The Billion Dollar Contract: The Executive Collection

by Cynthia Dane

  But it didn’t take long for the headlines to start appearing on TV.

  “Breaking development in the business world,” a slick anchorman in a designer suit one step below Ethan’s said. “Reports coming in that mogul Ethan Cole may have been paying one of his employees for sexual relations. Stay tuned for more information.”

  Nobody in the café seemed to care about business news. Or at least they had no cares for someone like Ethan Cole, a name that only mattered to those who were also making a ton of money. Nobody in that café, who were the type to be middle-management but with aspirations of higher management. Jasmine was starting to learn the type well.

  I won’t know them anymore. Not after the stunt she just pulled.

  Perhaps some regret filled her already, but she wasn’t going to indulge in it. Not so soon after the act itself. Of course it had been brash, stupid even. Jasmine not only jettisoned her three million dollar payday, but she could kiss the job goodbye and any references that came with it. As soon as she was able, she would be crawling back to the temp agency and selling most of her nice clothes to make ends meet for a couple of months. The free ride was over.

  So was the whirlwind romance, if it could be called that.

  I’m better off. Jasmine knew it deep inside, where her heart was already aching for what could have been. She feared that it was the sort of thing that would haunt her for the rest of her life. The what-ifs. What if he asked me to marry him? No, that was preposterous.

  All Jasmine knew was that she was done with relationships for a while. She had lasted a long while before Ethan, and she could last a long time after him. That kind of breakup was one she would take a while to recover from. Figure out what she really wanted from a relationship. If that sort of thing was possible now.

  Jasmine stayed downtown well into the evening, when most of the people went home and the sun began to set after seven. She was in no hurry.

  But when she did drag herself out of the restaurant, she couldn’t bring herself to board the nearest bus home. She wanted to put off the inevitable — the crossing of the threshold into her old, musty apartment. As nice as it would be to cuddle up with her cat, Jasmine did not want to cuddle up with the memories Ethan left behind when he visited. Even though her linens had been washed multiple times since then, Jasmine still swore that she smelled him on her pillows.

  Her heels echoed in the streets as she walked down the sidewalk. The late spring chill made her huddle in her jacket. That day she was not wearing any of her particularly nice clothes. Just the old clothes she had before she met Ethan. It seemed safe enough to walk in her neighborhood with them.

  How silly of her to assume so.

  For the most part she had ignored the cars driving by her on the street. Why would she care, when none of them cared about her? But when she reached a particular intersection, home of a notoriously long red light that changed the moment she got there, a black sports car pulled up alongside her.

  She didn’t recognize it, so she didn’t think much about it. Then the window rolled down.

  “And there is the woman of the hour.” Jackson Lyle tipped his hat outside the driver seat window. “You left quite the mess back at the office. I applaud you. I was pretty bored, and that certainly shook things up.”

  Jasmine took an involuntary step back, her hand clutching her coat shut. “Excuse me. I want to be left alone.” Please, please go away.

  Jackson let his car idle by the sidewalk, presumably waiting for the light to change. “No doubt after what just happened. Poor young Ethan was left to clean up the big mess. His name is all over the news, and no doubt it won’t mean much good for the bottom line. I should be pretty pissed at you. You just cost me a shit ton of money.” His smile, however, declared otherwise. “But it will be good to see that man squirm for a while. Always entertaining.”

  Jasmine said nothing. There was nothing she could say that was safe in this situation.

  “Say, why don’t I give you a ride home? It’s getting pretty late, and this doesn’t look like the most favorable neighborhood. Least I could do in return for the entertainment you gave me today. Amuse me some more, and I’ll make sure you get a good recommendation that Ethan’s definitely not going to give you now. You’ll need all the help you can get in that department. I recommend you change cities.”

  The mirth in his voice as he taunted her sent all kinds of creepy chills across Jasmine’s covered skin. “I’d rather walk home, thanks.”

  “No need.” The car door opened, and Jackson stepped out, regardless of what the light said now. “I insist.” He opened the back door, and looked to Jasmine, who remained standing firmly in place. Like hell I’m getting in there!

  “I said I’m fine. Really, I appreciate it, but I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sure you can.” With a tip of the hat, Jackson shut the door and got back into the driver’s seat. “Have a good evening, Miss Bliss.” It was the last thing he said to her before pulling away at the green light. Jasmine heaved a sigh of relief, and waited until he was out of her vision before resuming her trek home.

  It took her another hour to get there. In that time her legs had become sore, but she didn’t want to wait for a bus. Something felt off. Her instincts told her to get home as soon as possible. If nothing else, she needed to feed the cat. Yes, that was it. That was what felt so wrong to her.

  She could see her building. She could see her street. She could see Pancho roaming around, and she could see Juan’s beat-up car parked where it always was. Home.

