Page 30 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

“Mr. Kelly, have you attacked anyone else today?”

“Roman, how much is too much for a pair of shoes?”

“Is it true your steroid use is making you rage?”

“Do you have a love child with Miley Cyrus?”

I stopped by the car door, fixing them with my most dazzling smile. “I’d love to stand here and chat, but I’ve got places to be. Stay tuned for Monday, though. I have an announcement to make. You’re warmly invited to cover it.”

The flash of cameras lit up like fireworks as I climbed into the car.

By Monday, I would need to convince Kaira to play her part. And if she said no?

Well, she owed me one. She’d have to say yes.

11

KAIRA

Job hunting sucked.

By the end of the week, I had sent out more resumes than I could count, each one tailored to perfection, and I hadn’t gotten more than a single, half-hearted callback. I knew what that meant. It was the equivalent of patting me on the head like a good dog.

Now, it was late and most people were enjoying their Friday night with friends or out on dates. I was at home alone searching for a job.

My old contacts—the people I thought might at least toss me a bone—either ghosted me or politely reminded me they weren’t hiring. No one was willing to vouch for me. It stung more than I wanted to admit.

Carla kept telling me something would work out. “You’re too good not to get snatched up,” she said over coffee that morning, her confidence in me like a lifeline. But the truth? My bank account was shrinking, rent was looming, and my stomach was tying itself into tighter knots with every passing day.

I sat cross-legged on our couch, with Carla’s laptop balanced precariously on a cushion, scrolling through another job board.

I had all this time to write, and I couldn’t because I fried my laptop, and I couldn’t afford to buy a new one. Carla insisted I could use hers, but I wasn’t about to break hers too. I couldn’t afford to buy her a new one. With an uncanny knack to break shit without trying, it was dangerous for me to even use the laptop to job hunt.

I saw a job listing for a housekeeper at a local hotel. That was a job I was qualified for. I was about to click on the link to fill out the application when the apartment buzzer startled me out of my focus.

Frowning, I got up and pressed the intercom button. “Hello?”

“Ms. Foster, I’m here to pick you up,” a man’s voice said, calm and professional.

I laughed. “Are you sure? I’m kind of heavy.”

There was a pause. “Um, ma’am, I’m your driver.”

“Yeah, sure you are.”

“Miss, my boss all but insists I bring you back.”

“Who’s your boss?”

“Mr. Roman Kelly,” he replied.

The name hit me like a punch to the gut. I clutched the wall for support, my heart racing. “Go away,” I said, my voice sharp.

The man sighed. “Ms. Foster, Mr. Kelly asked me to bring you to him. I’ll leave if you want me to but he has an offer for you—one that could change your life. Please come with me. If it helps, I drove you around the other night. Watched you two have awkward pie in that diner.”

It did help. The man wasn’t a total stranger at least. But that wasn’t the part I was focusing on.

“Change my life?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes. “By making me another notch on his bedpost? No thanks. Kindly tell Roman to choke on his own ego.”