Page 82 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

“It’s nice to see someone other than the cook enjoying this kitchen again,” Marilyn said. “It’s been too long since we’ve had a lady in the kitchen making a meal for Roman.”

That made me feel good. I hoped Roman would appreciate it as well. It was hard to know which Roman was going to walk through the door. The Roman that tucked me into bed last night all sweet and gentle or the Roman that barely looked at me. I hoped it was the first.

30

ROMAN

Isat behind the wheel of my Porsche and counted to ten. The temptation to lay on the horn and scream at the cars in front of me was very, very strong. My day at the office had been horrible. We were still getting raked over the coals about the stupid profits. Yes, I knew it was impressive, but shit, I was good at what I did.

We were going to have every government regulator on our ass. No one could believe we were legally making the money we were. They were convinced I was laundering money for the mob. I chuckled bitterly as I sat on the I-10. The mere idea that anyone would even think I needed to resort to crime. I had built my empire from nothing; integrity was engraved in its foundation.

The cars around me inched forward. I should have had Anthony drive me today. LA traffic could either be really good or really fucking bad. Today, it was brutal. We were moving at a snail’s pace. Cars were all vying for a spot in the never-ending line. Billboards and signs flashed with advertisements, adding to the chaotic scenery. People in neighboring cars honked and yelled, their faces strained with frustration. The constant start-and-stop motion was pissing me off.

I wanted to be home. My comfortable mansion with the woman that was driving me crazy in a very different way.

I turned up the radio, hoping the music would drown out my thoughts about Kaira. The last thing I needed was to get distracted thinking about her while in this ridiculous traffic. Our relationship—if you could call it that—was complicated enough without me getting lost in mental tangents about her.

The phone mounted on my dashboard buzzed. I tapped the hands-free system.

“Kelly,” I answered curtly.

“Sir, we have a situation,” my head of security said without preamble.

My jaw clenched. Those were never words you wanted to hear. “What kind of situation?”

“A couple of young ladies tried to break into the office. They thought you were here.”

“What the hell did they think they were going to find in my office?”

“You. They wanted you.” There was a moment of silence. I waited for him to explain. “They’re, um, well, they aren’t fully clothed. They were, or are, wearing coats. Not much else. I don’t think ribbons and hearts the size of my pinky count for clothing.”

I pulled my phone away and stared at the screen. I wasn’t sure if I was being punked or not. “They were wearing ribbons?” I repeated.

“Yes, sir. They said they were your Valentine’s gifts.”

“Sent from who?”

“I don’t believe anyone sent them. I would venture to guess they took it upon themselves to uh, gift themselves to you. What do you want me to do with them?”

I shook my head. This was about the last thing I needed. I inhaled deeply. “Let them go. Trespass them and please remind them I am engaged. The only Valentine’s gift I need is from my fiancée.”

“Yes, sir.”

I ended the call and almost smiled. This fake engagement thing might not be the worst thing in the world. It was like a shield. I just hoped other young ladies saw it as such. I was very used to being the subject of affection for women. They all wanted the sugar daddy. They wanted to be on the inside of LA’s rich and famous.

Which was exactly why I needed Kaira. I needed her to keep me from women like that. I needed her to save me from the onslaught of unwanted attention. Traffic started to move. Not anything above a fast crawl, but at least it was moving.

Cheese. I smelled cheese. Not like stinky, feet cheese, but something gooey and yummy.

The rich aroma hit me the moment I stepped into the house. It wasn’t the usual sterile cleanliness or the faint lemon scent the cleaning staff favored. No, this was different—warm, indulgent, and vaguely familiar. It tugged at a thread deep in my memory, pulling me back to a time I hadn’t revisited in years. Decades to be more accurate.

I stood in the foyer, loosening my tie and letting the scent wash over me. My mother used to cook on rare occasions when she wasn’t painting. I could almost hear her soft laugh as she whisked something on the stove, humming under her breath. She wasn’t a great cook and often burned her attempts, but she always laughed at her failed meals.

I remembered the grilled cheese. She insisted they were easy and no one could screw it up. But somehow the ones she served me had black around the edges. I knew now she had in fact burned the sandwiches and scraped the charcoal before serving it to me. That thought startled me. I hadn’t thought of her in the kitchen for a long time. The memory didn’t hurt as much as I expected it to. Instead, it made me smile.

That was new.

Curious about the smell and what was happening in my house, I followed the cheesy aroma to the kitchen. As I rounded the corner, the scene before me stopped me in my tracks. The normally orderly, quiet kitchen was alive with music and laughter. Kaira, Carla, and half the house staff were gathered around the counters, surrounded by bowls, spoons, and what looked like a battlefield of shredded cheese and breadcrumbs.