My Dream Job
A Billionaire Boss Romance
Marcella Swann
Contents
MY DREAM JOB
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Hard Drive
About the Author
Copyright © 2018 by Orléans Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
MY DREAM JOB
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Elliot’s got a billion in the bank,
owns whatever he wants, and lives life on the edge.
But all he wants, all he needs is … her.
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Chapter One
Callie
Picking a show to watch shouldn’t have been hard, but I couldn’t settle down and keep my mind on any one thing. I felt drained, having finished my final exam that morning after staying up half the night studying. Being the first of my family to graduate college, relief had given way to a feeling of anti-climactic anxiety. My double major in business and marketing had been my summit for so long. Now, there was only one path and it felt downward.
I held the remote loosely, my thumb pressing the clicker as the options flashed across the TV screen. I tried to focus from where I lay on the worn sofa, but nothing held my attention.
“Callie? Please set the table, honey,” my mother called from the kitchen.
I tossed the remote, letting it stop on one of the news channels. Wearily, I got to my pink-slippered feet and made myself a promise I’d go to bed right after supper. Pulling Grandma Courtney’s best china from the hutch, I mechanically set the table, idly listening to the reporter who was conducting an interview.
During school, my dream after graduating had been to leave dreary Cleveland and head for a big city where the world would beat at my door, offering executive titles, lunches with clients, and opportunities to close big deals that would shoot me up the corporate ladder. In a few years, I’d be VP of marketing or business development, propelling the next big startup to the Fortune 500.
That unrealistic dream quickly dissolved, however, as I placed silverware around the table and contemplated which unpaid internship offer I should take while working at my uncle’s dry cleaners so that I could start to pay off my student debt.
It stung, having struggled so long, holding down two jobs, taking classes during the summer to graduate early, only to realize that this was just a small hill to a much larger mountaintop. My mind drifted, trying to ease the stress of the unknown future. I fell into another familiar dream of mine, a secret fantasy really, one that always helped me to escape. I imagined a powerful, hot corporate type who would recognize my potential and offer me an alluring mixture of adventure and opportunity. We would travel on business trips to Tokyo and Berlin, map out product strategies into the late hours at his corner office, take cabs together, our hands touching, he'd move closer… The T.V. crept back into my consciousness, and slowly my daydream faded, obscured by a beer commercial and the fog of my uncertainty.
When the newscast returned, I heard a tinge of awe in the reporter’s voice as he introduced the next guest, Alec Berenson. That caught my interest and I turned to watch the screen. Talk about a hunk; his chiseled shoulders and hazel eyes stopped me cold.
“Mr. Berenson, I’m sure you’ve heard yourself called ‘The Wizard of Women?’ Tell us, how did that get started?” the young reporter ventured nervously. I giggled to myself while thinking of the other name my friends and I had for him, the Brad Pitt of Business.
Berenson seemed uncomfortable with the title, but handled it with some swag. “Yes, it’s a little odd, but I guess better than being called a womanizer,” he grinned. “After selling Robotica, I really wanted to grow my consulting firm, and that’s when I began hearing firsthand so many stories of women struggling to reach the upper echelons of the tech world, and beyond. So, we got busy and started breaking some glass ceilings. You might’ve also heard that I’m all about disruption.”
“But what’s the ‘special sauce’ that helps you consistently mentor your female clients to success, especially in such varied fields? You’ve personally helped mold the careers of dozens of women who have gone on to become highly successful CEOs, investment dynamos, and even a United States senator. What’s your secret?”
There was a pause as Berenson shifted in his seat. I moved closer to the TV as his sexy good looks drew me in.
“There is no formula,” he answered with a baritone voice that exuded masculinity.
"I believe every person has what I call a ‘raw shine' inside themselves. It's that spark that makes them unique and comes out when they connect with their passion in life. If anything, that's what I look for, and once I've found it, I help them navigate a path to their goal and ramp up their momentum. But it's the individual who breaks through, revealing their genius to the world."
Mesmerized by Berenson’s charisma, his killer smile suddenly lit up the screen and melted me inside.
“An interesting perspective. I understand you’re making a tour across the country, conducting some speaking engagements?” the reporter prompted.
Berenson nodded. “Yes, just a little vacation combined with something I enjoy doing—mentoring.” He stressed the word, and his glance into the camera was the hook that snagged me.
The interview ended shortly after, but I felt as though some strong force of nature had touched me. I heard my destiny in Alec Berenson’s voice. He’d been speaking directly to me. I just knew it.
