The Billionaire's Duty: Secret Billionaire’s Club

by Tracey Pedersen

  I lean forward. “Let me follow him.”

  “You want to go to the States and stick with him? Are you some kind of spy and you forgot to let us know when we hired you?” Phil smirks and a flush of anger hits me. This is not the first time I’ve had to fight to do my job properly. It makes my blood boil when he looks at me like that.

  “Of course, I’m not, but someone has to keep an eye on him if you won’t keep him here. I can get myself on the same flight and stay close. That way, we won’t lose him and then spend a year trying to track him down.”

  “Jessa, that’s enough. We’re not spending taxpayer money to send you on a trip to the US. I’m not doing it on a whim.”

  “What if I buy my own ticket?”

  “What? Absolutely not.” He shakes his head. “You’ve lost it.”

  “Here.” I hand a leave form to him. “If I’m not working on the case, I’d like four weeks holiday please.”

  “This is already filled in.”

  “It is. I thought you might say no so I prepared for leave instead. I need a break since I can’t achieve what I want when I’m here. Maybe a break will clear my head. Make me not want to quit.”

  I stare at him then nod at the paper. He leaves it resting on his desk, as though to touch it will mean the start of a new problem. If there’s one thing Phil hates in his cushy government job, it’s a problem.

  “Where will you go on holiday?”

  “Not sure yet, but I’ll go home and jump straight on the computer to decide. There’s got to be a beach somewhere with my name on it. Escaping a Melbourne winter for a month sounds better and better. I’ve always had Fiji on my list of places to visit.”

  “This is highly unusual.”

  “I’m an unusual girl. Highly.”

  “That you are.” He sighs and looks over the paperwork. “You’re sure about this? I wouldn’t consider it, except that you have months of leave owing. I’d like to see you take some of it. Relax a little.” He drops his glasses onto the desk in the classic older-boss-gives-silly-young-woman-a-heart-to-heart look. “Tell me you’re not doing anything silly. You are not to follow him, do you understand?”

  “Of course.”

  He nods, pulling the form toward him. He signs it and dates the bottom before handing it back.

  “Thanks.” I grin and stand up, waving the form in the air as I say, “Wait until I return with a tan. You’ll all be jealous.”

  Chapter Three - Jessa

  The airline ground crew call for first class passengers, business class travellers, and those travelling with children to board first. Of course, Cross Ronstein gathers his bag and coat, and joins the line. I wouldn’t expect for a minute that he’d fly anywhere and not be at the front of the plane.

  I want to study him as he waits in line. Watch the way he walks, whether he lets the old lady standing next to him go first, or whether he’ll do battle to be first onto the plane. More than any of those things, I want to remain invisible to him, so I give up my chance to stare and slump further in my seat, my cap pulled over my eyes. I’ve already spent over an hour with my head buried in a book. My plans could unravel in seconds if he sees me and makes a scene.

  In the end I didn’t even have to harass him to get his flight details. By the time I got home and checked my work email, his secretary had sent them to me, with a curt note pointing out they’d been booked after our meeting. Because I’m Jessa Collins, I checked the attachments myself, just to be sure.

  Lucky for me, one nosy investigator could still get onto the flight when I rushed to book online.

  Wasn’t I disappointed that his hotel booking wasn’t included with the flight information? My heart was in my throat as I flicked through the pages of details, mentally crossing my fingers that the name would be there. I wasn’t that lucky, though, and now I don’t have a hotel booked for myself.

  I want to stick close and that won’t work if I have to travel from my own hotel each day, or if I miss him every time he leaves the hotel. For all I know, he could be staying with friends. If my previous suspicions prove to be correct, he might even jump another plane to a new destination. I have no idea what I’ll do if that happens. The most important thing was getting on this flight, and here I am. I plan to roll with the punches for the rest. It’s an attitude which has served me well in the past so why break with tradition?

