Page 3 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

“Kaira!” My manager again. He was at my elbow before I could turn, clipboard in hand. “We need you to cover for Sarah.”

“Who is Sarah?” I asked, suddenly wary. I wasn’t a server. There was no way I was coordinated enough to balance a tray of champagne flutes, especially after lugging boxes around all night. My arms were dead.

“She was supposed to wrangle the billionaires backstage for the auction.”

I blinked. “Wrangle the what?”

He gave me a look like I was a particularly dense piece of furniture. “Do you not know what’s happening here tonight?”

“No one told me,” I said, feeling embarrassed.

“Well, it’s a fundraiser. For Valentine’s Day, they’re auctioning off dates with the three billionaires. You know, for the Children’s Cancer Society?” He handed me a note card with a bunch of writing on it. “Those are all the details. All you have to do is fetch them, bring them backstage, and review the stuff on that card with them. Easy.”

My mouth opened, but no sound came out. Three men.

“Who?”

He gestured to a table. My eyes followed until I was looking at the men I was supposed to “wrangle.” I didn’t even know what that meant. Isn’t that what cowboys do?

I sized up my cattle. Or would they be steers?

The first was a man in his fifties with a round face and kind eyes. He looked like someone’s indulgent uncle. Second, a wiry man with sharp features and hands heavy with rings, his posture impeccable. And then… him.

Roman Kelly.

I’d known his name before I’d even known this job would bring me here. His family owned The Kelly Hotel and half the skyline of Los Angeles. He was tall—insanely tall—with broad shoulders that carried an air of absolute authority. His suit, dark as midnight, looked as though it had been poured over him. His chiseled jaw was lightly shadowed. I had a feeling he was one of those guys that would have to shave three times a day to avoid the five o’clock shadow.

He was looking down at his phone. He looked bored, like he wanted to be anywhere else but at that table.

My stomach flipped.

I couldn’t do this.

“Kaira,” my manager hissed, nudging me with his clipboard. “Get wrangling.”

I swallowed hard and adjusted my shirt. With every ounce of courage I could muster, I approached the first billionaire. He followed me with a smile, chatting to his assistant as we walked backstage. The second man was a little more aloof, but he followed without issue. And then it was time.

Roman Kelly was standing now but still engrossed in his phone. For a moment, I just stood there, frozen, trying to figure out how to form words with my mouth. My hands clenched at my sides.

I raised one, hesitated, and finally tapped him on the shoulder. He was so damn tall I had to practically go up on my tiptoes to do it. The moment my finger brushed the fabric of his jacket, he turned and I was hit with the full force of his gaze. He had to look down—way down—to meet my eyes.

“Yes?” he asked.

Dear God yes.

“Uh,” I stammered. My voice felt too small. “I need you.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Do you?”

2

ROMAN

The woman stood there, hands clasped tightly in front of her, knuckles white. Her cheeks were a vibrant shade of red, and her wide brown eyes practically screamed terror. She was short, curvy as hell, and clearly intimidated to address me.

“Come with me,” she blurted out, the words tumbling out so quickly they barely made sense.

“Why?” I asked, tilting my head slightly.