Page 79 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

I was really regretting that last glass of champagne. It had all gone down way too easily. I rubbed my temple and contemplated my life choices as one did when they suffered from such a serious hangover.

“You look like shit,” Carla teased.

“Thanks,” I muttered, trying to summon the energy to glare at her. “That’s better than I feel.”

Carla snickered and took a sip of her mimosa. “Rough night?”

I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face. “The best kind of rough night.”

“You said you rubbed elbows with the rich and famous,” she said. “Tell me more. Tell me all of it.”

The sunlight shifted as a cloud moved lazily across the sky, momentarily relieving my eyes from its harsh glare. I was two seconds from putting on my sunglasses. Carla would think it was my living arrangement making me feel like I could wear sunglasses indoors like the rich and famous.

I leaned back in the booth and began recounting the night before. “It was crazy,” I said. “I was so nervous but they welcomed me with open arms. The champagne never stopped flowing. Although there were plenty of other options to drink. Thankfully, I stuck with champagne or I would be in far worse shape.”

She laughed. “You’ve never done well with champagne.”

I groaned and rubbed my head. “I know. Because it’s so good and so easy to drink.”

I launched into a rundown of the evening. I knew she wouldn’t think I was bragging as I described everything we ate and the stories they told me about their travels around the world.

Carla looked truly interested. “So, they weren’t all stuck-up rich jerks?”

I shook my head. “Not even close. They were kind. Like, genuinely interested in getting to know me.” I paused, a little embarrassed. “Imagine that. Me, feeling comfortable with people like them.”

“That’s awesome,” Carla said with a warm smile. “You deserve that. I’m so glad you got to have the experience.”

“Thank you for not thinking I’m bragging,” I said.

“Are you kidding? I’m living vicariously through you.” She pulled out her phone.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to see the pictures from last night,” she said. “You said you got papped, right?”

“Oh yes. I mean, not in those words, but yes.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Oh my gosh! You looked hot! That dress is just bam. Damn, girl.”

I laughed and instantly regretted it when my head felt like it was going to split in two. “Ow.”

“I can see why you blended in with the rest of the group. You look like a socialite, all hot and sexy.”

“Stop.” I smiled. “But thank you.”

The waitress set down our plates—pancakes for me and an omelet for Carla. Brunch with Carla was a familiar ritual. It grounded me in ways I needed more than ever. I knew when I moved out it was going to be hard to abandon our lazy breakfasts. I was so glad we were still getting the chance to have these moments.

Between bites of syrup-drenched pancakes, I shifted the conversation. “Roman’s birthday is next weekend.”

“Really?” Carla asked, cutting into her omelet. “What’s the plan?”

“He doesn’t celebrate,” I said, my fork pausing midair. “For good reason. But I think… I don’t know, I’d like to do something nice for him. Nothing big, just something thoughtful. Something that makes him feel like it’s okay to celebrate his birthday.”

“Why doesn’t he celebrate?” she asked.

“His parents.”

“Oh,” she said with a nod. “Harsh. Poor dude.”