Page 87 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

I only half-listened to the other board members pepper the PR guy with questions about what was working and what wasn’t. They were talking about putting Kaira and me here and there like we were actual chess pieces they were moving around on a board. I barely paid attention.

After the meeting, I officially excused myself and headed to my own office, where I closed the door behind me and sat behind my desk. I felt myself smiling. Like actually smiling. It was a little strange. I could tell myself it was the good meal the night before. I never ate like that.

My thoughts drifted back to Kaira. I wasn’t sure what to make of her. She was unlike any woman I had ever met. There was a realness to her, a comfortable confidence, that made her stand out. She didn’t try too hard, didn’t put on airs. She was just… Kaira.

I found myself wanting to know more about her. To understand what made her tick. To see the world through her eyes, even if just for a moment.

I drummed my fingers on the desk, thinking about what I could do to show her how much I appreciated her. I still felt like shit after the night I walked out on her without so much as a thank you for rocking my world. She’d only been pretending to be with me for a couple of weeks and it was already having a positive impact on my public persona as well as in my life.

That gave me an idea. I turned to my computer and started my research. With my gift purchased on the way to my office, I found myself wanting to celebrate. I messaged Kaira.

On my way home. Got something for you. Feel like going out for dinner tonight?

Her reply came quickly: What did you get me? Another dress? And yes, dinner sounds perfect.

I quickly typed out a response. I’ll be home around five.

I watched the little bubbles appear and waited. Do I get dressed or did you get me something I’m supposed to wear?

That made me feel a little guilty. I had been a little heavy-handed. It was our agreement, but tonight, I didn’t want to worry about getting our picture taken and a flowery write-up in some stupid blog. Tonight, I just wanted to go out with her—Kaira. Not the fake fiancée.

Wear whatever you want. Something nice.

She replied with a happy face.

My office line rang. I glanced at the time. It was a scheduled call. I put on my game face and picked it up. Throughout the call, I forced myself to stay focused on the subject at hand. All I heard was blah, blah, money. Blah, blah, forecasts.

I finished up the call and quickly gathered my things, eager to get home and see Kaira. Thankfully, traffic was mild. I didn’t think I could handle another gridlock kind of day.

When I got home, the house was quiet. Too quiet. I checked the kitchen first but she wasn’t there. I went upstairs and knocked on her bedroom door. She wasn’t there either. I headed back downstairs and found her in the library, sitting in one of the chairs with a notebook in her lap. She wasn’t reading, as I’d expected, but scribbling furiously in the notebook. She looked so focused, her brow furrowed as she chewed on the end of her pen. I hated to interrupt her.

But I wasn’t about to wait.

“Busy?” I asked, stepping inside.

She startled, then smiled up at me. Her hair was a bit of a mess. I had a feeling it started up, but with her frantic scribbling and obviously deep thought, it was now more down than up. It was cute. She had a spot of ink on her cheek, but I wasn’t going to point that out.

“I’ve been outlining ideas for my story,” she said. “I have all these ideas in my head. Characters are screaming at me. I can’t think straight until I promise them I will write their story one day. For now, I’m just getting the basics on paper. I’m hoping that will quiet the voices.”

“You hear voices?” I asked with just a little concern.

She laughed softly. “Not those kinds of voices. Just characters that want to be stars.” She looked at me then frowned. “Is it five already? I’m sorry. I thought I set my alarm for four so I could get ready for dinner. I must have worked straight through it.”

“It’s not five. I’m home early.”

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine.” I walked closer and held out the sleek black box I’d been holding behind my back. “I figured you might need something to help you with your writing unless you want to go back a few hundred years and write it all out.”

Her gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Roman, what did you do?”

Without a word, I placed the box in her lap. She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the lid before she finally flipped it open. Her gasp was audible as she stared at the gift. Her eyes widened and she started to shake her head. She pulled out the brand-new laptop. Top of the line with all the bells and whistles.

“Oh my God.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Roman, this is too much.”

“It’s not,” I said, sitting across from her. “You can’t write your book without the right tools. Consider it an investment.”

Her hands trembled as she traced the edges of the laptop, and then, to my utter shock, tears welled up in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what to say. This is so nice.”