The Billionaire's Club Trilogy: Deluxe Box Set

by C. L. Donley

  “Can someone get me a drink?” Amara randomly said.

  Everyone laughed. She was hilarious here.

  Suddenly they all heard Bel’s voice through the office speakerphone system, sounding foreboding.

  “Is Amara in a pitch meeting with you right now, Kelly?”

  It gave her butterflies like she was being called to the principal’s office.

  “She is,” Kelly confirmed, tentative.

  “Tell her to report to the balcony.”

  The balcony?

  The MeTv headquarters was a massive cylindrical highrise that contained numerous levels of offices on the outer limits with a courtyard in the middle. Every office had a panoramic view of the grounds from the inside, and a view of the courtyard from the balcony. It was possible to get from the top level to the bottom via a giant spiral slide. It was a silly place to work. Her meeting was on the sixth floor, so she had only to open the door to know what there was to see on the balcony.

  She looked down from the railing, and there was Bel Hafiz and Grayson Davis, founders of MeTv and Webster, sitting in the courtyard with a guitar, and for some reason, Grayson was wearing a black cowboy hat. Which was working for him.

  When Amara walked out, she instantly put her hand over her mouth and tried to turn around and retreat, but her entire team had gotten up and formed a bottleneck in the doorway.

  She was wearing a long, oversized gray sweater that covered her hands and was now trying to hide her entire face with it.

  Co-workers who started to hear the ruckus began opening their doors to see what the fuss was about, and before long, the entire company was emerging from their offices to look over the balcony and gawk at Grayson Davis, actively involved in an elaborate romantic gesture.

  Once there were as many eyes on them as could possibly be on them, he finally began.

  “Amara Jean Riley,” he said. “This is for you.”

  Oh God, did he really have to use her middle name?

  She could barely see through her sweater, still over her face, but she heard Bel strumming a familiar 90’s love song throwback…and now she understood the cowboy hat.

  Was he really about to sing?

  He was.

  He did.

  He barely got the first line out before whooping and hollering was heard around the entire workplace.

  She was glad of that because he was not, by any stretch a singer. But what he lacked in talent, he made up for in confidence. Or was that just lack of social awareness?

  It didn’t help that Bel was encouraging it with his mediocre playing, and it dawned on her at some point that they had rehearsed this. Either recently, or some dorky thing they used to do when they were sharing an apartment. Both thoughts were equally horrifying.

  The song was about love, and grappling with how best to tell someone that you love them.

  Grayson was speaking, nay singing, of love. Had he loved her? For how long? Was it love— not jealousy or poor mistress etiquette— what made their affair so brutal and ill-fitting, so quick as a thought yet so long as a lifetime? Certainly, she had hoped.

  She was beyond touched that he was now ready to acknowledge it to the world, let alone himself. She had no idea that he’d had the capacity to do such a thing. She hadn’t known him as well as she thought.

  To everyone else, the tears must’ve looked like a normal reaction to a grand gesture of love. Little did they know it was his first gesture ever.

  The camera phones came out in earnest. Amara’s uncontrollable smile was ear to ear behind her sweater sleeve, and when Bel got to the chorus and started singing harmonies, everyone erupted. Amara grabbed her immediate supervisor’s arm and hid behind her shoulder, quaking with laughter.

  Were they really going to sing the whole song? The moment seemed to go on for a million years. She both wished that it would and it wouldn’t. She was glad that other people were documenting it because she was incapable of it. She could only guess what was coming next. At the final chorus, the crowd joined in so that technically everyone was now singing to Amara.

  When Bel strummed the final chord, everyone erupted in cheers and applause. In her heart, she knew what he was there to do, but she just couldn’t believe it. Maybe he was just… there to… she couldn’t find a way to make it safe. He could only be there to—

  “Amara Riley,” Grayson bellowed, breaking through her thoughts.

  “Grayson Davis,” she projected in a shaky voice.

  “I am a spectacular asshole, and I’m sorry. Please forgive me, even though I don’t deserve it,” he pleaded, and the feminine sounds of “aww” filled the air. After a beat, he continued.

  “These few months have taught me two things: one, I miss you. Two, I love you.”

  More ardent feminine sounds.

  “Do you love me?”

  Amara knew the answer but then thought of their gorgeous and intense affair. The highs and lows were enough to make one seasick. She’d never truly been in a relationship with him.

  What would a committed Grayson Davis look like? She had to find out.

  She made him sweat a little more before she answered.

  “Yes.”

  The crowd was loving it.

  “Amy,” he felt confident enough to call her.

  “What,” Amy replied.

  “Do you see yourself having a future here?”

  Her mind shot back to that bizarre Monday morning in the Webster conference room, looking at eyes that were as familiar feeling then as they were now. She remembered the life-altering question and then she understood.

  He wanted to start over.

  “Honestly?” she yelled.

  “Of course,” he smiled, his eyes glittering with emotion.

  Should she say it?

  Now? Here?

  It wasn’t the answer he was looking for.

  But the camera phones were still rolling.

  Everyone would love it.