  I tuck my book away as the other passengers get restless and begin lining up. It’s nearly time for us to board and right on cue a baby starts to cry. I give the parents a sympathetic smile and wonder how much sleep I’ll get onboard.

  I have fifteen hours to kill. I’d like to spend most of it unconscious.

  An hour into the flight, things take a turn for the worst. I’m sitting next to the couple whose baby cried before we boarded. He’s been calm ever since they presented him with a box filled with interesting goodies. Every so often one goes sailing past me and lands in the aisle, but I retrieve the item and we carry on. Unfortunately, the amusement value of the box has waned and he’s crying again. I let them know I’m going to the bathroom and they’re welcome to use my seat while I’m gone.

  When I’m done, I linger at the back of the plane, stretching my legs and fantasising about wandering up to first class and letting tall, dark and handsome see me. For some reason that’s what I’ve started to call him in my head. He told me to call him Cross, but that’s never going to happen. I hate to be told what to do, especially by men who think it’s okay to shirk their responsibilities to the tax office. My employer.

  An employer who would not be happy if they discovered I haven’t taken myself on a sunny beach holiday after all.

  I roll each of my shoulders in turn and step back, allowing a hostess to pass. She’s holding a big bunch of tissues and I frown as she stops at my vacant seat. The flight is packed, and I don’t see another empty seat across all the rows. To my right the food service is being prepared.

  I wait and watch as the hostess leans over, her arm vigorously rubbing at something. I stare as she turns to look at me, my seat mate waving her hand toward the back of the plane where I’m standing. She makes her way down the aisle and stops in front of me.

  “Are you sitting next to the couple with the baby?” I nod and wrinkle my nose. I know that smell. “I’m afraid the baby has had an accident on your seat. You stay here and we’ll fix it.”

  I nod again, unable to speak. Sitting in baby vomit is not how I envisaged spending an international flight. I’d hoped to have a meal and then a nice long nap, knowing this is the last time on this trip that I’ll be sure my target can’t get away.

  There’s a flurry of activity as the seat is scrubbed clean. When I’m welcomed to sit down, I discover it’s now soaking wet. There’s still a trace of baby vomit, but that’s nothing compared to the ocean of water they want me to sit on.

  “Um.” I feel the seat and look up at the hostess. “Do you have a towel? I don’t think I can sit on that. It’s soaking wet and I don’t have a change of clothes.”

  “We have blankets. They’re pretty thick.”

  “Right. Is there another seat, maybe? I can’t imagine it will be comfortable sitting on a folded blanket for the rest of the flight.”

  “We’re fully booked.” She does her best sad, but professional face, and my heart sinks. For a second, I wish I never got out of my seat but if I hadn’t, I might be wearing the remains of the baby’s lunch right now. That would definitely be worse than sitting in it. Only just.

  I continue to stand, then my eyes slide past her. “Maybe there’s a crew seat I could sit in? It won’t be great, but better than sitting here. Then they could keep using the seat, too.” I indicate the frazzled mother next to me. She hasn’t stopped apologising since I returned from the bathroom.

  “Hang on.” The hostess starts up the aisle in the other direction from before.

  While she’s gone I goo and gah at the baby. He’s a lot happier now his tummy isn’t hurting. I should be grumpy
with the whole situation, but he’s so cute with his toothy grin that it’s impossible to blame him. He raises his little hand and I give him a high five.

  “If you’d like to collect your carry on, I’ve found you a seat.”

  I didn’t realise the hostess had returned, but I’m thrilled by her words. My bag is in the overhead compartment and I quickly pull it down, retrieve my passport and phone from the seat pocket and follow her. She walks fast for someone in heels on a shaky aircraft and I have to stumble along to keep up. We pass through the bulkhead and into the next section as my eyes scan for empty seats. We’re almost at the crew seats and I’m frowning, imagining how tired I’m going to be after sitting upright in one of those.

  My own stomach flips a little and I counsel myself not to succumb. I occasionally suffer from motion sickness, but not always. I carry medication but I don’t take it beforehand in case it’s not needed. The waft of baby sick started the first rumble but now it’s becoming more urgent.

