Chapter 5
5
KAIRA
T his guy was the definition of a Grade-A asshole. Roman Kelly radiated entitlement, as if the world should bow down at his feet simply because he graced it with his presence. He probably expected women to fawn over him, to throw themselves at his feet—and probably other parts of him, too—showering him with adoration.
But I was not one of those women. I had agreed to accompany him, yes, but only because I saw no other option. It wasn’t as if I could simply saunter away from the consequences of that insane auction.
Damn that woman and those stupid feathers.
“Sir?” The driver looked at Roman in the rearview mirror.
“Dinner.”
“Yes, sir.”
It felt like they were speaking in shorthand. Or Roman was just too damn good to have a conversation with the lowly driver.
That irritated me.
The champagne in my hand was untouched after that first obligatory sip. I did not want to get drunk. Not around him. I didn’t think I was in any danger of him trying to get in my pants, but I had read enough books and had seen the true crime shows. Men weren’t exactly picky about who they banged. It was more about getting a little piece of every pie and nothing about the person they were having sex with.
I was not going to be one of those women who slept with some rich guy because I had some wild Cinderella fantasy. He was not going to fall in love with me and pull me out of the poverty I wallowed in.
Roman watched me. I could feel his eyes on me even as I continued to ignore him. He had this way of observing that felt almost invasive. And then he pulled his phone out.
It was my turn. I wanted to watch him.
Who was Roman Kelly?
From where I was sitting, all I could see was a spoiled, overgrown man-child who had clearly never been told “no” in his entire life.
But why did he have to be so hot?
It was infuriating.
I caught myself staring. The sharp cut of his jawline, the tousled hair swept effortlessly back, the stubble on his face that was just the right amount of rugged. And those hazel eyes, intense enough to pin you in place.
And that body. He didn’t just look strong; he looked powerful. Like he could toss me around with ease if he wanted to.
Not that he would. Men like him didn’t go for women like me. And thank God, because I couldn’t stand his cocky attitude, like he could do whatever he wanted. He might be physically attractive, but he was so irritating. Obnoxious. A jerk. Although he hadn’t technically been a jerk to me, I was sure he was a jerk in general. He had that air of a true snob. An elitist.
Roman glanced up from his phone, maybe sensing my gaze. Our eyes met for a flash of a second, but in that moment I saw something flicker there. Maybe curiosity, maybe amusement, it was hard to tell with him.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Where are you taking me?”
“To eat.”
“Can you be more specific?” I asked.
“Yes.” He smirked and turned his attention back to his phone. “But I’m guessing you probably won’t know it. You’ll see when we get there.”
I opened my mouth to retort that it was a total asshole statement but then snapped it shut. He didn’t care about my opinion of him, and sadly, he was probably right. The fanciest place I went to regularly had golden arches out front.
I sipped my champagne. Now that the reality of my situation was sinking in, I needed the bubbly or I was going to start panicking at any second. Behind me was an angry boss, who I had left dangling without explaining what was going on. Ahead of me was a night with a man who might as well be an alien for how different we were.
What a mess. How did I always manage to get myself into such disasters? I wasn’t just physically clumsy. I was a disaster. Some people were born with poise and grace; I was born with the uncanny ability to stumble into the most complicated situations possible.
“I don’t think we were supposed to leave,” I said quietly.
“Supposed to?” he asked. “I don’t need anyone’s permission.”
“Right, but I was working.”
He didn’t say anything.
“I laid out the schedule.”
“And we’re mostly following it,” he said.
I took a deep breath. “I didn’t even tell my boss I was leaving.”
“Do you want me to call someone?”
The way he said it had me clenching my teeth. He truly was insufferable. He didn’t see me. I was an escape hatch. That was it. He didn’t really want to do the auction. I was his way out of an obligation he signed up for.
“Did you know her?” I asked.
“Who?”
“Feather Lady.”
“Yes.”
I nodded. “Did you two… you know?”
He paused whatever he was doing on his phone and turned to look at me. “Are you seriously asking me that?”
