Besting the Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys)

by Alison Aimes

  But a lot could happen in a day.

  “Paul never stood a chance.” Eaton grabbed another dumpling off a passing tray and stuffed it in his mouth. Next to his phone, food was his favorite hand-held device.

  “I wonder how long it will take Russell’s eldest to learn Pierson screwed him over?” Morales sounded almost cheerful. Probably because it was his lead that had finally allowed them to acquire the leverage needed to catch the slippery head of the Winslow board in their net.

  “I would have loved to see Paul’s face,” agreed Eaton. “Too bad he’s not here tonight.”

  But Lily Bennett was.

  And while she might applaud Alexi’s efforts to end Paul’s ambitions, he doubted she’d be as pleased by the end of her own tenure as CEO.

  Which meant good-bye to those warm, full lips against his and those perfect ass cheeks gripped in his hands.

  Alexi tossed back another big swallow of vodka.

  “Hold up.” Eaton’s hand paused midway to his mouth, his leftover dumpling meat sliding out of the dough and onto the floor. “Why is your main competitor sauntering up to Pierson as if he’s here to talk to her and not us?”

  Alexi shot to attention.

  Eaton wasn’t wrong.

  Armageddon was holding out her hand in greeting to Pierson, her taunting gaze flicking briefly to his, before she gave the older man her full attention—and the kind of smile she’d never once given him.

  Just what the fuck was she up to now?

  There was no way she could know. No damn way.

  But had his spies missed something as well?

  “The old man’s falling behind schedule.” Eaton checked his watch. “He’s supposed to come to us at nine, ask for quiet while he thanks everyone for coming, and then announce his support for you.”

  “Yes,” said Alexi. “Thank you for recounting what was supposed to happen.”

  “Why don’t you sound furious?” Eaton studied him, peering so close dumpling breath wafted across Alexi’s cheek. “Shouldn’t you be furious?”

  “He will be,” said Morales, “when you step out of his line of sight.”

  Shoving Eaton to the side, Alexi followed his security head’s gaze, his amused tolerance disappearing fast as Lily Bennett skirted the dance floor, heading toward the elevators like some kind of Pied Piper, Don Pierson the rat following close behind, his full attention on her swaying ass.

  “Where the hell are they going?” Eaton was no longer using his inside voice. “Maybe he changed his mind.”

  “Not possible.” Alexi wasn’t worried on that score. Don Pierson’s vote was his.

  “Yeah. We all know that’s not happening,” agreed Morales. “More likely the scumbag is just looking to make a different kind of deal. String her along, like he did with Paul, to get what he wants. You know Pierson’s reputation.”

  Alexi tossed back the last of his drink, welcoming the burn at the back of his throat.

  He did know the fucker’s rep. But he knew a lot more about Lily Bennett now, too.

  “I wonder if she knows what a bastard Pierson really is?” Morales sounded thoughtful.

  “Maybe she knows and that’s exactly why she went. If her last relationship is any indication, she does like them old.” His CFO stuffed the rest of his dumpling into his big yap.

  Alexi’s hand tightened around his glass. “Shut it, Eaton.”

  “I almost feel sorry for her.” Morales was still tracking their departure. “Whatever she thinks she’s gambling, she has no idea the deck is already stacked against her.”

  The urge to charge across the room and beat Pierson to a pulp surged through Alexi. But Lily Bennett had already told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t need him to swoop in and rescue her. And he’d warned her he wasn’t anyone’s white knight. He’d hung up his tarnished armor a long time ago.

  If Lily Bennett wanted to play in the big leagues with the sharks, she was going to have to learn sometimes you got bit.

  Signaling the waiter over, he placed his empty glass on the man’s tray and grabbed another full one.

  This was business as usual.

  He just hadn’t expected it to be so hard.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Thank you for seeing me.” Lily slipped through the door Don Pierson held open. “I know this party is your baby.”

