Page 32 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

“No, I’d just dock his pay.”

My mouth dropped open. “You’re horrible.”

Roman sat across from me, ignoring my comment. “I need you to hear me out before you say no.”

“When you put it that way, I feel like I should walk away right now.”

“If you don’t like my offer, you’re free to walk away.”

“Fine.” I crossed my arms. “Let’s hear it.”

He leaned back, his expression calm but calculating. “Here’s the deal. My board thinks I need to clean up my image. They’ve pitched every ridiculous idea under the sun—charity tours, media schmoozing, the works. But one idea stuck. I need a fiancée.”

My jaw dropped. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, his tone maddeningly casual. “A fiancée. Someone normal. Someone who can balance out my reputation and make me look a little more… human. A man of the people.”

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline.

“I’ve chosen you,” he continued, like it was the most logical thing in the world. “You owe me a favor. And we already have a backstory—our public date at the auction. We’ll claim we’ve been seeing each other for a while and that you bid on me as part of some romantic gesture.”

“You’re insane,” I said, putting my drink down with a loud clink.

“You haven’t heard the terms yet.” His smirk was infuriating.

“Yeah, everything kind of blanked out after the word fiancée.”

“For six months, you’ll live with me, attend events with me, and convince the world we’re in love. In return, you’ll have access to my lifestyle—money, connections, whatever you need to get back on your feet. I’ll pay you a hundred thousand dollars at the end of the arrangement. After six months, we’ll go our separate ways. Done and dusted.”

I blinked at him, dumbfounded. “There’s no way. Absolutely not.”

“You don’t need the money?” he asked bluntly.

In the back of my mind, there was a little voice pushing me toward him. You’re jobless, your contacts have dropped you, and you’re one missed rent payment away from losing your apartment. This could solve all of that.

The audacity of this man. He didn’t even try to soften the blow.

“There are expectations,” he added. “You’ll need to move in with me, attend social functions, and convince people you actually like me.” His smirk deepened. “Perhaps the most difficult part.”

“You think this is funny?” I snapped. “This is my life you’re talking about. Six months of it.”

“And this is my business,” he said, his tone serious now. “I need you as much as you need me.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. “Why me?” I asked finally.

“Because you’re perfect for this,” he said simply. “You’re kind, grounded, and real. You stood up to me in a way no one else has in years. People will believe it.”

I leaned back in my chair, my mind racing. This was insane. Completely, utterly insane.

“What’s in it for you?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“A clean slate,” he said. “A chance to rebuild my image and secure my future. We both get what we want.”

I hated that his logic made sense. I hated that I was even considering it. But most of all, I hated that he was right—I didn’t have any other options at the moment.

“Six months,” I said, my voice shaky.

His smirk faded. “That’s all I’m asking.”