  The nearest streetlamp was blocked as a large black van pulled into view. Jasmine stopped, startled, turned on her heels, and started fleeing down the sidewalk. Run! It was all her adrenaline knew. But she was too slow. The van cut her off at the next intersection. A door slid open, and a man dressed in black jumped out and grabbed her, silencing her mouth with his hand before she could scream.

  35

  Jasmine supposed it was too much to ask that this was some sick prank on a TV station’s part. No, that was too easy. Too safe.

  Oh my God, I am going to die. She could see it now – or not, since she was blindfolded and tied up in the back of a moving van – some rival of Ethan’s got wind that she was the one he was fucking and was going to hold her for ransom. Mr. Billionaire didn’t pay up? Boom. Because of course it would be a gun, because guns scared the shit out of Jasmine.

  They drove for a long while. To some safe house, to be sure. Once they got there Jasmine assumed she would be dragged out, tied to a chair, and asked to make a video. Wasn’t that how it went in the movies? Now all she needed was a SWAT team or a superhero to come save her.

  But this wasn’t a movie. The more that sank in, the more frightened Jasmine became. This is it. I’m going to die. Or something almost worse was going to happen.

  When the van came to a stop Jasmine had no idea. All she knew was that one moment the engine was idling, and the next it had finally stopped completely. The door slid open, and a strong hand was on her arm.

  “Don’t make a sound,” a rough voice said. “Squeal and you’re dead.”

  Jasmine nodded. Was she supposed to nod?

  Whoever handled her attempted to do so gently, but his firm grip on her said that he was not being nice for the sake of it. He guided her feet to the hard ground, her heels clicking on what she thought was concrete as her captor shoved her through another door and onto hardwood floors. The scent of flowers overcame her. Not the gasoline, the blood, the piss, and what the hell ever else Jasmine was expecting from a warehouse or grungy basement built for murder. Where am I? It wasn’t just an existential question for the police to pursue. It was a genuine piece of curiosity since she was not expecting warmth on her skin and flowers in her nose.

  She was stopped somewhere. Somewhere cavernous, since her heels echoed and she could feel the space around her.

  “That’s good,” came a familiar voice. “Leave her here. I’ll
take it from here.”

  No.

  No.

  Her captor ripped her blindfold off before scurrying away like a bad dog. Jasmine’s eyes burned as they adjusted to the light. A bad taste came into her mouth – even though she knew exactly where she was, she did not feel safe even the tiniest bit.

  “Ah, Jasmine.” Here came Jackson Lyle, dressed like he was going to his grandmother’s after-Memorial-Day funeral. Why was he smiling at her? Why was he extending his hand to her? Jasmine stumbled backward just to get away from him. “So glad you could come after all.”

  “After all?” The first thing to fall from her lips. “Some man grabbed me, tied me up, and put me in the back of a van!”

  “Yes, well, where I live is private. Hope you understand.”

  Hell no. All Jasmine understood was that this shit of a man had her kidnapped and brought to his… to his… Jasmine looked around. Now this was a mansion. Not like Ethan’s country chateau. Mr. Lyle came from old money, and that afforded him all sorts of things. Like a giant house to stick his kidnapped woman in.

  “What is going on?” Jasmine held her arms close to her body. “Where’s Ethan?”

  “Ethan?” Jackson kept his damned distance, but it didn’t do anything to make Jasmine feel safer in his presence. “Why in the world would he be here? You made it pretty clear that you want nothing to do with him. Time for you to move up in the world.”

  Jasmine looked around for an escape. But wherever they were – Jackson’s isolated mansion up in the mountains, most likely – Jasmine wasn’t going anywhere. Every door was guarded by some big burly guy in black, and even if she made it out of there, where would she go? All she knew about Jackson’s place was that he owned acres of land outside of the city. No matter what she did, Jasmine would be trapped on his property to be hunted down like a dog. The odds of her not only making it off his land but to safety in one piece was next to abysmal.

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  “Do? I’m not doing anything to you.” Jackson smiled as if that was such an absurd thing to assume, as if Jasmine had filled her little mind with sick fantasies that he totally did not share. “I brought you here so you could finally live the life you deserve, Jasmine.”

  Oh, God.

  “There’s no need to be frightened. I won’t harm you.” He took a step forward, and Jasmine took a step back. “Now, don’t be that way. I understand that this is difficult for you to adjust to so quickly. You’re in a new environment! Maybe you should go to bed. Grant?”

  One of the door guards stepped forward and snatched Jasmine by the arm before she could get away. His grip was hard, assured, just like the man who had snatched her off the street. “Where we putting this one?”

  This one? How many women did Jackson collect and keep in his house, anyway? “The premier guest room, of course. We want to make sure she’s comfortable.”

  Jasmine somehow doubted that she would be comfortable at all. Especially when the man named Grant hauled her up a grand staircase and down a dark, foreboding hallway. The next thing Jasmine knew, she was thrown into a large bedroom and had the door latched behind her – with Jackson in the room as well.