  “Now is fine.” He sauntered farther into his personal office, a gorgeous room decorated in slick brown leather and dark paneling that screamed old school and pompous. Much like the lawyer himself.

  The only outlier, a framed photo on the wall behind his massive oak desk. It was a lovely picture of him standing at the top of some mountain with his arms around a gaggle of cute grandchildren and a needle-thin woman his age.

  It gave her hope.

  “I can’t stand hosting these damn events.” Ignoring the dizzying view of the Chrysler Building and the Manhattan skyline at his back, he pinned his sullen gaze on her once more. “Why everyone insists they start this late is beyond me.”

  Late? Eight thirty p.m.? Lily fought a smile, some of her reluctance about this meeting melting away. Pierson was definitely Russell’s contemporary.

  Plus, she wasn’t going to pretend it wasn’t nice to be away from a certain temptation. Tonight, her tormentor had looked as sinful as ever. His piercing, cobalt-blue eyes a stark contrast to the dark luxury of his custom black tux.

  Trying not to stare had taken too much damn energy.

  But she’d marshaled her focus and implemented her plan—and here she was. Even if it made her skin crawl.

  “You should have come to me before.” It was a repeat of what he’d said during their awkward elevator ride. “I might have been able to save that pretty ass a lot of pain.” He gestured toward two leather chairs positioned next to one another, his tux jacket bulging around the middle. “Sit.”

  Smile wiped clear, she sat.

  Because the man wasn’t simply a doddering pompous coot who thought eight thirty was late. He was head of the Winslow board and wielded tremendous power.

  And tonight, she had to convince him to throw all that smug influence behind her rather than Paul or Kazankov.

  “This whole vandalism mess…” Pierson remained standing, a definite tactic. “It’s a real tragedy.”

  For an instant, she thought he might behave like a human being—until he continued talking.

  “I don’t need to tell you it’s got the board worried.” Of course, he made no mention of the horror of the act itself or the flagrant disrespect and dishonor to a man he’d once pretended was his friend. “Such bad press. Bringing the whole mess with Russell and you and the will back into the limelight. It’s a blood bath all around.”

  “I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.” Shoving her sorrow and rage down where she could deal with it later, she forced herself to stay in business mode. “The story will disappear in a day while my profit numbers continue to move upward. Many on the board know that. It’s why I was able to stave off Paul’s recent mutiny, and why I was on my way to gaining a number of supporters before this cowardly attack on Russell’s grave.”

  “Which means exactly shit. You can’t come close to the Iceman’s or Paul’s votes, you have to beat them.”

  “I’m well aware of that.”

  “If you know it, why didn’t you come to me earlier?”

  Here was the crux of it. Pierson’s ego was hurt.

  “Ignoring your friends in this business is foolish, little girl,” he admonished. “There’s a good chance I could have convinced the board to go easier on you.”

  A prime example of exactly why she’d avoided Pierson and sought to drum up support elsewhere.

  He’d been a condescending bastard since Russell introduced them—smacking her ass instead of shaking the hand she’d held out in greeting. Repeatedly referring to her as Russell’s prime piece of real estate. Sending her to fetch drinks so “those in charge could discuss real business.”

>   But desperate times called for desperate measures. The survivor in her knew that well.

  “I don’t need you arguing the board should go easier on me.” Her hands curled around the armrests, but she modulated her voice as best she could. “I need you insisting I’m the best candidate for the job and the right choice for this company…because I am.”

  “A lot of board members are saying Paul should be in charge.”

  “A lot? Or just Paul?”

  Pierson loomed closer. “I think you should seriously consider stepping down and letting Russell’s son take his rightful place.”

  “If the position of CEO was meant to be Paul’s, Russell would have put him there. Instead, he chose to hand the reins to me. That should tell you something.” She forced the snark from her voice. “What I need from you isn’t a discussion about Paul, it’s a commitment you’ll give me your public support at the next board meeting. Nothing will calm the board faster than your stamp of approval.”