I shrugged. “You seemed very averse to going to dinner with her. I got the feeling there was some history. Maybe you ruffled her feathers once.”
He put his phone down, a hint of amusement behind his irritated expression. “I have not had sex with her. She’s nearly twenty years older than I am.”
“She didn’t look that old.”
He shook his head. “Wait, do you think I’m her age?”
“I don’t know. Men tend to hide their years better.”
“I’m thirty-three, Kaira. Damn. And Mrs. Wilson is a friend’s mom. Plenty of people have called me a motherfucker but never literally.”
I burst into laughter. “Oh.”
“How old did you think I was?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Thirty? Thirty-five.”
“Yeah, right. You’re a terrible liar.”
“She doesn’t look fifty,” I said. “Not really.”
“Thanks to the fine hands of her skilled surgeon,” he muttered.
“I guess I don’t know how to spot the same things you do. In my world, we age the way we age. We don’t get to spend thousands of dollars on surgery. We’re lucky to buy a drug store cream to stop the wrinkles.”
I could feel him studying me. It was very disconcerting. “How old are you?”
“You should never ask a woman that.”
“You should never ask a guy if he’s banged his friend’s mom, but you whipped that right out at me.” He smiled, like the sun breaking through the clouds. “So maybe we don’t have to be so formal.”
“I guess,” I said, pretending that smile hadn’t made me feel anything. My mouth hadn’t gone dry and my heart wasn’t hammering in my chest.
“You don’t have to answer, of course. It’s your choice. But then I’ll have to make my own assumptions.”
I couldn’t stop my curiosity. “And if you were to guess, what would you say?”
He reached for my hand, shocking me, and ran his thumb over the back of it.
“Are you a palm reader?” I asked nervously.
“No, but my grandmother said you could always tell by a woman’s hands. I’m guessing twenties.”
I laughed and pulled my hand back. “There is a huge difference between twenty and twenty-nine. A whole lifetime.”
“And by that statement, I’m guessing you’re on the high end of the twenties.”
I nodded. “Twenty-nine.”
He squinted his eyes at me like he wasn’t sure he believed me.
“I’m twenty-nine, you ass,” I said.
He nodded and grinned. “Good. I find anyone under twenty-five to be insufferable. Not enough life experience. Well, usually.”
I took another sip from my glass and told myself I just needed to get through the next hour or two. Then it would be over. I would go back to my life, and he would do whatever it was he did. For the moment, Roman lounged in his seat like he owned the world. He probably did, at least the expensive bits of it.
When we pulled to a stop, I nearly gasped. The restaurant was breathtaking, perched right over the ocean with floor-to-ceiling windows offering views of the moonlit water.
“I’m not dressed for this!” I exclaimed.
“It’s fine,” he said calmly.
“Oh, sure, you’re in a suit. You’re fine. You’re not the one who’s going to embarrass themselves.”
He held up a palm. “No, I mean no one is here. You can go in wearing a garbage bag if you want.”
“What?”
“I reserved the whole restaurant for whatever date I was going to be forced to be on. It’s just us.”
“Of course,” I sighed.
He smiled again. “You have the weirdest reactions to good news.”
Without another word, he got out of the car and came around to open my door. Ugh, the show-off. Grumbling under my breath, I allowed him to help me out and he led me toward the entrance, two big silver doors that looked like the gates of heaven.
The staff greeted Roman like royalty. I followed him in, trying not to feel too self-conscious in my boring black outfit, knowing I had been sweating in it earlier. True to his word, the place was completely devoid of customers and even the space was wide open. A single table in the center was covered with a red tablecloth and two flickering candles, and it was just for us.
The restaurant was decked out for Valentine’s Day in red, white, and pink. It was all very elegant and pretty, staying just this side of tasteful. It softened some of the anxiety plaguing me since I sneezed and turned my whole world upside down.
We were seated and a waiter presented a bottle of wine for Roman’s approval. He nodded but said nothing. Our glasses were filled and then the feast began.