  Would he?

  Ah, screw him.

  Amara cupped both her hands over her mouth, and slowly articulated so that there would be no misunderstanding.

  “We’re having a baby!!” she shouted.

  The office went into deafening raptures.

  Grayson’s face was blank, other than a faint grin. Bel shook him violently by both shoulders until his cowboy hat fell off.

  She was going to try contacting him in another month when it was typically deemed safe to share the news.

  She had to entrust Mya with the task of purchasing a test, in case stray paparazzi were lurking around.

  She hadn’t even noticed that her period was late because up to then she was a virgin so why bother? She only noticed that she seemed to be coming down with something, and when the rest of the symptoms never came, only the fatigue, she still was oblivious. She had to look it up on Magellan.

  It was either her thyroid, her vegetarian diet (which would never exist), or a baby.

  The thought of being pregnant with Grayson’s child thrilled her in the extreme. She had a permanent connection to him and every time she thought of it, which was about a hundred times a day, it brought a tear to the corner of her eye.

  Whatever work that was going to be done today, it would not be done with the help of Amara.

  The office shouting had only died down a little before she made it all the way to the bottom floor where Grayson was standing. It began again when she ran towards him and threw her arms around him. He felt new and real and familiar as she wept into his shoulder.

  As she engulfed his senses he realized he’d yet to propose to her officially. Did she even notice? He wrapped her quaking frame in his arms.

  Tonight, he thought. She deserved more than one moment.

  “I’m sorry,” he said in her ear.

  “I get it. It’s okay,” she assured him.

  “I love you,” he said again.

  “You said that,” she laughed.

  He freed one of his hands to find her belly, and
the “aww’s” began again.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, talking about the baby.

  Amara nodded.

  “Alright, everybody back to work!” Bel loudly announced. “Congratulations, Amara,” he said, and there were a smattering of congratulatory echoes and applause before the electricity died down and the office went back to its business as usual.

  “Can I have the tour?” Grayson said.

  Bel overheard him and knew his friend too well.

  “Behave, Davis…” he said, retreating to his office.

  Grayson shrugged as if he didn’t know what he meant.

  Amara and Grayson left the courtyard hand in hand, walking lazily down the first-floor hallway.

  “I don’t have a job, is that okay?” he smiled.

  Amara laughed. “Yes, I will support us.”

  “Did you get my birthday present?”

  “I did,” she replied, smiling. “Shares!! I’m such an idiot!” she lamented.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, it was your first sex contract,” he giggled. “Anyone around here know that you’re a multi-millionaire?”

  “Only Bel,” she dished, “everyone else just thinks I’m a gold digger.”

  Grayson laughed. He was looking at her mouth as they walked. He half whispered, “I want to kiss you but…we’re supposed to behave ourselves.”

  Amara suddenly turned to wrap her arms around his middle.

  “Screw him, it’s been two months,” she muttered.

  “Is that how you talked about me when I wasn’t around?” he asked, his nimble hands searching for the bare skin under her sweater.

  Their mouths made contact and instantly, predictably, they were transported.

  Amara’s heart went into overdrive, but she was prepared.

  “I’ve been casing the joint for hiding places since I got here,” her breath becoming labored.

  He smiled into her neck, his lips tasting her scent.

  “You knew I’d be back,” he kissed.

  “No,” she breathed, smiling. “But I still couldn’t help myself.”

  His blue eyes were ridiculously bright and present. She couldn’t believe how radiant he looked as he said, “Lead the way.”

  Damn. This was her man.

  Amara bit her lip, took his hand and tried to look nonchalantly as she led him down the hallway past the first-floor break room.

  “Indoor or outdoor?” Amara smirked over her shoulder.

  Grayson could barely believe his senses. Not only was her beautiful face suddenly within reach again, but she actually wanted to be his and genuinely seemed happy. And all without the stress of a contract.

  At least, not a temporary one.

  He didn’t know the future, but for the first time in his life, he at least had tools.

  He was resolved that Amara Davis would never know the same heartache as Amara Riley.

  Grayson’s limbs were as heavy as lead, and he was already breathless in anticipation.

  He returned her heady smirk with his own as he replied.

  “Surprise me.”

  Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Grayson Davis was completely enthralled with Amara’s growing belly.

  When he thought about his prior lifelong cynicism, it made him chuckle.

  It was hard to watch his fiancee’s stomach, now clearly someone’s house, its occupant moving around discriminately to sound and touch and light, while still spouting ideals about population control.

  Like most things new and daunting, Amara took to it like she had done it one hundred times. She’d looked forward to a water birth, but when her blood pressure skyrocketed a month early, she had to have an emergency c-section. For Grayson it had been a very scary twenty minutes of delivery that he did not want to relive, so Amara decided against broaching the subject of more children after their son Sam was born.

  Once Sam was born, he and Grayson were virtually inseparable. Their nanny got paid to essentially watch Grayson watch the baby. Sam nursed and slept in precise intervals, and that fascinated Grayson. He was rather large for a premature baby. He had his mother’s dark eyes and his complexion was a strict 50/50 compromise between the two parents. They fruitlessly debated on whose personality he had in infancy, each giving credit to the other. Grayson was already obsessed with monitoring his cognitive development, and so far it had only been five months.

