Besting the Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys)

by Alison Aimes

  His eyes narrowed while Jessie’s went wide.

  Satisfaction surged. It was past time for her to stop letting guilt rule. And, after the call she’d just received from Don Pierson, she was a little more confident about flexing her CEO muscle.

  The good news: thanks to her presentation, the board had agreed unanimously to hold off on Paul’s proposal to oust her. Which meant, if anyone was keeping score—and she was—the scoreboard read: Paul:0, Lily:1.

  The bad news: the reason the board intended to hold off was because it wanted to consider Alexi Kazankov’s takeover offer. Which meant in the final tally: Paul:0, Kazankov:1, and Lily:somewhere in no man’s land, down but not out.

  “Fine.” Paul’s far from conciliatory tone brought her back to the matter at hand. “I apologize.”

  “For a great deal of recent behavior, I hope.” Lily gave her assistant a conspiratorial, he-doesn’t-scare-me smile. “Jessie, thank you. We’re fine. Please close the door on the way out.” She didn’t bother asking the backstabber to sit.

  The minute the door closed, he whirled on her, the scent of stale cigar smoke hitting her hard. “Are you fucking Kazankov?”

  “No. Are you?”

  He dismissed her question with a slash of his hand. “I saw the way he looked at you at Dad’s memorial. So, I’ll ask again, what the hell were you doing in that conference room alone with him?”

  “And I’ll ask what the hell business is it of yours?” She wondered how he’d heard.

  “It’s my business if the acting CEO can’t act like a real professional. I mean, Jesus, what would my father think?”

  She ignored the stab of guilt. “Funny, you didn’t seem concerned about what he thought when you stole from the company.”

  “I was borrowing that money,” he roared. “I always intended to put it back.”

  Riiiight. Russell hadn’t bought that line. Neither did she. If Jim hadn’t wised up and decided to stop covering for his brother, Paul would probably still be helping himself to company money today. The man had a problem, one he refused to admit—and he’d almost dragged his brother down with him.

  She refused to let him ruin her, too.

  “This isn’t about me, anyhow.” His voice remained a near shout. “You’re the one screwing up left and right.”

  “I was successful enough to ruin your backstabbing plans earlier today.”

  His face turned beet red, and she knew she’d gotten to the real source of his rage.

  “Delayed, not denied.” His palms slammed onto her desk, his expression lethal. “You may have bought yourself some time because they feel sorry for you, but it won’t mean a damn thing in the end. No one wants a bimbo trophy wife in charge—and that’s all you’ll ever be.” His lip curled upward. “You should get out before you take the company down with you.”

  His words found their target, but she refused to let it show, coming back equally as hard. “I’m not the one making a scene. Playing out family tensions in public.” She took a stab. “Siccing reporters for your own revenge.”

  From the way Paul’s eyes went wide before blanking, she knew Kazankov had told her the truth during their brief, blunt phone call. Her own employee had been the one to lie and tell those reporters she’d be at Tyson’s hotel for a midday secret fuck rather than a legitimate business meeting.

  She surged upright, shoving her face into Paul’s. “You bastard.”

  “Exactly what a bitch gold digger like you deserves.”

  “I’ve tried to respect your dad’s request that you remain a part of this company, but this is the last straw. You’re fired.”

  It couldn’t matter anymore that Paul was family. He wasn’t acting like it.

  She settled back into her seat.

  “Are you kidding?” Meaty hands fisted on her desk. “You can’t handle this company without me. You need me. All you’re good for is looking hot and spreading those long legs.”

  “And there goes your severance package. Don’t push me, Paul. I warned you. I won’t be treated with anything but respect.”

  Her ex-COO stepped back, a fake expression of pity stealing over his features as he shook his head. “You really think you can do this, don’t you? Somehow, in that bubble brain of yours, you’ve convinced yourself you’ve got a shot. That my dad actually saw something in you and that the board will see it, too.”

  “They will.”

