Page 20 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

“This guy?” Carla asked, her voice dripping with incredulity. “You spent an entire night with this guy?”

I rolled my eyes and whisked the eggs. “Not the whole night. And let me tell you, those abs? Completely negated by his personality.”

Carla was zooming in on the photo. “I’m sorry, Kaira, but I don’t feel bad for you in this moment. Look at that smile. I’m not entirely convinced this isn’t some sort of AI. Is it? Does he really look like this?”

“He kept his shirt on.”

“But he was hot, right?”

“I need more than a handsome smile, Carla!” I protested.

She looked up at me, smirking. “So you admit he’s got a nice smile? No further questions, your honor.”

I groaned and moved to refill my coffee. “He’s as good-looking as he is a total douche bag.”

Carla raised an eyebrow. “Bet he’d make a fun lay, though.”

My mouth fell open. “Stop it!”

“What?” Carla said, all innocence. “I’m just saying. Can you imagine his core control? I bet he can fuck like a jackhammer.”

“Carla!”

She burst out laughing, nearly spilling her coffee. “I’m just saying, Kaira. You missed an opportunity! I would drop my panties in a heartbeat for a man like that.”

I shook my head, trying not to laugh with her. “Yeah, but you’re kind of a ho.”

Carla posed prettily, chuckling. “Guilty as charged when it comes to a man like that,” she admitted, leaning back against the counter. “You can’t tell me you don’t think he’s hot.”

“The second he opens his mouth, his physical appearance fades. He’s an ogre.”

“Plug your ears and ride him off into the sunset.”

“No thanks. I would never sleep with a guy like him. And he’d never sleep with a sloppy nobody like me.”

Carla’s smile vanished, and she turned to face me, hands on her hips. “What did we talk about?”

I looked away, embarrassed. “Carla, I didn’t mean⁠—”

“Nope,” she interrupted. “You be nice to my friend Kaira. She deserves the fucking world, you hear me?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Sorry.”

“That’s better.” She grinned, taking a big bite of her pancake.

I pulled out another pan and stood next to her to make the eggs. It was a routine for us. Cooking together while dissecting the absurdities of my disastrous night, hashing out life’s dramas over spatula and stove.

Living with Carla for the past three years had been the best decision of my life. When I couldn’t afford the rent on my condo, I’d put out an ad for a roommate. Carla had been the first to respond, and from the moment she walked in the door with her infectious energy and bright smile, I knew I had hit the jackpot. She wasn’t just a roommate—she was my best friend.

I finished the eggs while she nuked the bacon. We chatted as we ate, talking about our plans for the day.

“I’m heading into the office,” I said, sipping my coffee. “Debriefing from the event and starting on the next one.”

“Hot yoga for me,” Carla said, stretching dramatically. “Then a quick shower before my shift tonight. Tips better be good—rent’s coming up.”

Carla worked as a bartender. Her beauty and bubbly personality were a win-win combination. She was the kind of woman a guy like Roman would typically date. Carla was tall, slender, and had immaculate skin. Her blonde hair and blue eyes just added to the total package.

We finished breakfast and got ready for work. I grabbed my purse and headed out, opting to take the bus. I chose not to drive as often as I could. I hated LA traffic.