by Alice Ward
I waited until they got off before I meekly uttered, “Top floor.”
Purple lasers suddenly streamed across the elevator and scanned me as if I were a walking barcode. “Access granted,” the voice of the digital assistant called out, and the elevator lurched upward.
This thing better not have X-ray vision, I thought, distracting myself from the nerves that made my hands shake. Only those in power occupied the top floors of Chicago’s skyscrapers. It was the same in every city, every empire. Whoever this gatekeeper was, they far outranked me.
When the elevator doors opened, I was startled by a redheaded young man who stood directly in front of me, so close I could count the freckles across his nose. Finely threaded and creaseless, he was dressed in a black tuxedo and fancy white dress shirt.
“Good afternoon, Miss Clare,” he said, standing with a confidence that surpassed his years. “Welcome to Stafford Scientific. I’m Peter, the butler. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room.”
“My room?”
“Where you can prepare for your interview.”
“Of course,” I responded, trying to sound as if I was accustomed to everything unusual about this place.
Colossal vault-like doors lined the hall Peter led me down, as if they held giants within. There were no windows in the hall, or people for that matter, but there was wealth, seen in the Italian marble floors and walls. It was stark, like an abandoned hospital, but its minimalism was what made it striking.
“How old are you?” I asked Peter, whose red hair was like a flame against the white. His face had the roundness of a boy still in high school, but he carried himself with a prestige I had never achieved.
“Eighteen,” he answered. “I graduated last year.”
“What high school?”
He slowed his pace so that we walked side-by-side. “Not high school. College. I’m in grad school now, working on a PhD.”
I was impressed. “So you’re like a boy genius. Are you the gatekeeper? Will you be interviewing me?” I didn’t mind working for someone so young. He was obviously well connected if he was eighteen and working on the top floor.
“You flatter me. No, I won’t be interviewing you. I’m just an intern. My job is to greet people, not hire them.”
“Why?” I probed. “You’re obviously a smart kid. Shouldn’t you be in a position worthier of your education? Not playing butler.”
He stopped outside a door and ran his arm across a scanner, unlocking it. How he distinguished it from the other doors was a mystery. They were all identical. No inscriptions set one door apart from another.
“At Stafford Scientific, everyone starts at the bottom,” Peter explained. “Mr. Stafford believes it builds loyalty.” He ushered me through the door. “Please, wait here. You can help yourself to whatever you need.”
I stood in a suite with a view of the lake. In the kitchenette, a basket full of peanuts and fruit sat on a counter over the mini-fridge, but I wasn’t hungry. My stomach ached with apprehension. Digital assistants, butlers, and personal suites — it was all over my head, making me long for the simplicity of Thailand, especially the peace of the sea.
“Thank you,” I said to Peter. “Good thing I’m not afraid of heights,” I joked, pointing towards the window. “I don’t think the birds even fly this high.”
“You’re perfectly safe,” he assured me before closing the door.
The screen on the wall in front of the leather couch came to life. “Miss Clare,” the digital assistant said. “During your interview with Mr. Stafford, there are procedures you must follow. The proper way to address him is ‘sir’…”
“Hang on a minute,” I interrupted, my heart pounding. “I’m being interviewed by Mr. Stafford? He’s the gatekeeper?”
“Yes. Mr. Stafford will be interviewing you today. I do not understand your gatekeeper reference, but this is his company, so he has the ultimate say on who is allowed to work here. When you stand before him, please address him as ‘sir.’ Are you wearing perfume?”
“No,” I answered distantly. My hands were sweaty, and my mind raced. I hadn’t prepared for this. I thought I’d be meeting someone from Human Resources, not the lord of the castle. It didn’t make sense.
“That is fortunate. He does not like perfume. If you are wearing any, I kindly ask that you use the toiletries in the bathroom to wash it off.” She continued to list how I was to behave around Mr. Stafford, but I barely listened. Instead, I was thinking of how I could present my qualifications without sounding like a newbie scientist, inexperienced and naïve.
“Miss Clare,” Peter said from the door, joining me once again. “You okay?”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Would you like me to call the medic?” He seemed genuinely concerned.
“No. It’s just nerves.”
“I understand. Mr. Stafford is intense. And strict. But he’s not cruel. There’s nothing to worry about. The interview will be quick. Mine was, at least.”
“You interviewed with him too?”
“Everyone does. He has the final word on every new hire and every new promotion, no matter how small or big the position is.”
It made me feel better. I was still nervous, but I was no longer in danger of a heart attack.
“Mr. Stafford is ready,” the digital assistant informed us. “Good luck, Miss Clare. And please, mind the procedures.”
“I don’t remember half of what she said,” I admitted to Peter as we left the suite and continued down the hall, closer to the devil himself.