  To my surprise we pass right by the crew seats I had my eye on and now I’m paying full attention. We’re in business class and that’s a little too close to the man I’m meant to tail. My face flushes and anxiety adds itself to the tummy tickles. He can’t see me before we get to our destination.

  He can’t.

  I don’t even know if he’s in business, or first, but my furtive glances don’t find him. I swing between keeping my head down and peeking around my hair to see where he is. So far, no luck. Business class is full, and the hostess leads me through a curtain into the first class section.

  Now I know I’m dreaming. The spacious compartment is lighter than the back of the plane. People talk in hushed tones and there’s not a single child in this section. Three of the seats are empty and it’s to one of these that I’m led.

  The hostess smiles at me and indicates the seat closest. “Lucky you. This is the only vacant seat.”

  “Wow.” I allow a small smile to escape. “I’ll have to go back and give that baby a treat to thank him.”

  “I wouldn’t dear. I don’t even want to go back there.” She laughs and helps me put my bag away, and I sit down as quickly as possible, not wanting to draw attention to myself. Everyone here will know this isn’t where I started my journey.

  When she’s gone, I close my eyes and settle in. There’s so much leg room—something I’ve never experienced. A hand touches my arm and I jump.

  “Sorry to startle you. Can I get you something from our drink selection?”

  “Sure. Thank you. What are the options?”

  “We have red or white wine, beer, spirits, soft drinks and juice. Or I could get you a champagne if you like.”

  “Oh.” I blink at the crazy selection on offer. This is so far from economy that we could be on different flights. “Could I get half champagne and half juice?”

  “Of course.” She hands me a small booklet, which turns out to be the menu. “If you could make your selections for the flight, I’ll be back to take your order.

  My order? I open the pages and my mouth waters at the vivid descriptions of chef-prepared meals. Basically, I want it all. Especially the desserts. Chocolate balls filled with raspberry sorbet and almond puree? Yes please. I’d like four of those.

  I’m grinning like an idiot when she returns with my drink in a real glass flute. She takes my order and I close my eyes again, unable to believe my luck.

  My reverie is ruined when a masculine voice to my right says quietly, “What the fuck?”

  Chapter Four - Cross

  “Ms. Collins.”

  I can’t believe my eyes. The woman I hoped never to see again is sitting right next to me. Sipping champagne in first class. On a flight to the States. A woman who has intruded on my thoughts without permission several times over the last three days.

  “Mr. Ronstein.” She returns my greeting with an equal amount of animosity, her blue eyes staring directly into mine.

  “You are an unwelcome surprise.”

  “I bet I am.” She bats her eyelashes and smiles at me. It’s a flirty move that I’m not unfamiliar with. Except on her it’s more predatory. That look says, ‘I’m going to get you’.

  I don’t like it.

  “You weren’t sitting there for take-off. Who did you bribe?” I settle myself, watching as she breathes in and wiggles in her seat, like a child on Christmas morning.

  Her grin stretches from ear to ear and she leans forward to tap the entertainment screen in front of her. “A lovely baby back in economy had a moment of clarity and decided he wanted my seat all for himself. Even if he did have to make a mess to get it.” Her screen doesn’t come on and she presses a few buttons before turning back to me with a frown. “So, you’re stuck with me. Small world, huh?”

  I lean over and hold my finger on the power button, powering up her equipment.

  “Oh,” she says. “Thanks. I guess you’ve done this before.”

  “You could say that.”

  “It’s my first time.”

  I raise my eyebrows and press my lips together. I have no intention of chatting to her, even if I can smell her perfume. It’s bad enough we’re stuck sitting next to each other. I don’t like her. I don’t want to be her friend. The sooner she discovers that, the better. “I can tell. Don’t worry, you’ll adapt.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  I pull my tablet from the handy compartment where my personal items are stored. I slip my headphones around my neck and I’m about to put them over my ears when she speaks again.

