Whoa… The thought was both disconcerting and mind-boggling. I mean, the guy was thirty-two—which wasn’t old by any stretch of the imagination—so how in the hell does someone relatively so young amass such a fortune? Was he born into it or was he some kind of genius business savant? An even more disconcerting thought filtered across my mind: Roman Knight was the type of man who could have any woman he wanted. He was unbelievably handsome, devilishly charismatic, and clearly intelligent—so what in the hell was he doing with a woman like me? The words sophisticated and worldly would never be adjectives used when describing me. Although I wasn’t some horribly disfigured ogre, I was relatively pretty; however, a beautiful supermodel I most certainly was not. And a worldly supermodel or some stunningly gorgeous sophisticated woman was exactly the type of woman who I could picture on Roman Knight’s arm. My eyes drifted to Roman, who sat silently beside me on the car’s plush leather backseat.
