Billionaire Seeking Bride #3

by Mac Flynn

  Billionaire Seeking Bride #3

  BBW Alpha Billionaire Romance

  Mac Flynn

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Continue the adventure

  Other Series By Mac Flynn

  Copyright (c) 2017 by Mac Flynn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  1

  I never expected to meet the man of my dreams seventy floors above the ground, but that's how fate planned it. I wished she'd planned it a little closer to the ground, but with how everything ended I shouldn't complain.

  My story starts on the ground in a small internet cafe.

  "You see anything?" I asked the woman seated at the opposite side of the small, round table. She had her eyes glued to a laptop screen in front of her.

  She shook her head. "Nope, you?"

  I sighed, leaned back and closed the lid to my own laptop. "Not a thing."

  She frowned at me over the top of her computer. "You shouldn't give up. We've only been looking for an hour."

  "That's an hour of my life I want back," I quipped.

  This conversation is probably a little confusing to you. Maybe I'd better start with my name. It was Susan Brid. My occupation was Unemployed, hence the laptops. The person opposite me was my best friend, Grace Sanders. She was trying to help me find another job and figured that two people tackling the online job boards was twice as effective. This was the third day we'd tried searching, and my occupation was still Unemployed.

  "Come on, you can't give up," she insisted.

  I leaned over the table and frowned at her. "Grace, I've been looking for a job for four months. I've put in hundreds of applications, had only a dozen interviews, and gone through countless hours waiting for a callback. That hasn't happened. I just don't think I'm going to find a job here."

  She slammed her fists on the table. "But you can't move!" The other patrons of the cafe jumped. Grace sheepishly smiled at them and sunk in her chair. "Sorry."

  I smiled at her. "It's been fun staying at your apartment, but I just can't keep mooching off you. I need to go back home and start looking there."

  "But that's way up state," she argued. "And besides, what are you going to do up in farm country? Buck pigs and butcher bails?"

  I snorted. "Yeah, Grace, because those damn pigs need a good bucking."

  She straightened in her chair and goofily grinned at me. "Okay, so I don't know the farm lingo, but you're not leaving me alone in the wilderness that is the big city."

  "Grace, you grew up here," I reminded her. "You could probably fend off a dozen hobos and a couple of rapists with a spork."

  Grace shrugged. "Maybe, but I'd like to do it with a friend by my side."

  I leaned back in my chair and sighed. "Then your friend is going to have to find a job."

  Grace's lips turned down and her eyes flickered down to the screen. They widened and her smile returned. "Here's just the thing!"

  I sat up and raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

  "It's an exciting job at one of the larger companies in town," she told me. "You get to see a lot of people, get to know the building really well, and you're sure to reach the top within a few days."

  "That doesn't tell me anything," I pointed out.

  "Well, you get some great medical, and you never have to work nights," she added.

  I frowned. "Grace, what's the job?"

  She shrank beneath my glare. "Window washer?" she squeaked.

  My face fell. "Seriously?"

  "Seriously," she confirmed.

  "No way."

  She sat up. "Come on! It's a job, it pays well, and you get to stay here!"

  "Yeah, a permanent resident in one of the local cemeteries," I quipped.

  "You can't be that bad," she argued. "You're not afraid of heights and you're in pretty good shape. For the shape you're in, that is."

  "Thanks. . ." I grumbled.

  Grace leaned across the table and lay her hand atop mine. She met my gaze and her lower lip quivered. I leaned away, but she grasped my hand.

  "Do it for me?" she whimpered.

  "No. Don't do this to me, Grace," I warned her.

  Her lower lip trembled like a bobblehead in an earthquake. "Pretty, pretty please?" she persisted.

  "Grace, I said I'm not getting myself killed," I insisted.

  "You only have to get yourself injured a little. Maybe a sprained wrist, or a broken bone, or maybe some serious fractures that leave you lame for the rest of your life," she suggested. "Then you can live off disability."

  "I'm not making myself lame just so you can have a roommate!" I argued.

  "Come on! At least send in a resume!" she pleaded.

  I wormed my way out of her grasp and stood. "No, and isn't it time for you to get back to work?"

  Grace's eyes widened and she checked her watch. Her eyes got even bigger. "Oh shit!" she yelped, and jumped to her feet. She slammed her laptop closed and stuffed it into her bag. "I am so dead!"

  "I'll have the wake ready for you at the apartment," I promised her.

  "Don't forget to have chocolate cake. I love chocolate cake," she added.

  I rolled my eyes and waved goodbye as my frenzied friend rushed out of the cafe. She disappeared down the street, and I dropped back into my chair. I glanced over the other customers and found that they stared back. I shrugged.

  "She's on a constant sugar fix," I told them.

  A few smiled, but most went back to their mochas and computers. My face fell and I ran a hand through my long brown hair.

  "What are you going to do, Susie?" I murmured.

  The only thing I could do was get back to work looking for a job. My savings would expire in a few weeks, and I refused to live off the kindness of my friends, even if they were willing to support me for the rest of my days.