I’d always been an ambitious individual with laser-beam focus. Sometimes it led me into hasty decisions, like the one I was about to make. Now, hearing the Berenson interview, something suddenly switched my drive back on again.
It was three weeks later, and despite not having a plan, and with my diploma in a shabby chic frame, I put my suitcase in the trunk of my hand-me-down Mustang and said goodbye to my puzzled parents, who waved half-heartedly from the porch. I was off trading Cleveland for Chicago, looking for opportunities and a chance to meet Alec Berenson. He was my calling. I wasn't sure what I expected, but it wasn't remotely close to what happened when I found him.
Chapter Two
Alec
I stretched my legs, shifting in the seat. Bored, I wanted out of the aircraft. I kept my dislike of flying to myself, opting to have my own jet with a pilot standing by to make it marginally better. Looking out the small window, I tried not to feel the altitude from above the clou
ds. It gave me the curious sense that the floor would give way, but at the same time, it was a bit exhilarating too. I imagined this scenario, quickly grabbing my drop-down parachute and strapping it on as I fell, then pulling the ripcord with a fast jerk up. The neon green and orange color of my company's logo would be hard to miss as I made a grand entrance, landing with a decisive plop into downtown Chicago.
“We’ll be on the tarmac soon, Alec,” Walter said, jolting me back to reality. He cleared away the meal I’d just eaten, always anticipating my every need, and that made him singularly the best personal assistant I’d ever had. I looked at my watch. “We should be touching down in a quarter hour,” he answered my unspoken question.
I’d been invited to speak in an ‘influencer’ lecture series at a private college outside of Chicago. The event was more exclusive, a smaller crowd, which I liked better because I could easily make eye contact with the people in the audience. The dean of the college had offered the use of a private landing strip at the edge of their campus, which helped me avoid the hassle of O’Hare. My pilot announced our impending landing and advised us to buckle in.
I felt the jet surrendering altitude, and when the wheels touched down I released the breath I’d been holding without realizing it. As I unbuckled my seatbelt, Walter had already jumped up and pulled my wool coat from the small cabin closet. He held it up so I could slip it on, then handed me my laptop case. When the door opened, and the steps lowered, I could see Dean Marshall waiting for me on the ground. Moving quickly down to meet him, the brisk air snapped at my face. “Hello, Dean,” I said, shaking his hand.
“An honor to have you here, Mr. Berenson, a true honor.”
“Thank you, but call me Alec,” I answered, as a gust of air took his hat and I grabbed it before it blew away. “Just another beautiful day in the Windy City!”
“Thanks, Alec,” he said, as I handed the hat back to him. “After living in Florida for ten years, I’m still adjusting. We have a car waiting for you, warm and comfortable. Right this way.”
He motioned his arm toward a black SUV near the lot and I fell into step beside him. The exercise felt good, stretching my legs and infusing cool air into my lungs.
Whisked away from the landing strip, I began to look forward to arriving at the nearby five-star hotel off campus. Although in my public life I was a student of people-watching, tonight I preferred some time alone to perfect my talk, adding some new anecdotes that might speak directly to this group.
Dean Marshall was chatting on, touting all the stats and recent accolades of the university, working his salesmanship like a pro. I always left a substantial donation after these visits, so the word had gotten out. Still, I enjoyed watching the effort he took in trying to impress me, even though the check was already written and in my bag. There was still the matter of what I’d like the money to go toward. I was fascinated with psychology, how the human mind works and what motivates people, so maybe funding for research in that department.
I was also on the lookout for another person to mentor since the last woman I helped was now in Japan and running a car company. My firm had mentored thousands of people with online coaches and strategies I had developed, but I usually had one person for a few months of the year that I took on individually. I wanted someone hungry to learn, both a visionary and a problem solver, capable of understanding complex concepts and communicating them well. Lecturing gave me the opportunity to scout for such individuals—although they were rare to come across.
Marshall directed me to my room. “We’ll see you in the morning, Alec. Your limousine will be outside at eight to pick you up. That should give you plenty of time to set up before the seminar begins. Have a wonderful evening.”
I unlocked the door with the keycard, tossed my computer case on the bed, and started scanning through the emails on my phone. There was a knock at the door, and I looked through the peephole to see Walter. "Hello, stranger," I said as he entered, wheeling in my suitcase.
“Hello, Alec. I’ll put this all away after I order dinner,” he said.
“Okay, great. Your room is through there,” I motioned as I handed him a key card and went to sit in one of the wingback chairs in the suite to catch up on calls and emails.
“Do you want the usual, grilled salmon and a protein shake?” he asked.
