Page 26 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

I stood and retreated to my bedroom. Carla was right, as usual, but hearing it was exhausting. I felt like a loser. She saw something she wanted, and she went after it. She was fearless. Nothing held her back. I wanted to be like that.

I grabbed the book I’d been reading from my nightstand and curled up under the covers. It was a sweeping romance—the kind that made me laugh, cry, and wish I had half the talent it took to write something so good.

The story pulled me in, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Carla’s advice. My old laptop sat on the desk in the corner, its scratched silver surface practically taunting me. You wouldn’t know. You’ve never tried.

With a groan, I shoved my book aside and dragged the laptop onto my bed. It whirred to life, louder than I remembered, as I opened a blank document.

I stared at the blinking cursor for a full minute.

“This is stupid,” I muttered. But my fingers hovered over the keys anyway.

I closed my eyes and let my mind drift to that story that had been percolating in the back of my mind for months. It was the story that haunted me when I was sleeping or when I was in the shower. It was like the characters were screaming at me to get it on the page.

And then, as if a dam had burst, the words started pouring out. My fingers started flying over the keyboard.

By the time I glanced at the clock again, it was three in the morning. My hands were stiff from typing, my shoulders ached, and my thighs were numb where the laptop had been sitting. But none of that mattered because for the first time in years, I felt alive.

The characters I’d carried around in my head for so long were finally on the page, breathing and living and falling in love. I couldn’t stop. Every time I tried, a new scene or line of dialogue would pop into my head, demanding to be written.

It was the most exhilarating feeling I’d had in ages.

I knew I should go to bed, but there was a little voice in the back of my head telling me it wasn’t like I had a job. I didn’t have to wake up early. I could work all day and night.

I started typing once again. I didn’t want to think about how many typos I was making. I would fix them later. I just needed to get the story down.

The next thing I knew, sunlight streamed through my curtains. There was a horrible kink in my neck. I yelped as a sharp, stinging heat flared across my thighs.

“Holy crap!” I scrambled to push the laptop off my lap, but the damage was done. The fan had gone into overdrive during the night, overheating the machine and leaving an angry red mark on my skin.

My chest tightened as I tried to turn it back on. Nothing.

“No, no, no,” I whispered, pressing the power button frantically. The screen stayed dark.

I flipped it over, yanked out the battery, and tried again. Still nothing.

“No!” My voice cracked as I clutched the laptop to my chest. Hours of work—of magic—gone in an instant.

Carla burst into the room, her hair wild and her eyes wide. “What happened? Did someone break in?”

“My computer died!” I wailed.

She crossed the room and plucked the laptop from my arms, inspecting it like a doctor diagnosing a patient. “Did you overheat it?”

I nodded miserably.

“Well, shit.” She set it down and turned to me. “Is everything backed up?”

I shook my head.

“Kaira!”

“I didn’t think I’d need to! It was my first time writing in a while.”

Carla groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Okay. First of all, don’t panic. Second, this is why we use Google Docs, babe.”

My hands clenched the sheets, tears burning at the edges of my eyes.

“Kaira, hey.” She crouched in front of me, her hands on my knees. “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’ll figure this out.”