  Without warning, Pierson folded himself into the chair next to hers. “You’ve certainly found your voice over these last few weeks.”

  Somehow, he didn’t sound complimentary.

  “I remember when Russell brought you back from France. How shy and timid you were. Obviously breakable.” The unmistakable stench of wistful longing seeped into his tone. “I don’t think you said a word the first few times he brought you round.”

  She hadn’t been shy. She’d been traumatized. And using all her strength to stay off whatever drugs Francoise had hooked her on. “A lot has changed.”

  “But a lot hasn’t.”

  Wrong. If the last few go-rounds with Kazankov had proven anything, it was that she was a lot tougher than she’d ever realized.

  She was done pretending otherwise.

  Fingers steady, she reached into her clutch and pulled out her phone. “This is a screenshot of financial records from a recently discovered offshore account. They stretch back two years. Right around the time Russell’s health really took a turn for the worse.”

  When Pierson’s bushy eyebrows rose, she knew she had his attention. “Go on. Give the circled accounts a look. They belong to Paul. And you. As I’m sure you’re aware, they indicate an awful lot of company money shifted between the company and the head of the board—you—without express approval from Russell. Almost as if it were some kind of payoff from Russell’s son while his father was too sick to notice…”

  The tightening of Pierson’s jaw brought a rush of satisfaction.

  See how much has changed, you condescending bastard? No shyness. No timidity. Lots of words now. And no chance of someone like you breaking me.

  “That is technically not illegal.” Pierson tugged at his jacket cuff.

  “I know.” Unfortunately. “But it’s unlikely to make the other board members happy if it were to become public information. It doesn’t make you or Paul look too good, either.”

  “Attacking board members won’t make you popular with the board. Or me.”

  Batting down a flutter of nerves, she went for it. “I’m not saying I have to reveal these findings.” Paul was out anyway and the revelation would only hurt Winslow Industries’ bottom line. “What I am saying is you should stop calling me little girl and recognize I am a force to be reckoned with and very serious about retaining my position as CEO.”

  A heavy silence descended.

  She forced herself not to shift. Not to blink. Not to breathe.

  “Where’d you find these records? Jim show them to you?”

  She hid a grimace. “Found it all by my little lonesome, actually.”

  He considered her for a few more long seconds before leaning in, his shoulders relaxing. “I’m impressed. I didn’t know you had it in you to play hardball.”

  “Impressed enough to give me your public stamp of approval?”

  He paused. “Maybe.” But there’d been a nod as well.

  She threw a mental fist pump into the air. She could do this. She could serve as CEO. She could save the company. Victory was in sight.

  A warm, clammy hand landed on her thigh.

  “I like a little hardball myself.” Pierson squeezed her limb, his voice low and smug. “Russell and I did always have similar taste. Here’s my counteroffer, pretty girl. You want me to accommodate you?” His hand inched higher, leaving a trail of slime. “You accommodate me.”

  Her blood turned to ice, memories of another time wrapping around her muscles and locking her in place.

  She’d been equally unprepared then.

  Francoise.

  Fifteen years her senior.

  The product of a random meeting at a truck stop where she’d been waitressing.

  Handsome and sophisticated, Francoise Dubois had handed her his agent/photographer card, a couple lines about her “potential as a model,” and she’d been certain her life had finally taken a turn for the better.

  Naive, reckless, and plain stupid, she’d quit school, packed up the trash bag of stuff that qualified as her possessions, cashed in the last of her earnings, and taken her first flight ever to a place where she knew no one and didn’t speak the language. Certain she was finally about to prove wrong all the haters who’d said she’d end up like her mother.

  Her only regret was leaving her baby sister behind. But Francoise had assured her she’d be able to send for Beth soon.

  Twelve hours after arriving in Paris, the man about to change her life for the better put his hand on her knees, his tongue down her throat, and made it clear that in exchange for his services, he expected her to provide certain ones of her own.

