Page 21 of His Cruel Billionaire Scorecard

Olivia pouted playfully, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “But Roman, I don’t want to go home just yet. I’m having so much fun!”

“Fun or not, it’s time for you to call it a night,” Roman asserted firmly, reaching for his phone to call an Uber.

As they waited for the cab to arrive, Olivia rambled on in incoherent bursts of laughter and jumbled words. Roman couldn’t help but find her adorable in her drunken state, even though he fought against his growing attraction to her.

The cab pulled up to the curb, and Roman opened the door, gently pushing Olivia inside. She flopped onto the seat with a dramatic flourish, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“You’re no fun, Roman,” she mumbled, her words a little slurred. “But thanks.”

As Olivia settled into the backseat of the taxi, her drunken state seemed to amplify her boldness. With a mischievous grin, she reached out to touch Roman’s arm, his sleeves were rolled up, and her fingers traced the contours of his muscles. He tensed at her voluntary touch.

“Roman,” she slurred, her voice filled with awe, “your tattoos... they’re so intricate and beautiful. Where did you get them done?”

He tried to pull away slightly, but Olivia’s intoxicated grip held him firm.

“They’re just tattoos, Olivia,” he replied. “They don’t matter.”

Olivia, undeterred, continued to run her fingers over the inked designs, her touch feather-light.

“No, they do matter. They’re a part of you, a work of art. I want to know the stories behind them.”

Roman grunted. “There’s not much to tell. They’re just personal symbols and memories.”

“Come on, Roman, spill the details. I promise I won’t tell anyone. I’m a vault.”

A chuckle escaped him, despite his attempt to remain composed. “Maybe another time, Olivia. Right now, I think it’s best if you focus on getting some rest.”

Olivia pouted again. “Fine, fine. But I’m going to hold you to that promise. I want to know everything about those tattoos someday.”

Roman nodded, amusement and intrigue dancing in his eyes. “Someday, Olivia. When you’re sober and can appreciate the stories properly. Although, I doubt you’ll ask me sober, I look forward to seeing you, red in the face and apologizing. Your ranking is quite low, but since you’re out of work, it doesn’t affect you.”

“Aren’t you generous?” Olivia said, bursting into hysterical laughter.

He shoved her gently, then quietly instructed the driver, a quiet man who nodded to Roman’s instructions.

Then he slammed the door and watched as the cab rolled on through the city streets.

In the cab, Olivia’s energy began to wane, and her eyelids grew heavy. Her rambling words gradually faded into soft snores; in a few minutes, the cab driver would be shaking her awake in front of her house.

Roman watched as the taxi left, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He couldn’t help but smile at Olivia’s unabashed curiosity, her drunken blabbering, which was both endearing and somewhat funny.

Resting his head against a window, Roman allowed himself a moment of quiet contemplation, wondering what other surprises Olivia had in store for him beyond her drunken ramblings and uninhibited curiosity.

But the moment was shattered quickly by a text message from Allen.

Everything’s gone wrong with Fedrin’s stock; please call me back ASAP. The text read.

And sure enough, the stocks Roman had taken a gamble with were crashing. Fast.

Chapter 9

Heralarmpinged,andshe woke up with a start. Olivia groaned and rolled off the bed, cutting off her alarm.

Slowly, the events of the night before began to slip into her memory. Mortified, she groaned again, her palms against her forehead. Great, now she was having a damn hangover.

“Why did I ever think it was a good idea to drink in the first place?”

She thought going roller skating was the best thing to do after work.

---