  “Have you seen this movie?”

  I sigh and shut my eyes for a second, before plastering a polite look on my face and looking over at her. “Yes. It’s surprising good.”

  “How about this one?”

  “Yes. The other one is better.”

  “Do you watch a lot of movies or do you fly a lot and see them on the plane?”

  She’s making inane conversation to get under my skin, I know it. I grit my teeth and resist the urge to tell her how busy I am and ask her to please shut up. I will not give her the satisfaction of getting a rise out of me.

  “I see some. Mostly I’m too busy.” There. A middle ground. Drop in the busy comment veiled as an answer. “How about you?”

  Damn. I went and ruined it by asking a question. First rule of business—don’t ask a question you don’t know the answer to. She showed me back in her office that she’s mastered that one.

  “I like movies. Mostly comedies. I like to laugh.”

  “You?” I can’t help but make my question sound like an insult. “The woman who’s like a dog with a bone—a bulldog in my mind—likes to laugh?”

  She does exactly that, louder than she should in the confines of first class. “Did you just call me a bulldog?” She looks thoughtful then turns her gaze on me again. “I quite like that. When I get something into my head, I don’t let go, so it fits.”

  “Hmm. That’s become obvious. Can I assume your appearance here is a direct result of my refusal to cancel this trip?” It’s my turn to smile. I know for sure that’s why she’s on this flight. On a kind of mid-air stakeout. How she managed to wrangle herself into the seat right next to me is a mystery, though. I wonder if there really is a sick baby down the back, or whether she paid off the hostess. Bribing airline employees is probably an offence that carries a hefty fine. That thought makes me smile even wider.

  “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

  I blink as I focus on her. “Sorry. I was imagining your demise, if you must know.”

  “Ha!” She laughs even louder than before. “Dream on. I always get my guy.”

  “And I’m your guy?” I can’t help but waggle an eyebrow at her. The result is a very satisfying deep blush that spreads from the collar of her shirt right over her face. She’s almost puce by the time she answers.

  “Today, you are indeed my guy. But when I get you, you will not be happy about it.”

  “Shame.” I dismiss her and turn back
to my tablet. “You could have been fun. For a while.”

  Her intake of breath is exactly what I was looking for. For a second, we were almost getting along, and that won’t do. I have no time to entertain her on this trip. I came with one goal in mind, and the minute that’s complete, I’ll have fulfilled my last promise to my dad. It’s a shame Wyatt didn’t come with me. We had big plans for week two of this trip. Plans I’ll have to carry on by myself. Without Ms Bulldog tagging along checking every restaurant receipt and questioning my every move.

  I can feel her glare, so I don’t look up, instead focussing on my screen and typing. I plan to work for the first few hours of this flight, eat whatever delectable snacks they want to serve me, then sleep until we land. Flying to the States always messes with my body clock, but this time I have a plan.

  Unfortunately, it appears I’m now seated next to the most annoying person on the plane.

  Ms. Collins makes it her mission to try every single feature of her seat over the next hour. She reclines it slightly, chuckles to herself, then brings it upright again. She folds down her food tray and cleans it with some wipes she produces from her bag. She reads the inflight magazine, politely accepts a second drink from the hostess, and visits the bathroom. Then she discusses with the hostess how the sleepwear is laundered. That conversation has me mildly entertained. For some reason she’s wearing work clothes. I bet she’s dying to change into a more comfortable outfit.

  I can feel my eyebrow twitch every time she moves. Sitting near her is worse than that time Everett and I got detention at boarding school and had to follow the caretaker around for three days. We didn’t get a minute to ourselves and we fell into bed exhausted every night. I remember the caretaker muttering to himself all day, and occasionally breaking into laughter. Ms. Collins is behaving in a similar manner—when I glance at her now, she has her hand pressed over her mouth as she giggles at whatever she’s watching.

  At least she’s trying not to disturb anyone besides me.