  Blotches of angry red bloomed on his cheeks and chin. “I hate to break it to you, but he didn’t. What he saw was a chance to use you as bait. To see if those big tits and ass could soften even a hard-ass like Kazankov.” His gaze dragged up her upper body, making her skin crawl. “Maybe from what Jim thinks happened in that conference room, he wasn’t wrong. Maybe Dad knew exactly what it would take to slow a shark like the Iceman down. But I can tell you it won’t be for long. Kazankov may pause long enough to fuck you, but he’ll gobble you down in the end.”

  “I’ve already established I’m not so easy to take down.”

  He pretended she hadn’t spoken. “He’ll chew you up and spit you out with a side order of Winslow Industries while you end up with nothing but the knowledge that you’re just another deal Kazankov managed to close. Just another triumph he fucked, fucked over, and forgot.”

  His slurs arrowed a little too close for comfort.

  “Thank you for that fascinating analysis.” She forced herself to pick up her pen and return to the contract on her desk. “But I’ve got actual work to do.”

  Silence loomed.

  “Do you even know what you’re up against? Why Kazankov wants this company so bad?”

  She refused to look up, but every fiber of her being went on high alert.

  Paul laughed as if he knew. “He wants it for that crazy Russian bat who insists Dad stole it from her. An accusation without a shred of proof.”

  She didn’t bother responding. She’d heard it before. Mined through enough records looking for verification one way or the other to know there wasn’t any.

  “Not enough intel to impress you?” Paul’s voice was troublingly smug. “Well, how about this? Ever wonder why a shark like Kazankov—who never mixes business and personal interests—would make an exception this one time and come to the aid of a little old lady?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. She had wondered. And tried to dig to find out. But like with her, someone had made sure Kazankov’s most interesting stories were buried deep.

  “The old bat helped raise him.” Paul dropped his first bomb. “I overheard Dad talking about it with a lawyer a long time ago. After Kazankov got kicked out of his castle—proof that even his own father didn’t want him—his nutty housekeeper took him in and filled his ears with lies. Bullshit like my dad tricked her into signing away that property. Bullshit like her dirty, illegitimate child was my dad’s kid.”

  “Excuse me?” Lily’s pen snapped in half.

  “Oooh. Your husband didn’t share that tidbit, either, huh?” The bastard’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “It’s a doozey. Almost as juicy as the fact that my alleged half sister was once Kazankov’s fiancée—before she kicked it—and he decided to blame my dad for his own bad choices.”

  Lily sunk back in her chair.

  If Paul was telling the truth, Kazankov had had a fiancée.

  A fiancée who’d died.

  A fiancée he believed was Russell’s daughter.

  A fiancée he considered wronged, along with the mother—the woman who’d raised him.

  “How’d she die?” Maybe it shouldn’t have been her first question, but her chest felt funny, tight, like she couldn’t quite catch her breath. Kazankov knew loss. Just like her. A tiny, foolish part of her bled for him.

  “Drugs. Probably to get away from him.”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  Paul’s eyes narrowed. “I knew it. Something did happen in that conference room.”

  She ignored the accusation for what really mattered. “Do you believe the girl
is your half sister?” She’d never rely on Paul’s version of events, but it was a place to start.

  “No.” His answer came fast. Too fast. “My dad fucked a lot of women in his life. This is not the first time someone’s tried to glom on to his money with such bullshit. Like all the rest of the accusations, there’s no proof. No blood tests. No resemblance. Only the desperate accusations of a troubled Russian slut who got pregnant and disowned and was looking for a wealthy fall guy to save her.” His gaze locked with hers. “Seems dear old dad had a knack for attracting gold diggers. Only he saw through her. By the time you came around, he was old and stupid.”

  “Same old song.” She pretended to yawn. “I wonder if you’ll ever tire of insulting your dad or me?”

  Paul’s face grew redder, his mouth opening and closing as if wasn’t sure how to handle her indifference, which was nice as it gave her time to think.

