Page 86 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

“It’s fine,” I said, waving it off. “It’s not like I’ve written anything in a while. Just because I want to be something doesn’t mean I’m going to. I’ve always loved books. Getting lost in the pages is my favorite thing in the world. One day, I’d like to give the world a chance to fall in love with one of my stories.”

Roman tilted his head, studying me. “Why not now? You don’t have a job. I’m not saying that to be a prick, but you don’t have to work. You don’t need to look for a job. You’ve got the time.”

“Carla said the same thing,” I admitted. “She told me I should use these six months to write.”

“She’s right. What’s stopping you?”

I chewed my cheek, debating how much to tell him. “I started something a few months ago. I wrote half a book. I was on a spree, writing all night. It felt so good. It just flowed out of me. And then my laptop fried. I lost it all. It was devastating. It kind of stole my thunder.”

“Get a new one,” he said simply.

I snorted. “I can’t just drop three thousand dollars on a new laptop, Roman. That’s not how real life works for most people.”

His expression shifted, a mix of surprise and something else I couldn’t quite place. “I’ll get you a new one.”

“No,” I said quickly, holding up a hand. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” he asked, genuinely baffled.

“Because,” I said, smiling despite myself. “That’s not how this works.”

“I don’t think a laptop costs that much, and even if it cost ten grand, big deal,” he said. “I can afford it. You need something to do.”

“No, thanks.” I flicked some bubbles at him. “Oops,” I said innocently.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Kaira.”

“Oh, I think I can handle you.”

“Is that a challenge?” Roman asked, his eyebrows arching slightly.

I felt a spark of something—excitement, maybe a hint of danger—run through me. “Maybe it is,” I replied, holding his gaze.

He took a step closer, and suddenly the kitchen felt much smaller. The playful tension between us shifted, becoming something more charged. I swallowed, wondering if he was going to kiss me again. I wanted him to kiss me. But I didn’t want him to kiss me and run out on me again.

Instead, he stepped back and tossed a dish towel at me.

I caught the towel, my heart still racing from our near moment. The charged atmosphere dissolved as quickly as it had appeared, leaving me slightly breathless and confused.

“I have work to do in my study. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Kaira.”

“Goodnight, Roman.”

I couldn’t help but feel like we had just narrowly avoided something significant—or perhaps created more tension between us. By the time the kitchen was spotless, it was late, and I was exhausted. It had been a good night. Dinner was amazing and I felt like Roman and I had made big strides in our relationship. Not that it was a relationship, but we could at least be friends.

Roman was a prickly dude, but I did see his soft underbelly. Maybe I was a glutton for punishment, but I felt bad for the man. Yes he had money, power, and looks, but he was lonely. I wanted to try and bring him a little joy in this life. He deserved it.

I turned off the lights and climbed the stairs, briefly pausing at the double doors. I did vaguely remember him getting just a little testy when I asked what was in the room. It made me very curious, but I walked away. I didn’t want to rock the boat.

32

ROMAN

The board meeting had gone better than I expected. For months, I had been under fire. People hated me and therefore hated my company. The numbers had been all over the place—volatile and uncertain. But today, the reports showed steady growth. Public perception was improving. Investments were back on the rise. It seemed that my engagement to Kaira and the accompanying media buzz were finally paying off.

I leaned back in my chair, taking a moment to appreciate the victory. In this world of corporate sharks, every win was hard-earned. A member from my PR team gave a recap about the latest positive media coverage surrounding our engagement. They were practically giddy about how well Kaira was playing her part.

As if on cue, my mind drifted to her. The woman who had somehow transformed my sterile mansion into something that felt almost like a home. The mac and cheese dinner. The way she’d engaged with the staff. Her dreams of writing. Her unexpected kindness.