Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

Chapter 30

30

ROMAN

I sat 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.

Kaira was at the center of it all, her cheeks flushed, her hair slightly messy, and a smear of something suspiciously cheesy on her wrist. She was laughing at something Carla said, her voice rising above the low hum of conversation and the faint beat of a pop song playing in the background.

The rest of the staff froze the moment they saw me, the laughter dying as if someone had hit pause. Carla turned, her expression shifting from carefree to cautious. Even the music seemed to dull.

Only Kaira remained unaffected. She turned, her bright eyes landing on me, and smiled like she hadn’t just disrupted the entire dynamic of the household.

“Roman!” she called, weaving through the now-stiffened group toward me. Before I could say a word, she grabbed my hand and tugged me further into the chaos. “You have to try this.”

She led me to a baking dish that had just come out of the oven. The golden, bubbling surface looked almost too indulgent, the edges crisped to perfection. A fine crust on the top was perfectly golden.

I raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Mac and cheese,” she said proudly, scooping a steaming spoonful. She blew on it lightly before holding it up to my lips. “It’s good. I promise. Go on, try it.”

I stared at her for a moment, surprised by her audacity. Everyone else in the room stayed still as statues, watching us like it was a scene from a soap opera. This was not something I did. Well, many somethings. A woman didn’t feed me. I didn’t eat straight from a dish.

But Kaira had a way of disarming people. She marched to the beat of her own drum. I was just the guy she was dragging along in her little parade. And honestly, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. With a sigh, I leaned forward and took the bite.

It was divine. The sharpness of the cheese, the buttery breadcrumbs, the perfect amount of salt—it was comfort food elevated to an art form. A couple pieces of crunchy bacon completed the dish, making it perfect. It was indulgent and basic and nothing like I had ever eaten before. I had literally grown up with a silver spoon in my mouth. I didn’t eat macaroni and cheese often.

I swallowed, meeting her expectant gaze. “It’s… acceptable.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, Roman. You love it.”

I allowed the corner of my mouth to twitch upward in the barest hint of a smile. “It’s not bad.”

That seemed to please her enough. She grinned, handing me a spoon. “Great. Then you can help.”

I stared at her, genuinely surprised. “You want me to cook?”

“You’re not exempt just because you wear fancy suits,” she teased, shoving a bowl of lettuce toward me. “Now, mix.”

I shrugged off my suit jacket, rolled up my sleeves, and did as I was told. It felt strange at first, stepping into the chaos instead of controlling it. But the longer I stayed, the more natural it felt.

The staff began to relax as Kaira coaxed them back into their previous moods before I stepped into the room.

By the time we sat down to eat, the dining-room table was transformed into a feast. Plates of mac and cheese, a fresh green salad, which I helped prepare, and fresh bread were passed around. The table was filled with the house staff. That had never happened before.

I couldn’t stop watching Kaira as she interacted with everyone. She listened intently, laughed easily, and made every person at the table feel like they belonged. Some of the newer staff I had never exchanged more than a few words with. Others had been around me since I was a child. But I had honestly never sat and had a meal with any of them. It was strange, but in a good way. Kaira seemed very comfortable with the staff.

She reminded me of my mother in that way.

I remembered sitting at a table like this as a child, my mother holding court with her soft, commanding presence. Usually, it was her friends and not the staff. Although I could remember a few times I saw her sitting down to tea or dessert with Marilyn. My father used to watch her the way I was watching Kaira now, his eyes full of quiet admiration. I had always groaned, bored out of my mind, whenever my father waxed poetic about the beauty of the little moments. “One day, Roman, you’ll understand. The greatest treasures in life are in the quiet moments.”

Maybe today was that day.

I took a bite of the cheesy dish. It was good, but damn, was it rich. I was going to be spending some serious time in the gym to work this off.

“Do you like it?” Kaira asked. “Be honest this time.”

I glanced up, catching her watching me intently. The staff around us had fallen silent, waiting for my response as well.

“It’s excellent,” I said simply.

Her face lit up. The smile that spread across her face was so genuine, so unguarded, that it caught me off guard. For a moment, she wasn’t the carefully constructed fake fiancée, but just Kaira. A woman that made me feel things I had not felt in a long time. Some feelings I had never felt.

“We used to make this all the time back in our apartment,” she told the table, gesturing to Carla. “It was our comfort food. When we were broke, stressed, or just needed a pick-me-up, we’d make mac and cheese. It was our go-to meal.”

The staff listened as Carla told a few stories about their substitutions when they didn’t have money to buy cheese, including a version with canned cheese. Even I found myself leaning in, curious about her life before our paths crossed.

“How did you two meet?” Marilyn asked.

Carla jumped in before Kaira could respond. “She needed a roommate and I was the lucky one to answer the ad.”

Carla launched into a story about how they met and their first week living together. “I was trying to make it as a photographer, and Kaira was writing whenever she could get a moment.”

There was something endearing about seeing their friendship—a mixture of fondness, respect, and genuine love. I had never had a friend like that. I was glad Kaira had her. I needed to do a better job welcoming Carla into the house over the next six months. I didn’t want to ruin that relationship because, when this was all over, Kaira would be moving back in with Carla. Life would go back to how it used to be.

I wasn’t sure I wanted it to, though.