  In my searching I came upon the window washer job Grace mentioned. Her description of the benefits was accurate, even if she did leave out the minor details of the constant threat of injury and certain doom. The doom part was a deal-breaker for me. I just couldn't force my unemployed self to click the 'Submit' button on the job application website.

  As it turns out, I didn't have to.

  I spent the rest of the day looking for work and finding nothing I was qualified for. At five I returned to the apartment I shared with Grace and got dinner ready. A hearty meal of ramen with a side of pop. Grace returned from her job at the artist studio and plopped herself in one of the living room chairs. I sat cross-legged on the couch close by. She sagged into the sagging, third-hand chair and groaned.

  "That Freddy guy try to get you to model nude again?" I guessed.

  "Twice," she replied.

  "You should really complain to HR about him," I suggested.

  "He is the HR, remember?" she pointed out.

  "How'd he get the job again?" I asked her as I popped open my laptop. A notice in the lower right-hand system tray told me I had an email.

  "It was either him or the crabby bitch who teaches Post-Post-Modern art," she explained.

  I surfed to my browser and opened my mail. "Post-Post-Modern art? Isn't that where they make a blank canvas and call it art?" I t
eased.

  "No, that's Minimialism. Post-Post-Modern art is where they draw something nobody cares about and try to get people to care about it," she told me.

  "Uh-huh," I absently replied as I read the email header. 'RE: Job Application.' I clicked on the email and looked over the contents. My mouth dropped open. "I have an interview. . ." I whispered.

  Grace's eyes widened. "You did?" She scrambled over to the couch to get a look at the screen.

  I waited until she was close before I rapped her upside the head.

  "Ouch!" she yelped. She leaned away from me and rubbed the back of her head. "What was that for?"

  "For putting my name in that stupid window washer job!" I snapped.

  She blinked at me. "How'd you know I did that?"

  I turned the laptop screen towards her so she could read the email. "Because that's the job I have an interview for."

  Grace's face lit up with a smile. "That's great! That means you can get a job and stay and we can-" I held up a hand.

  "I didn't say I was going to go to the interview," I pointed out.

  Her face fell. "But you can't say no! This might be your only chance!"

  "At averting death? Definitely," I quipped.

  Grace dropped to her knees and clasped her hands together. "Please? Pretty please?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Fine, but no more stealing my resume and sending it to anybody, got it?"

  She smiled and nodded her head. "Yep! Sure thing! Won't do it again!"

  "Good. Now crawl across the rest of the house. The dust bunnies are trying to take over the place," I told her.

  "Sure thing! Anything for my favorite roomie!" she agreed. She turned and shuffled away on her knees.

  "I'm your only roomie," I reminded her.

  "And that makes you that much more special!" she shouted from the bedrooms.

  I smiled and shook my head. My attention returned to the email. It was written by a Mr. Bruin, head maintenance man to the building. His email was curt and blunt, and I imagined he would be the same. Tomorrow's interview would prove me right or wrong.

  2

  My interview was early the next morning, so I woke up with my roommate and prepared myself. I came out of my bedroom wearing a pair of old jeans and an old shirt that was more faded than disco. Grace took one look at me and her mouth dropped open.

  "What are you doing?" she shrieked.

  I held up my hand. "You might have gotten me into this mess, but I know what I'm doing. This job's not a department store gig. I want to look the part of a window washer. Anyway, if I don't get the job I'll at least be comfortable when they kick me out."

  Grace pursed her lips and shook her head. "What am I going to do with you?"

  "Wish me luck," I quipped.

  I snatched a quick breakfast and took a taxi downtown to the office building of Masc Enterprises. The Masc company was owned by David Masc, one of the most eligible bachelor billionaires in the world. He was rumored to be a killer with the ladies and a source of jealousy for the men. There were also some stories about him eating children and practicing black magic to double his fortune. I almost believed the black magic bit. The guy was a whiz when it came to making money and I'd heard he'd doubled his in a year.

  Now if only I could at least raise my zero-sum income to one dollar.

  I stepped out of the taxi and tilted my head up to look at the Masc Monster, as it was nicknamed. The office building was a hundred floors tall and fifty yards wide. Each floor was a row of windows that looked down at the ants who scurried to their work. If I got the job I'd have to clean those windows. All the way up there. On a rickety slip of metal with only a few strands of rope keeping me from a long, horrible death. A drop from the top floor would give me time to flash through my life a couple of times.

  I stepped back, and my heel slipped over the side of the curb. My arms flailed as I fell backwards into the busy rush-hour traffic. A horn blared and I saw a flash of something. A pair of strong arms grabbed me and pulled me onto the sidewalk.

  My shaky legs wouldn't support me, and I dropped onto the sidewalk. I clutched my heart and tried to get a hold of my breathing. The other people on the sidewalk shrugged off the near-miss and went on with their lives. The driver of the honking car flipped me the bird and drove off.

  "Not very nice, was he?" a voice spoke up.

