Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

Chapter 11

11

KAIRA

J ob hunting sucked.

By the end of the week, I had sent out more resumes than I could count, each one tailored to perfection, and I hadn’t gotten more than a single, half-hearted callback. I knew what that meant. It was the equivalent of patting me on the head like a good dog.

Now, it was late and most people were enjoying their Friday night with friends or out on dates. I was at home alone searching for a job.

My old contacts—the people I thought might at least toss me a bone—either ghosted me or politely reminded me they weren’t hiring. No one was willing to vouch for me. It stung more than I wanted to admit.

Carla kept telling me something would work out. “You’re too good not to get snatched up,” she said over coffee that morning, her confidence in me like a lifeline. But the truth? My bank account was shrinking, rent was looming, and my stomach was tying itself into tighter knots with every passing day.

I sat cross-legged on our couch, with Carla’s laptop balanced precariously on a cushion, scrolling through another job board.

I had all this time to write, and I couldn’t because I fried my laptop, and I couldn’t afford to buy a new one. Carla insisted I could use hers, but I wasn’t about to break hers too. I couldn’t afford to buy her a new one. With an uncanny knack to break shit without trying, it was dangerous for me to even use the laptop to job hunt.

I saw a job listing for a housekeeper at a local hotel. That was a job I was qualified for. I was about to click on the link to fill out the application when the apartment buzzer startled me out of my focus.

Frowning, I got up and pressed the intercom button. “Hello?”

“Ms. Foster, I’m here to pick you up,” a man’s voice said, calm and professional.

I laughed. “Are you sure? I’m kind of heavy.”

There was a pause. “Um, ma’am, I’m your driver.”

“Yeah, sure you are.”

“Miss, my boss all but insists I bring you back.”

“Who’s your boss?”

“Mr. Roman Kelly,” he replied.

The name hit me like a punch to the gut. I clutched the wall for support, my heart racing. “Go away,” I said, my voice sharp.

The man sighed. “Ms. Foster, Mr. Kelly asked me to bring you to him. I’ll leave if you want me to but he has an offer for you—one that could change your life. Please come with me. If it helps, I drove you around the other night. Watched you two have awkward pie in that diner.”

It did help. The man wasn’t a total stranger at least. But that wasn’t the part I was focusing on.

“Change my life?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes. “By making me another notch on his bedpost? No thanks. Kindly tell Roman to choke on his own ego.”

“I’ll probably leave that part out,” he said. “But come with me and you can tell him whatever you want. If you don’t like what he has to say, I’ll bring you right back. No questions asked. You have my word on that.”

I hesitated, chewing my bottom lip. I hated Roman Kelly. At first, he’d been sort of charming and fun but he turned out to be arrogant and entirely too pleased with himself. The man was like a perfect chocolate chip cookie but then you take a bite and it’s raisins. Tragic.

But the mention of an “offer” gnawed at me, especially in my current, less-than-stable state. If there was a job on the table, I wanted it.

“Fine,” I snapped. “Give me a minute. You could have called first.”

I threw on a sweater and my comfiest pair of sneakers—no way was I dressing up for this—and headed down to the car. The driver held the door open for me like I was Roman.

“That’s not necessary,” I said.

“Manners are always necessary,” he replied with a polite smile. “And I’m going to stand here until you get in.”

I didn’t want to be mean to him. He did nothing wrong. He was only doing what his boss asked him to do. “Right, fine. Let’s not keep Roman waiting. God forbid.”

His smile was more real this time and he quickly smothered it. I hopped in and leaned my head back against the seat. This offer better involve a way to pay my rent. Knowing my luck, he wanted me to work off the hundred grand for the bid. He would probably have me scrubbing floors or cleaning his precious shoes.

Of course I had seen the video making the rounds online. And I was not surprised in the least. That was the Roman Kelly I had the misfortune of meeting.

“So where are we going?” I asked. We were stuck on the highway, and I was impatient.

“We’re about ten minutes away,” he said.

He sounded unfazed by my frustration. That wasn’t a surprise. He worked for Roman who was always grumpy. At least from what I had witnessed. I watched the changing scenery out the window. We were off the highway and moving into the suburbs.

Suburbs .

No.

These were mansions. This was the Pacific Palisades area. I knew of it because one of my many temp jobs had been working for a caterer. I had been a server at some swanky house party. Soon, the driver pulled up to a gate and used a clicker to open it.

The estate was ridiculous.

As we drove up the palm-lined driveway, I gawked at the sprawling property. It had everything—pools, ponds, perfectly trimmed hedges and a fountain. The house itself looked more like a luxury hotel than a home.

The white two-story house was huge. There were columns lining the front entrance. Large windows with sheer curtains blurred the view but I could see the soft glow of lights from the many rooms. Perfectly manicured gardens surrounded the property.