“The main thing is to call him ‘sir.’ You’ll learn the rest along the way.”
“If I’m hired,” I stipulated.
We stopped at a door at the end of the hall that differed from the rest, breaking the austerity of the floor. It was sheathed in what I was certain was solid gold, giving it superiority over the rest.
“I have Miss Clare for you,” Peter announced, speaking into a device tied around his wrist like a watch.
“Only Mr. Stafford can open the door,” he explained to me. “When he does, go on in. I’ll wait for you out here.”
Slowly, the door slid open, and I walked in, ready to bear the whip.
Mr. Stafford’s office was warmer than the hall. The floors were comprised of the same marble that decorated most of the building, but the furnishings were made of a rich walnut wood that was cordial and welcoming. There was no desk, just couches and a wall full of screens. It was impressive but not as impressive as the man who stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows that oversaw the city and the ports that bordered the lake.
Dressed in a sharp suit tailored to hug the firm lines of his tall, ripped body, Mr. Stafford faced away from me, but the richness of his sandy blond hair and the bulk of his tanned neck was familiar. When he turned around, confronting me with his bright green eyes, green like the jungle, I managed to keep my composure.
“Corey?” I asked uncertainly.
No, not Corey. The man was identical to Corey in appearance, but not in the way he carried himself. Corey was reckless. There was nothing reckless about Mr. Stafford. If Corey was a wildfire, Mr. Stafford was the frost that tamed the flame. He was ice. Completely calm. Completely calculating. Completely in charge.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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TAMING THE BILLIONIARE - THE COMPLETE SERIES
ALICE WARD
BOOK DESCRIPTION
“Taming the Billionaire” is a five-part Hot Alpha Billionaire Romance Series by Alice Ward.
This is the COMPLETE series box set containing all 5 parts with NO CLIFFHANGERS!
I’d never been the type of girl who craved attention from men. In fact, I’d been accused many times of shrinking away from it. I was happily single and content to stay that way when my brother brought Drake Waters into my life.
Drake was a devastatingly handsome billionaire architect—playboy extraordinaire according to the tabloid. He was the exact type of man I always tried to avoid. But when my brother got the opportunity to become his exclusive real estate agent, I was forced to play nice for the sake of family.
As I’d expected, Drake was arrogant and a bit out of touch with reality. Everything had always come easy to him. But I soon realized that there was something deeper there, something that drew me to him.
And from the moment he kissed me, I knew—good or bad—my life would never be the same
This book is intended for a mature audience, 18+ only.
TAMING THE BILLIONAIRE
ALICE WARD
PART 1
BOOK DESCRIPTION
This is Part 1 of “Taming the Billionaire” – a five part Hot Alpha Billionaire Romance Series by Alice Ward.
I’d never been the type of girl who craved attention from men. In fact, I’d been accused many times of shrinking away from it. I was happily single and content to stay that way when my brother brought Drake Waters into my life.
Drake was a devastatingly handsome billionaire architect—playboy extraordinaire according to the tabloid. He was the exact type of man I always tried to avoid. But when my brother got the opportunity to become his exclusive real estate agent, I was forced to play nice for the sake of family.
As I’d expected, Drake was arrogant and a bit out of touch with reality. Everything had always come easy to him. But I soon realized that there was something deeper there, something that drew me to him.
And from the moment he kissed me, I knew—good or bad—my life would never be the same.
This book is intended for a mature audience, 18+ only.
CHAPTER 1
e
Everyone’s lives consist of a series of moments. Some are mundane, some are stressful, and some are exhilarating. A few rare, subtle moments alter the course of our lives forever. We don’t recognize these moments when we’re in them. It’s only months or even years later, when we’ve adjusted to our new normal, that we can look back and recognize the inciting event that led us to our current destination.
My most life altering transition was set in motion on a Wednesday afternoon in late April. I was at my desk at the Manhattan Historical Society when my cell started singing Macho Man. It was the perfect ringtone for my over-achieving brother, and I smiled as I reached for the phone.
“Hi, Oliver. Are you calling to brag about this week’s sales figures?” Oliver was one of the top realtors in New York City. He’d started his sales career at eight years old, peddling everything from magazine subscriptions to lawn care services around our middle class Connecticut neighborhood. He went to college, but only because our parents threatened to disown him otherwise. He scraped by with C’s, hung his business degree on our parent’s living room wall, and set off for New York. By my freshman year at Rutgers, he was making more money in one year than I could hope to make in a lifetime.
“Aw, Chelsea, you know I’m not one to brag,” he said, his voice thick with exaggerated modesty.
“Right, I must have been thinking about my other brother,” I teased. “My mistake. But seriously, how are things going? Last time we talked, you were pumped about that hush hush project you’d just taken on. Can you talk about it yet?”
