. She climbed in and gave the driver her address without asking me if we were finished for the night. Technically, we still had some time left on our date but I didn’t think it was a good idea to push the issue.

The night was far past its peak. We both had enough. As we pulled up to her building—a modest rental in LA—I couldn’t help but feel underwhelmed.

I climbed out and walked her to the front door. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m walking you to your door.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“But I’m doing it anyway.”

She stopped at the entrance of the building. “This is good.”

“You don’t want me to know where you live?”

“Hell no.”

Not just no but hell no. Ouch. I nodded, having to respect that. But it didn’t mean I was ready to let her go.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said stiffly. “I’m glad it’s over and you didn’t suffer so horrendously.”

Her words were sharp, but her cheeks were pink, her arms crossed protectively over her chest.

As she reached for the door, I stopped her. “You owe me, you know.”

She froze, then turned to glare at me. “Why?”

“One hundred and ten thousand dollars. That’s why.”

Her face turned red as she sputtered for a response.

Before she could say anything, I leaned in closer, dropping my voice to a low rumble. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll find a way to collect.”