“Yes, but light on the kale, buddy,” I answered. Walter understood me perfectly, priding himself on knowing what I needed done before I even knew.
After dinner, I paced the room while I worked on tweaking my lecture, visualizing the crowd in my head. I planned to hang out afterward to answer questions and talk with the students and professors. Since I never attended college, I figured visiting campuses often would rub off on me somehow; intellectually or culturally. I told myself it was my way of giving back, but really, it was a peek into a world I never had a chance to enter when I was younger. Maybe that's what motivated me to help people, especially women, bust through the roadblocks and barriers of life.
I made a decision right before I hit the lights that tomorrow I would pick someone, the first person who asked me to mentor them, no matter what.
Chapter Three
Callie
Luckily, I had found an apartment online as soon as I arrived in Chicago. It was a sublease with another girl named Mariah whose ex-roomy had gotten homesick for Tennessee and left her high and dry. The apartment was barely big enough for one person, and sleeping arrangements were one sofa for Mariah since she claimed it first, and an inflatable air mattress for me that I had brought from home.
It was the perfect situation, though. Mariah didn’t make me sign anything; she was just glad to have help with the rent. So, I found my electrical outlet, lived out of my backpack with mascara, my laptop, and a box of granola bars that left me perpetually thirsty. Actually, I’d take over prime real estate—that of the wall right next to the bathroom. I was happy.
On my third afternoon of looking for a job, I took a break in a coffee shop to comb through the ads posted on the bulletin board. It had the vibe of a retro-hippie scene in an old part of town that suited me perfectly. I had just sat down with my small latte when I noticed an ad in a student newspaper that the guy near me was reading. The ad had Alec’s picture (I thought of him now by his first name as I knew he was my destiny). I leaned over and snatched the paper from his hand—that’s allowed when destiny is giving you that one chance to meet it. The guy opened his mouth to protest, but I batted my eyes and smiled as I said, “You don’t mind, do you?” It was a throwaway paper, and there were a dozen more in a stack by the door. “This Alec Berenson… have you heard of him?” I asked, pointing to the ad featuring his upcoming local appearance.
“Sure, hasn’t everyone?”
“Are you going to his lecture?” I asked, all the while scanning for details.
“Kind of weird for a dude to go see the ‘Wizard of Women.’ Anyway, it’s out of my budget,” he answered.
I noticed the guy wore a stained t-shirt, sat with an old laptop, and had his sneakers untied. He and Alec Berenson were definitely on different plateaus. “Well, thanks,” I winked at him and left with his paper in my hand.
Three days later I was sitting in the front row at Alec’s seminar. I’d blown a chunk of change on the premium seating, but it was worth it when your future was at stake. I was calm, as if meeting my fate was unquestioned. Chicago was progressing through its normal windy fall, so I’d dug out my best sweater, a soft baby-blue angora. My mother had bought it for me as a birthday gift, calling it my lucky sweater because it matched my eyes.
Alec’s seminar was titled, “Empowerment – The Path to Personal Growth.” I had no idea how that was intended, but it felt like what I was looking for. The auditorium was hushed and respectful. I could feel the energy of ambition all around me. Everyone held a laptop, or at least a phone for recording notes. I had a pad of paper and a photographic memory, fueled by a thirst for whatever I could absorb.
Exactly at
nine, the auditorium lights dimmed and the chorus of “We Are the Champions” by Queen pumped out of the speakers. A single spotlight came up center stage, and there he was.
Alec Berenson looked like he had on the news interview—but better! He emanated power, charisma, and an ease with life that said he’d met it all and conquered it too. I was enamored. I sat up straight in my seat, as did most of the audience, which was about seventy-five percent female. There were cheers as he strode over to the podium while doing fist pumps to the beat. After the music and applause died down, he looked out and scanned the room.
"I'm Alec Berenson," he introduced himself as if he had to. "The following sixty minutes will be the most empowering of your lives, but only if you embrace what I am about to share. If you are here for any other reason, I noticed a Dunkin' Donuts down the street." This brought a titter from the audience, but not a soul moved.
The single spotlight shone down on his head as though he was the anointed messenger himself. My heart was hammering and I was finding it difficult to breathe. He was only ten feet or so in front of me although he stood on a raised stage. I could see his eyes, and when they suddenly focused on me, I stopped breathing entirely. He was mesmerizing.
“Why are you here?” his voice boomed, and it took a moment for me to realize he wasn’t asking me directly. On the verge of speaking up to tell him I’d come because he was my fate, I caught myself in time and looked around briefly. The faces were all entranced with his energy.
My Dream Job: A Billionaire Boss Romance Page 1