  I looked up and my eyes widened. The bright sun was a halo around the head of the most handsome man I'd ever seen. His brown hair was short and combed to the front. He had a smooth, thin face that fit his perfect lips. His eyes were covered by a pair of overly large shades, but I could just imagine their glistening brown. He wore a blue suit with matching tie.

  "Cat got your tongue, or did I forget to rescue that, too?" he teased.

  "Y-you rescued me?" I stuttered.

  He nodded. "Yep. I didn't want to see something as beautiful as you splattered on the road, though that driver was willing to see that happen."

  I shook my head clear of the haziness and tried to stand. My legs buckled, but the man caught me.

  "Easy there. You don't have your land legs back just yet," he told me.

  "I-I can manage," I insisted.

  "Maybe, but I kind of like the way you lean against me," he returned. "So where are you headed?"

  I nodded at the front doors to the Masc building. "In there."

  He tilted his head to one side and studied me. "Funny. You don't look like any of my-um, any of the employees who work there."

  "I'm trying to get a job, but I won't get one if I don't get to my interview," I explained.

  "Well then, let me be your guardian angel for just a little while longer," he requested.

  He helped me stand and guided me through the doors. The Masc building had a large foyer and a long, wide desk at the rear that guarded the elevators. A few imposing women with as many guards behind them stood at attention on the other side of the desk. We came up to them, and they took one look at the man and smiled and bowed. The man returned the smile and nodded at them.

  "Good morning, ladies," he called.

  "Good morning, Mr.-"

  "No time for formalities," he interrupted.

  My guardian angel guided me over to the elevators, and chose the one at the farthest left and set off from the others. He pressed the button and the doors opened at once. The interior of the elevator was a posh red color with a shiny bar around the walls and a shimmering button board. He helped me inside, leaned me against the back wall, and pressed the button for my floor.

  I had my strength back and my legs now obeyed my orders. That meant I had time to study the suited man a little more closely.

  "So you work here?" I guessed.

  He turned to me and smiled. "You could say I'm part of the HR department."

  I frowned. There was something not quite right about this whole thing. "So you know what job I'm here to interview for?"

  The man pulled off his glasses, and I saw my guess about his beautiful eyes wasn't far off. There was also a mischievous glint in them that made me want to grin every time I looked into them.

  "I'd say you're here for the window washer job, but you'd be better suited in a picture than in a window," he teased.

  "This picture has to eat," I countered.

  He walked over and leaned against the wall beside me. His glistening eyes studied me, and I squirmed under such scrutiny. Being so close to this handsome, interesting male did things to me that I never imagined anyone could do. The temperature in my body increased and heat pooled between my thighs. I had a hard time keeping myself from panting and fanning myself. My fingers itched to feel his hair, and my breasts ached for his touch. He didn't seem to notice my discomfort. On the contrary, he edged closer to me.

  "So it's for the money and not the thrill?" he asked me.

  "I-I'd rather have a job on the ground, but beggars can't be choosers," I told him.

  I scooted away from him, but he followed. His voice dropped to a lower octave and
I noticed a strange look slip into his eyes.

  "Something so beautiful could never be a beggar," he whispered.

  I backed into a corner of the elevator. He placed his hands onto the bar on either side of me and we faced each other. His eyes were hungry, and he feasted on my body.

  "I-I don't really h-have a choice," I stammered out.

  He leaned towards me. Our lips almost touched. His warm breath washed over me and his clothes brushed up against mine.

  "You never know what choices you have. Life might surprise you," he whispered.

  He leaned forward and captured my lips in a passionate kiss. I groaned and pressed my body against his. His hands wrapped around me and massaged my rear. I broke our kiss and gasped. I'd never felt this way before. My body was on fire. The only thing I wanted to do was tear my clothes off and let him have his way with me.

  Then the damn elevator dinged. The man stepped back and the doors opened. He smiled and gestured to the entrance.

  "I believe this is your floor," he told me.

  "T-thanks. . ." I whispered.

  I stumbled out and into a hallway. The man stood in the elevator entrance and pointed past me and down the hall. "You'll find Bruin's office at the fourth door on the left. Good luck."

  The doors shut and he was gone. I leaned against a nearby wall and ran a shaking hand through my sweat-soaked hair.

  "What the hell is wrong with me?" I murmured.

  "Are you Brid?" a voice spoke up.

  I jumped to attention and spun around to find a burly man in a dirty blue mechanics suit. He was a foot taller than me and his body was a good two hundred pounds of muscle. His face sported a brown, grizzled beard, and his eyes were dark and stern.

  "That's me," I replied.

  "You're late. Our interview started five minutes ago," he snapped.

  "I'm sorry. I was almost-"

  "Don't waste my time with excuses," he barked.

  I stood at attention and stiffened. "Sorry I was late."

  "That's better, now come into my office," he ordered me.

  I had a feeling he only spoke in orders, so I quickly followed him down the hall to the fourth door on the left. That was his office. It was a large room with an assortment of broken mops, spare metal desks, and a miscellaneous assortment of chairs. One of the desk sat near the door. He took a seat behind that one and gestured to a chair in front of it.