It was a steady stream of dishes, each more elaborate than the last. Roman ate with gusto, completely at ease, while I worried about every little thing I put in my mouth. Was I eating too fast? Too slow? Did he think I was a slob? I honestly didn’t even know what most of the dishes were. I could be eating frog eyes, and I wouldn’t know any better.
If they were, they were tasty as hell.
At one point, he leaned over and nudged a plate toward me. “Try this,” he said, his voice smooth and confident.
I hesitated, but the look on his face made it clear he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I took a small bite. “Good,” I said. “What part of the frog is it?”
“What?” he asked, blinking. “It’s risotto with truffles.” He watched as I took another bite, this time more confidently.
“It’s delicious,” I admitted, warming to the flavor as I allowed myself to relax a little.
He nodded approvingly before returning to his own food. We barely talked while we ate. The food stole the show, lighting up my mouth like fireworks. Was this what rich people ate? It was a far cry from ramen noodles with cut-up hot dogs, which was one of my specialties. The chefs here were slightly more talented than I was, every mouthful a delight.
As yummy as everything was, each bite was also a reminder of the giant gulf between Roman and me. He was like a king and I was the mule lugging boxes around and taking orders. This moment was fleeting, like smoke in wind.
After tonight, our paths would never cross again. I would remember this night for the rest of my life but he would probably forget about it by the end of the week.
After dinner, Roman leaned back in his chair, clearly relaxed. I, on the other hand, couldn’t stop spiraling. The evening, the luxury, my clothes, my everything—it was all wrong.
“So,” he began, his tone conversational. “Isn’t this better than getting yelled at by your boss and the auction people?”
I nodded. “It’s not the worst evening ever.”
“High praise from you,” he said, chuckling. “This is my life. Luxury cars, private jets, multi-million-dollar deals. The works.”
“And?”
He went on, telling me about his hotel empire, the businesses he’d acquired, the obscene amounts of wealth he’d amassed. He barely paused to take a breath. I didn’t know if he was trying to impress me or just talking. He spoke like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he was talking about the weather.
At one point, he shifted the conversation to the auction. “Do you know they forced me into this?” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to do it, but my PR team wouldn’t let it go. Now look where it’s gotten me.”
That stung, even though I knew he wasn’t trying to insult me.
As he snapped his fingers to get the attention of a nearby server, something inside me snapped, too.
“Don’t do that,” I said before I could stop myself.
He turned his head slowly, his brows raised. “Do what?”
“Snap your fingers at them,” I said, gesturing toward the server. “It’s rude.”
For a moment, I thought he was going to unleash his wrath. I had heard stories about Roman Kelly’s temper. But instead, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then, to my surprise, he started laughing.
“You think you’re in a position to tell me what I can and can’t do?” he asked, his tone mocking.
“Yes,” I said, refusing to back down.
He snapped his fingers again, this time with a smirk, and instructed the server to clear the table and refill our drinks.
I couldn’t stop myself. “I’m so sorry about that,” I said to the server, my voice gentle.
Roman’s head snapped toward me, his amusement fading. “What are you doing?”
“Apologizing,” I said, glaring at him. “Because clearly, you don’t know how to behave yourself.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I said, my voice steady. “Men like you think the world revolves around you. You think snapping your fingers at someone is acceptable just because you’re rich? You have no idea what kind of day they’ve had. You don’t know what they’ve been through before starting their shift to serve some entitled jerk who thinks he’s better than them.”
My heart was pounding. I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. But I wasn’t done.
“For the record, you’re not. Better than them, I mean.”
Roman stared at me, his hazel eyes burning with something I couldn’t quite place. For a moment, I thought he might actually lose it. But then he leaned back, a cold smile curling his lips.
“You know what?” he said, his voice low. “I was wrong. Going on a date with one of those desperate socialites would’ve been a much better idea than spending the night with some self-righteous goodie two-shoes on her high horse trying to teach me a lesson.”
I swallowed hard, his words cutting deep. But I refused to let him see how much they hurt.
“Glad we’re on the same page,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady.