Page 52 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

I got out of bed and walked over to the window, pulling back the curtains to let in the light. The sun was up, casting a warm glow over the sprawling estate grounds. It looked peaceful and so inviting. If I wasn’t kicked to the curb in the next hour, I wanted to take a walk and check out all of the plants and that little nook in the back of the property.

I had thought about everything said and done for most of the night. I wanted to be stubborn and tell him to kiss my ass, but I needed to be a realist. The truth was, I needed this job. Not just for the money, although that was crucial, but because this role, this environment, were supposed to be stepping stones for me. I wanted to study the rich and famous in order to accurately write them.

There was a soft knock at the door. I didn’t think it was Roman. I didn’t think he knew how to do anything softly. “Yes?” I called out.

“Ms. Foster, there’s a delivery for you downstairs. And a visitor.”

I frowned, unsure who or what that would be. And then it hit me. Oh, shit.

“I’ll be right there,” I said.

Last night, I had texted Carla and asked her to pack up more of my things and bring them over. I had been pissed and wanted to stick it to him by adding my cheap throw pillows, candles, and my own worn clothes to his big fancy house.

I didn’t know why I texted her. That had been stupid. If she really brought it over, I was just going to have to pack everything up and take it home when he kicked me out.

I climbed out of bed and was about to go to the bathroom when I saw a note sitting on a table near the door. I picked it up, my heart stopping as I realized Roman had been in my room without me even knowing it. I read the brief note.

Stay. Went to office. Be back later.

I guess that was a good thing. I wasn’t kicked out. Yet.

I quickly washed my face, piled my hair on top of my head, and pulled on a pair of jeans I had brought with me. I wasn’t interested in wearing any of the new clothes from yesterday. The bags were haphazardly tossed in the corner of the room, waiting to be unloaded. That could wait.

I rushed downstairs just as several staff members carried in boxes. Carla walked in behind them.

“Kaira!” she squealed, running toward me.

“You’re here,” I said with relief.

“Of course, I’m here. Are you okay? I texted you back when I got home but you didn’t answer.”

“I’m fine,” I said.

Her eyes widened as she looked around, taking in the grandeur of the foyer. “Oh my God, girl. You’re living in a palace.”

I gave a nervous laugh. “I’m not sure I’m even allowed to have people over.”

Carla rolled her eyes, grabbing my hand. “Screw that! You’re not spending six months in solitary confinement in this oversized dollhouse.”

“Do you want some coffee?” I asked.

“Do you have a bell you ring?”

She was joking, but she had no idea just how close to the truth it was.

“Honestly, there probably are little bells all over this place. Let’s go to the kitchen and see what we can find. Roman left me a note and said he would be back later. We are on our own.”

She gave me a dry look. “On our own minus the twenty or so staff.”

“Miss, do you want these things in your suite?”

I turned to see an older man that had no business hauling boxes up and down those stairs. “Just leave them here,” I said. “I’ll take them up later.”

He looked horrified. “We can’t leave them in the foyer.”

A little rebellious side of me bubbled up. “I live here, and I say it’s fine.”

He nodded, clearly torn between following my instructions and tidying up the clutter. “Yes, ma’am.”