“This question from a woman who claims to read my blog,” he answered with a slight mocking air to his voice. “I’ve been able to talk about it for a week, sis. In fact, I’ve talked about it so much I’ve sold the entire building out in record time.”
I cringed. Like most salesmen, Oliver liked to talk. And when there was no one around to listen, he blogged instead. I tried to make a point of logging in and catching up on his posts at least once a month, but I couldn’t feign interest in New York’s million dollar real estate market. More often than not, I skimmed the post without comprehending anything on the screen. I decided to bypass his blog comment and move straight to the compliments.
“That’s great, Oliver. I’m proud of you, and not at all surprised. Have you called Mom and Dad?”
“I left a message on Dad’s voicemail. I’m sure they’re out on the boat, you know they like to keep to their schedule.”
Our parents, Jake and Melinda Tyler, had always been firm believers in the importance of structure and scheduling. They met in college, where Dad studied law and Mom earned a teaching degree. Their mutual need to plan every moment of every day bonded them together. They graduated, got married, and had my brother and me six years apart, all as planned. At fifty-five, they both retired and moved to Boca Raton, Florida, where they still follow a strict albeit much more recreational routine.
“I’m sure they’ll call when they get back to the condo. Tell them I said hi. Can I take you out for a celebratory drink this weekend?” I asked, confident that he’d say no. Oliver’s life revolved around networking and his Friday and Saturday nights were usually spent with colleagues.
“Actually, that’s why I’m calling,” he confessed. “The architect I’ve been working with is so impressed with the sellout time that he’s throwing me a big bash at his place upstate. The party is Saturday night, but Stacey and I are going to drive up on Friday. We’d love for you to join us. We’ve had the beach house for over a year and you still haven’t seen it,” he added, playing on my guilt. Spending a weekend with my social climbing sister in-law was the last thing I felt like doing, regardless of how much I loved my brother.
“There’s no way I can get away this weekend,” I lied.
“Chelsea, please,” he pressed, a slight hint of frustration adding gravel to his voice. “This is a really important night for me. Now that I’ve proved myself to Drake, the sky’s the limit for my career.”
My ears perked at the name. “Drake…? You don’t mean…?”
Oliver sighed. “Yes, sis, Drake Waters. Which again, you’d know if you’d read my blog. I just sold out his new development on the Hudson, twelve apartments in five days. The penthouse brought a thousand dollars a square foot over neighborhood comps. I just set several real estate records, and I’d like my sister to celebrate with me. Is that too much to ask?”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I was even less interested in going upstate than before I learned Drake Waters was throwing the party. I didn’t know the man personally, but everyone in New York knew him by reputation. He was the city’s golden boy, the brilliant and talented architect hailed as our generation’s Frank Lloyd Wright. He’d also been touted the country’s most eligible bachelor on several magazine covers.
It helped that Drake was tall and handsome, and that his family had been wealthy since the Industrial Revolution, when they became the primary investors in the Mohawk Hudson Line, New York’s first rail
road. For almost two centuries, no one in the family had to hold down a real job. Instead, they had what amounted to incredibly lucrative hobbies. I didn’t have to meet Drake to know that he was a spoiled, entitled playboy. But in the end, I couldn’t say no to my brother.
“I guess I can rearrange some things,” I finally relented, my fingers pressed to my temples.
“Fantastic.” I could almost hear the smile on Oliver’s face. “Bring Piper, if you want. There’s plenty of room for her. We’d like to get on the road by six Friday. Can you meet us at the parking garage? I’d really rather not drive out to Jersey.”
“No problem,” I agreed. Unlike my brother, I couldn’t afford to live in the heart of the city. Instead, my roommate and I had a cozy, comfortable walk-up in Rutherford, just across the river. We rode the train in every morning, worked in side by side offices, and rode home together every night. Normally, spending that much time with someone would drive me crazy. But Piper wasn’t just someone. She was my best friend, one of the few people who understood me when I didn’t even understand myself. We met our junior year, when our Medieval Art History professor assigned us to the same group project. We’ve been joined at the hip ever since.
“Awesome. The party is going to be semi-formal. If you want, I can call Bloomingdales and tell them to let you charge to my account. Or better yet, Stacey could go shopping with you and the two of you could have some fun at my expense.”
I had nothing in my closet appropriate for the occasion and I really couldn’t afford to buy anything. But there was no way I was going shopping on Oliver’s dime or spending any more time than necessary with his wife.
“Don’t worry about it,” I insisted. “I’ve got plenty of dresses in my closet. I go to a lot of Museum benefits, remember?”
“All right,” he agreed, although a little hesitantly. “If you change your mind, you know how to reach me. Thanks for agreeing to come this weekend. It means more than you know.”