  She’d have to do more digging. Russell never mentioned another child, but that didn’t mean it was impossible.

  What she did know was that Alexi Kazankov believed it to be true and that his reasons for wanting the company were as personal as her own.

  The budding, foolish hope that had grown since the index card incident died. Now, she understood with a clarity she hadn’t before, there was no chance of finding a compromise. Not when her rival was driven by the same kind of need to see a debt repaid as she—and for some idiotic reason that made her chest go tight all over again.

  “Nothing to say?” Unfortunately, Paul had found his voice once more. “Because I hope it’s suddenly crystal clear that whatever happened in that conference room was all about revenge for Kazankov. A way to stick it to dear old Dad.”

  And she was done.

  “What’s crystal clear is this conversation is over. Security is waiting outside the door so you can gather your personal belongings from your office. You will then be escorted from the building.” Picking up a new pen, she initialed another contract page. “Don’t come back. You won’t like the consequences.”

  “Just like that?”

  She didn’t bother looking up. “If you don’t like that kind of treatment, start treating others better.”

  His growl of outrage shook the room. “Don’t get too comfortable behind that desk, bitch. I’ve got a meeting with Dad’s old pal and the current board head, Don Pierson, in a few hours. When I gain his support, the entire board will turn against you.”

  The slam of the door behind him knocked the frame with Russell’s picture flat onto her desk.

  She slumped back in her chair.

  Enemies within and without—and given her recent behavior with Kazankov and Paul’s revelations—her overactive hormones might be her biggest problem of all.

  “Ms. Bennett?” Jessie’s voice sounded through the intercom. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

  “No worries.” She gave herself a mental slap and focused on more practical matters. “I was actually just about to call you. I need you to re-send me everything you have on the original company contracts, and I’ll need some discrete inquiries done about a Lena Orlov and any children she might have.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “One more thing.” She was on a rampage now and done with playing catch-up. From here on out, she was going on the offensive. “I need you to get the head of the board, Don Pierson, on the phone. I—”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Jessie cut in, her voice tight. “But all of that will have to wait. There’s been an incident. The police are on their way.”

  Chapter Ten

  “You? Get the hell out.” The same feisty chick with red-tipped hair who’d helped Lily out with the board stepped in front of Alexi, her skin flashing red and blue with the nearby siren.

  “Not sure that language is cemetery appropriate.”

  “It’s not a good idea for you to be here.” Jim Winslow, his face pale, his eyes worried, hovered just behind the girl, still pretending he gave a damn about his boss and the company.

  “For better or worse, that rarely stops me.” Ducking beneath the caution tape, Alexi stormed by them, leaving Eaton, Morales, and the rest of his security to deal with the fallout.

  The flash of cameras from photographers, the shouts of reporters, and the ever-present cell phones of gawkers bounced off his back.

  Definitely not the usual fare for the exclusive cemetery where Russell Winslow and the rest of New York’s rich and famous were laid to rest. But little about what had happened here today was.

  The scope of the Winslow Industries situation had just widened far beyond your typical business ugliness.

  Moving around the rows of white marble slabs, he made his way toward the largest gravestone of all. A police car was parked alongside, but he didn’t see a uniform anywhere.

  Just as well. His sole focus was on the lone figure standing by the grave, her arms clutched around one another, her chin tipped downward as she stared at the words spray-painted on the headstone: Resign, bitch. Or else.

  The urge to hurt someone pounded through Alexi’s veins.

  He moved to stand beside her, the subtle scent of peaches and honey filling his lungs, calming him even as it provoked.

  For a few breaths, she said nothing. Offered no acknowledgment. Her silence a stark contrast to the chaos around them.

  Though patience wasn’t his strong suit, he waited. And waited.

  The trampled flower petals someone had ground into the dirt only pissed him off more.

  “You here to deliver more index cards?” She spoke at last, her voice surprisingly steady.