  You want my assistance, Cherie? Then, you’ll assist me.

  Alone, isolated, without funds or transportation back to the States, she’d had no choice but to comply. And keep complying, even as his demands got darker, his control over every aspect of her career and life more absolute.

  She’d learned a lot about accommodation during that time—as well as the painful consequences of a stupid girl’s reckless, rash acts—but she’d found a way out of the darkness in the end.

  Thanks to Russell. Who’d given her a protective cocoon where she could spend the last six years trying to become someone different. Someone better. Someone untouchable. Someone people wouldn’t treat like they were good for one thing only.

  But here she was, right back where she’d started. An unwelcome hand on her thigh and the air thick with the degrading, entitled presumption that she’d be accommodating because she had no other choice.

  Except… Kazankov’s scowling face flitted through her mind like a beacon of light.

  You’re turning out to be a far more impressive adversary than I initially imagined.

  When it came to business, he treated her like a legitimate rival. Negotiated with her like an equal. And, damn it, that was what she deserved.

  Not this clammy palm inching up her thigh.

  Her hand curled into a fist. It was time to rip Don Pierson a new one.

  Time to channel Kazankov in all his glory.

  By the time she was finished speaking, she fully intended to have not only Pierson’s resignation, but his figurative balls for breakfast. This bully was going down.

  “Get your fucking hand off her before I break it and every bone in your body.”

  She and Pierson swiveled toward the door.

  Kazankov loomed in the entranceway, his arctic blue gaze locked on the hand gripping her thigh.

  It’s not my business how you go about securing your support. Everybody’s got their style. Another Kazankov statement flitted through her brain, far less welcome.

  She knew exactly what this mess with Pierson looked like—and a little part of her died inside.

  So much for earning Kazankov’s respect.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alexi stormed into the room—or at least he tried to. Two pairs of big hands clamped around his chest and held tight.

  “Just hold on a sec.” Eaton’s no-nonsense voice warned
from behind.

  “Calm down,” growled Morales.

  He shook them off and powered forward.

  “It’s not what you think.” Pierson scrambled from his seat, sending it crashing to the ground.

  “It’s exactly what I think.” Alexi slammed his fist on the desk, mostly to ensure he had Pierson’s attention, but it was nice to see the fancy, pretentious globe tilt to the side, too. “If you weren’t old enough to be my grandfather, your ass would be on the ground right now.” He took a breath. “Luckily for you, I was taught to respect my elders.”

  “She…she was hitting on me. Asking for favors…in return for sex.”

  “You lying bastard,” hissed Lily.

  Alexi couldn’t turn around and face her.

  He took in the smug trappings of wealth, the sense of entitlement oozing from every overpriced antique in the place, the bullshit family man photo on the wall, and his fury only grew. His father had been exactly the same way. Sure the world owed him. Sure he was entitled to anything he wanted.

  “She’s the liar,” growled Pierson.

  Realizing this was probably as calm as he was going to get, Alexi swiveled to face his rival. “You okay?” The words came out rougher than he would have liked.

  Her gorgeous eyes were too big in her pale face. “I’m fine. What you saw—”

  “Won’t happen again.” He turned to his friends, hovering close by. “Eaton, give it here.”

  There was a long pause. “Are…are you sure?”

  Alexi jerked his palm a single time.

  “Fine.” In the next instant, the file was slapped into his palm—because thankfully, Eaton carried his briefcase with him everywhere. A suddenly endearing trait Alexi wouldn’t let Morales make fun of again.

  He threw the file on the desk. A few deposition pages slid out onto the desk. “Look familiar?”

  Watching the old man’s face lose all color was even more satisfying than expected. “You…you said you wouldn’t use those. It’s illegal. Those are sealed. They’re…they’re private.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Look,” whined Pierson, “I know I told you I’d get the vote to go your way, and I will.”