As we stopped in front of the grand entrance, the driver exited and opened my door. “We’re here, Ms. Foster.”

I stepped out, taking in the magnificence of the place. No wonder Roman Kelly strutted around like he owned the world—he practically did, or at least this little corner of it.

The driver escorted me as far as the front door, where an attendant greeted me with a smile and offered me slippers in exchange for my shoes. Slippers. Was I going to be given a housecoat as well? Was he putting me to bed?

I followed her through grand hallways and cavernous rooms until we reached a solarium at the back of the house. It was humid but cozy, the kind of space designed to make you feel like you were lounging in a tropical paradise without ever leaving LA. Lush green plants filled the room. Vines and flowers spilled over the edges of large pots, adding bursts of color.

I had never been to a tropical rainforest, but I had a feeling this would be how it smelled. The air was humid and heavy with the scents of moist earth, damp leaves, and floral blooms. It was sweet and musky. I had never seen anything like it.

I was about to sit in one of the chairs at a bistro-style table when I noticed a gardener in the corner, awkwardly pretending he wasn’t there. He left in a hurry when a woman wheeled in a tray of liqueurs, set it up neatly, and disappeared without a word.

I was alone. The only thing missing was the sound of tropical birds or crickets. Anything. It was just silence.

Then he walked in.

Roman looked infuriatingly relaxed, his slacks hanging perfectly on his hips, his Henley rolled up to reveal strong, corded forearms. I hated that I noticed, but it was impossible not to. I thought about the picture Carla had shown me. The one with the abs. I had a feeling it was very accurate. He moved to the tray of liquor, fixing two drinks without saying a word.

“Glad you came,” he said, handing me a glass.

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” I muttered and took a sip. It was good. Annoyingly good. “I was afraid you would fire your poor driver if he didn’t do your bidding.”

“No, I’d just dock his pay.”

My mouth dropped open. “You’re horrible.”

Roman sat across from me, ignoring my comment. “I need you to hear me out before you say no.”

“When you put it that way, I feel like I should walk away right now.”

“If you don’t like my offer, you’re free to walk away.”

“Fine.” I crossed my arms. “Let’s hear it.”

He leaned back, his expression calm but calculating. “Here’s the deal. My board thinks I need to clean up my image. They’ve pitched every ridiculous idea under the sun—charity tours, media schmoozing, the works. But one idea stuck. I need a fiancée.”

My jaw dropped. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, his tone maddeningly casual. “A fiancée. Someone normal. Someone who can balance out my reputation and make me look a little more… human. A man of the people.”

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline.

“I’ve chosen you,” he continued, like it was the most logical thing in the world. “You owe me a favor. And we already have a backstory—our public date at the auction. We’ll claim we’ve been seeing each other for a while and that you bid on me as part of some romantic gesture.”

“You’re insane,” I said, putting my drink down with a loud clink.

“You haven’t heard the terms yet.” His smirk was infuriating.

“Yeah, everything kind of blanked out after the word fiancée .”

“For six months, you’ll live with me, attend events with me, and convince the world we’re in love. In return, you’ll have access to my lifestyle—money, connections, whatever you need to get back on your feet. I’ll pay you a hundred thousand dollars at the end of the arrangement. After six months, we’ll go our separate ways. Done and dusted.”

I blinked at him, dumbfounded. “There’s no way. Absolutely not.”

“You don’t need the money?” he asked bluntly.

In the back of my mind, there was a little voice pushing me toward him. You’re jobless, your contacts have dropped you, and you’re one missed rent payment away from losing your apartment. This could solve all of that.

The audacity of this man. He didn’t even try to soften the blow.

“There are expectations,” he added. “You’ll need to move in with me, attend social functions, and convince people you actually like me.” His smirk deepened. “Perhaps the most difficult part.”

“You think this is funny?” I snapped. “This is my life you’re talking about. Six months of it.”

“And this is my business,” he said, his tone serious now. “I need you as much as you need me.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. “Why me?” I asked finally.

“Because you’re perfect for this,” he said simply. “You’re kind, grounded, and real. You stood up to me in a way no one else has in years. People will believe it.”

I leaned back in my chair, my mind racing. This was insane. Completely, utterly insane.

“What’s in it for you?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“A clean slate,” he said. “A chance to rebuild my image and secure my future. We both get what we want.”

I hated that his logic made sense. I hated that I was even considering it. But most of all, I hated that he was right—I didn’t have any other options at the moment.

“Six months,” I said, my voice shaky.

His smirk faded. “That’s all I’m asking.”

I exhaled slowly, the weight of my decision settling on my shoulders. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Roman raised his glass, a glint of triumph in his eyes. “Here’s to a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

I clinked my glass against his, my stomach churning with nerves.

Had I just found my salvation or had I made a deal with the devil?