  “No.” This morning’s insanity seemed like ages ago.

  “Then you shouldn’t be here.”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  She turned to face him. Like he’d been wanting from the start.

  It was another sucker punch. The taut lines around her eyes, the streak of dirt on her cheek, the pinched mouth, all new. This morning that perfect mouth had been warm and wet and molded to his.

  “It wasn’t me,” he repeated. “This was a cowardly act. I’m no coward. When I come at someone, I do it head-on.”

  “That bull in a china shop tactic does sound familiar.”

  Her grudging acquiescence sent an odd sense of relief spiraling through him. He’d never given a fuck what any competitor thought of his tactics or him. But then again, he’d never wanted to lay one of them down on the nearest flat surface and fuck them raw.

  “But tell me this,” she continued, “if you’re so direct why not tell me before that you were after the company for personal reasons related to your late fiancée and the woman who raised you?”

  Another unexpected punch. “I assumed you knew.” He flicked at piece of pollen off his suit. “Russell knew. He should have told you.” He fought to keep his expression cool. “Anastasia was Russell’s child. Lena, his one-time girlfriend. He stole their legacy and their money, and I intend to get it back for them.” His gaze locked with hers. “Now you’ve heard it from me directly.” He stepped closer. “But I want to be clear. None of that has anything to do with what happened in that conference room this morning.”

  A flush swept across her cheeks, her gaze dropping to the nearby grave. “I have no interest in discussing that here.”

  “Fine.” He could be patient—in short bursts. He surveyed the line of marble slabs. “Any other graves desecrated?”

  “Not as far as the police can tell.”

  “Which means it was definitely a message. Meant for you.”

  She blew out another long breath, her fingers worrying on that damn gold band that always made him scowl. “Yup.”

  “One you—”

  “Intend to ignore.”

  “Are you sure that’s smart?”

  Her chin shot up. “Are you sure you don’t have an ulterior motive in asking me that?”

  From deep inside an annoying voice that sounded a lot like Eaton suggested it was time to go. That he’d done what he’d come to do—set the
record straight—and cutting out now was the smart move while backing off altogether and not trying to get into her pants ever again would be pure fucking brilliance.

  He stayed put. “Fine. We’ll table that subject for now, too. What do the police know?”

  “Not much.” She let out a small sigh, stretching her neck to the left, then the right, the fall of hair forward exposing a line of throat he wanted to trace with his tongue. “The cop they sent is searching the perimeter for additional clues, but whoever did this must have blended in with one of the funeral parties because no one specifically remembers anyone hovering near Russell’s grave. Security cameras are few and far between, but one did catch a blurry image of the backs of two figures near the headstone.”

  She pulled her coat tighter around her—some flimsy, glossy thing that was more stylish than effective. “It’s impossible to tell, however, if they’re the vandals or just mourners on the way to visit another grave. But someone did this. Some bastard defaced Russell’s grave and trampled his flowers.”

  Morales had already discovered all that. And gotten his own copy of the surveillance pictures, which was helpful. It had given Alexi time to prepare.

  To his surprise, he hadn’t taken it well when he’d first heard, his fist slamming hard into the back of the car seat several times—and then once more for good measure since he couldn’t shake the sense that something about at least one of the figures in the blurred surveillance photo looked familiar.

  Now, hearing that tiny catch in her voice, the urge to punch something was back one hundredfold.

  He told himself it was just common courtesy, the gentlemanly honorable and humane impulse to help someone weaker, but the fact was he’d never been courteous or gentlemanly or honorable or humane in his life. So what the hell was going on?

  “Where was Paul when this happened?” Alexi forced himself to focus on something he could do. “He can’t be happy you were able to convince the board to keep you on a little longer.”

  “He’s not the only one.”

  “I told you already, this wasn’t me.”

  She was silent for a heartbeat. “Security cameras show Paul was in the building all morning and then clearing out his office,” she volunteered at last. “I fired him.”