  “Let me go,” she said, even though nobody held her anymore. Jasmine took to a corner, where she could at least keep Jackson sight. Candlestick? Check. Rope from the thick curtains? Check. Her mind was racing with the possible weapons she could grab and use against her captor.

  “You’re not a prisoner here, Jasmine.” How dare he try to sound so comforting? Did he think Jasmine was really going to fall for it? “I’m just securing my spendy purchases.”

  “What?”

  That laugh. Like she was a child in need of punishment. “After what you did to Ethan, he had no use for you anymore. So he sold you to me. That’s how we work.”

  He’s got to be shitting me. Jasmine didn’t know what to believe anymore.

  Being trapped in Jackson’s mansion wasn’t so bad – if one could ever say that being a prisoner anywhere was not so bad.

  Her needs were taken care of. Three times a day a servant came by with a meal. Delicious, succulent meals made with only the best and freshest ingredients, each designed to give Jasmine all the calories she needed to get through the day… but no more than that.

  She had her own bathroom, her own big bed, and enough clothes to change into every day. In fact, the clothes were so her style and size that it was almost as if they were placed there in expectation of her arrival. But thinking that just gave her even more shivers than usual.

  I wonder if people know I’m missing. Surely her friends had tried to call her. Jackson had her phone taken away, so she had no idea. All she was given to amuse herself with were some books and movies. Otherwise she didn’t even have a satellite connection. Definitely no Internet or any computer to use it on. The windows were latched shut and the glass unbreakable — Jasmine tried that first night. Besides, when she looked out the window, she saw that she was three stories in the air and the grounds were regularly patrolled by both security and dogs.

  Jackson did not touch her, but he visited her more than once a day to serve her platitudes and reassurances. Whenever Jasmine asked if she could leave or how long she would be staying there, he dodged the questions and told her to make herself at home. “What about my cat?” She asked more than once. “You gonna let him starve to death?”

  “We can make arrangements to bring your cat here,” Jackson told her. “My new pet should have her pets as well.”

  The man was seriously delusional. He was under the guise that he now somehow owned Jasmine. As if she had ever consented to such a thing just because of her deal with Ethan. As for that matter, she had no idea whether to believe Jackson’s story or not. She didn’t want to, and didn’t believe that Ethan was that kind of man, but she had to admit that it niggled at her. But what niggled at her the most was the idea that Jackson was trying to break her down until he did something even more heinous than simply kidnapping her and keeping her prisoner in a guest bedroom. It was only a matter of time before he put his hands on her.

  One day. Two days. Three days passed and Jasmine still couldn’t find a way out of her prison. She also didn’t believe for one minute that someone would actually bring her cat to be with her, although she didn’t doubt that Jackson had the means necessary to break into her apartment and grab some things, like an angry cat who only liked her.

  In the midst of all this, Jasmine had something else constantly haunting her brain. Namely Monica, whom she had yet to see.

  She knew this was where Monica lived with Jackson. This had to be Jackson’s main home, considering how isolated and large it was. Like a compound. Yet Jasmine had no idea how Monica lived. She had always assumed that Jackson’s lover could come and go as she pleased, even if she didn’t because it was part of her lifestyle to listen to him. By now Jasmine had images of Monica trapped in a room whenever she was in this compound. A room much like this one, only perhaps bigger and gaudier because Monica was the queen sub of this court. She probably had Internet, a computer, and a TV at least. Jackson didn’t worry about his chief pet running out on him. Not like he probably worried about Jasmine.

  What am I going to do? She couldn’t run out the door whenever someone visited her. She didn’t trust that someone would notice her missing and automatically think to look here. They would have assumed that after what she did in Ethan’s office she had ran away. Sometimes Jasmine sat by the window and tried to send out some psychic waves to anyone who might be listening. Juan, Selena, Nadia… if only there was some way to reach one of them.

  It was on the evening of the third day, long after she finished picking her dinner, that someone new finally came to visit Jasmine. She heard them coming first. Heavy footsteps in the hallway that did not belong to Jackson or any of his cronies. They were swift, insistent. Heading straight for Jasmine’s room.

  In her eternal stupidity, Jasmine could onl
y think of one person. Ethan. The only man who could have possibly thought to look in his business partner’s mansion for a missing woman. Even after what she had done to him, there was still a chance that he had come to save her. It made her heart race, her blood quicken for the first time in days, and her hopes lighten unlike ever before. This was it. Finally, Jasmine would be…

  The door opened. “Ethan!” She stood up from where she sat on the bed, her face flushed in eternal hope.

  But it wasn’t Ethan. It wasn’t even a man. A feminine shadow stood in the doorway, illuminated by the golden lights behind her.

  It was Monica. And in her hand was a ring of keys.

  36

  She held a finger to her lips, silencing Jasmine before the prisoner had the chance to speak. Even though she knew she should stay silent, Jasmine about burst with questions and accusations. But instead of speaking she took two steps forward, her fists balled at her sides as she used every drop of willpower she had to not barrel over Monica and make her great escape into the darkness.