  They bought a new house in the Bay Area so that Amara could be closer to work and to the pediatrician she loved. Grayson carried on at Webster in an unofficial capacity and was still a member of the advisory board. He showed up at headquarters a lot more now that he lived closer, traveled less and, well, didn’t work there anymore, much to Dale’s vexation. Grayson always had the baby with him, and while initially darling it slowed the work pace to a crawl, which did not help his increased workload. Dale became CEO and Grayson hired the next COO, a former computer engineer who’d worked with them at Magellan, thus keeping it in the family.

  Amara never considered herself competitive, but every quarter at work she fought valiantly for her position as team leader, and every quarter for a year she’d won, so they eventually just made her a project manager.

  Now Amara was writing and editing her own talk show, interviewing some of her heroes and idols. They were now her friends and colleagues she’d collected through various fundraising events for autism research, and parties she’d attended with Grayson. The series was shot at MeTV headquarters, and had become popular enough that she could probably focus on it full time if she wanted to.

  But she couldn’t imagine herself quitting just now. She loved her job and couldn’t bear to leave it unless she could up and take the entire sixth floor with her.

  Besides, with a five-month-old, editing was not something she could give more time to than she did, and she was too much of a creative control freak to let someone else do it.

  Her most popular episode to date was the interview she’d done with her husband, the only one he’d ever agreed to after the public “meltdown,” and the most revealing one he’d likely ever do. True to Amara’s style it was informative yet silly, engaging and also irreverent, respectful and revealing.

  “Mr. Davis,” Amara began the interview.

  “Mrs. Davis,” Grayson smirked.

  “You were supposed to be my first interview,” Amara said.

  “I was,” Grayson said.

  “And you told me no.”

  “I did.”

  “And then I was mad at you.”

  “Not unusual.”

  “Because I’d already told everyone that I could get you, and it was in the bag.”

  “Your fault,” Grayson answered bluntly.

  Amara let out a huff of air. “An early lesson learned, yes. But then I got over it because… do you remember what you told me?” Amara asked, for the sake of the video. Grayson never forgot a conversation.

  “I said that you don’t need me to make the show successful.”

  “And you were right.”

  “And I was right. Also, not unusual,” he added.

  Amara shook her head, mouthing the word “no” to the camera.

  The morning she shot the interview with Grayson, Amara still had an entire half day left of work. It should’ve been spent editing and working, but ended up of course being filled with quietly performed sex acts while the blinds were tightly drawn, and also discussing matters of the wedding, which had been postponed until after their son was born. Amara had insisted on the legal nightmare that was the prenuptial agreement— most likely, he suspected, to appease his family. Now the big day was weeks away.

  Amara lay in Grayson’s arms on the comfortable couch that used to be in Mya and Amara’s house in Palo Alto, now the place where the collaborative magic happened in Amara’s spacious office. The slow steady cacophony of rain was pelting the panoramic window. Baby Sam could faintly be heard on the nanny cam that was live streamed from MeTv’s in-house daycare.

>   Grayson’s eyes were closed, his pants unbuckled, his breathing now steady and slow. The rhythm of the rain completing his post-coital bliss.

  “How am I supposed to make it through an entire wedding without tearing the dress off of your body,” he asked matter of factly.

  “It’s a real problem,” Amara admitted.

  Amara and Grayson had slowly become addicted to making love at inappropriate times and places, especially after the baby. So far they’d never been caught, and their perfect record had made them bold. And sloppy. Moreover, starting Monday they were planning to abstain until the honeymoon, which they had mutually agreed should technically begin right after the minister says “You may now kiss the bride.”

  “Both our slightly horrible sets of parents will be there, we could try to focus on that.”

  Grayson’s father had made an unfortunate comment about baby Sam’s complexion when they were visiting at the hospital.

  Before that he’d made another comment towards Amara’s dad at their penthouse when they’d had a small gathering to celebrate their engagement. He’d been a fan of her dad’s through Amara’s channel, so no one could quite tell if he’d meant to be complementary or not.

  Meanwhile everytime Amara’s dad came around he asked Grayson if he could “borrow” money, and Amara had to distract him from going into stories about his marriage to her mother, oblivious to the fact that he was an abusive lunatic. At least their mothers were both champions in the small talk Olympics.

  “If my dad says something racist at our wedding then I’m definitely going to rip your dress off,” Grayson said.

  Amara snickered.

  “And they’re sewing me into it, so if you rip it, there’s no going back.”

  “I think I’ll be fine as long as the dress isn’t white,” he quipped. Amara gave him an elbow to the ribs.

  “I think I’ll be fine, as long as you’re not dirty talking me during the slow dance like you did at the engagement party,” Amara muttered.

  Grayson smiled, touching his tongue to his teeth at the recollection.

  “Maybe… after the reception? It’s not as classy, but we could get the stretch limo instead of the Rolls..”