Page 23 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

The room stayed silent for a beat too long, the tension palpable.

Finally, one of the senior analysts, a graying man named Frank, cleared his throat. “The numbers are… unusual. But the team assures us everything is above board.”

“Uh huh.” I didn’t look up, still skimming the line items. “Tell the team I want a full breakdown by end of day. And if this is smoke and mirrors, I’ll make sure whoever is blowing the smoke regrets it.”

The meeting continued, discussions shifting to projections for the next quarter, potential new ventures, and a handful of minor mergers. But the air changed halfway through when one of the junior execs slid his phone across the table to the VP.

The VP frowned at the screen, then pushed it toward me.

“What now?” I snapped, taking the phone.

The screen showed a video clip of my exchange with the reporter outside. My voice—sharp and dripping with disdain—played on a loop. I looked like a real prick. Like a guy who hated the little people, even though it was mostly the asshole on my shoe I didn’t like.

The VP leaned forward. “That’s already on three major news outlets. We need to talk about your… approachability.”

I laughed bitterly. “Approachability? I’m running multimillion-dollar businesses, not a daycare. I don’t need to be approachable. If anything, I need to be less approachable. He stomped on my foot but they don’t show that in their damn video.”

“You’re running the businesses now,” Frank said carefully. “But, Roman, your reputation is starting to hurt your future ventures. Your legacy businesses will thrive—they’re established, reliable. But nobody wants to take risks on new projects with⁠—”

“With what?” I challenged, my eyes narrowing.

“An asshole,” Frank said bluntly, his hands clasped on the table.

The room went still.

No one talked to me like that.

Except Frank.

I leaned back in my chair, staring him down. “Careful, Frank. You’re on thin ice.”

“I’m on reality,” he replied evenly. “You’re brilliant, Roman, but you’re not relatable. People don’t trust you. And if you don’t fix that? This might be the peak of your career. From here, it’ll be a slow regression. You are going to be harassed even further. They will get you to do more than just yell at them. You’re going to snap in a way that can’t be undone, and when that happens, you’ll lose everything you’ve built. You will be sued into oblivion and canceled for good.”

I was silent for a long moment, feeling every eye in the room on me. My usual response would be to fire back, defend myself, assert dominance. The words hit harder than I expected. I hated them—but I couldn’t dismiss them outright.

My mind flashed back to my mother’s gentle scoldings about my stubbornness. How she’d deal with me not by throwing my attitude back in my face, but by pointing out the truth with a soft but firm honesty.

“I’m a Kelly,” I said, my voice like steel. “Kellys don’t peak. We persevere.”

“Then prove it,” Frank said, leaning back.

I tapped the table, considering. “Fine. I want proposals—real, actionable solutions. No fluff. No motivational posters. By the end of the week.”

The room nodded in agreement. I stood, buttoning my suit jacket. “Meeting adjourned.”

I had no desire to sit in the office another minute. I didn’t really need to be there. Any work I needed to do could be handled from my phone or laptop at home. I stopped by my office and collected a few things before strolling right back to the elevator.

I heard the whispers and knew the video was making its rounds. It wasn’t the first time I had been the subject of a viral video, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. People loved to hate me. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do about that. They were going to call me an asshole no matter what I did.

When the elevator opened, the usual hustle and bustle in the lobby quieted when I stepped out. Some people were looking at their phones. I heard my own voice telling the reporter not to shove his phone in my face. Fame could be the most isolating thing in the world. I ignored the looks and strolled toward the door. Outside, the mob of press seemed to have doubled in size. I stepped out and was greeted once again by the persistent shouting of questions.

“Mr. Kelly, do you have anything to say about the viral video from this morning?”

“Will you be issuing a formal apology?”

“Do you have an official statement?”

“How much are those shoes?”