Dirty Business_A Billionaire Romance

by Ellie Danes

  “Me too. And I couldn't have done it without you.”

  He smiled at me again with that big, broad, goofy grin. “Thanks, man. I appreciate that. But enough chatter, we're wasting time. You and I both agreed to forty-five minutes every morning and every afternoon. A good workout does wonders for the mind. We'll both be coding like beasts after a good rolling session. So, come on, get your damn Gi on and let's get to the gym and the mats and get rolling!”

  I grinned. “I'll see you over at the gym in the Ironwood in ten minutes, okay? I just gotta get changed.”

  Once at the Ironwood, I’d just go up to my penthouse to put on a different nice suit—I’d forgotten that Matthew and I would be working out together there this afternoon. It was too easy to get lost in the coding and forget real life things.

  “Ten minutes, and then you're getting your ass kicked all the way back to California.”

  “Hahaha, you can try. But I've been working on my armbars and my joint locks. We'll see who taps out first!”

  Matthew grinned and then turned and jogged down the stairs. I closed the door and then got my blue BJJ Gi out of the closet and started to get changed, looking forward to a nice break and some good old grappling, takedowns, and wrestling.

  * * * * *

  “You look a little sweaty,” remarked Samantha. The subtle smile on her full, glossy red lips told me that this was a compliment rather than an observation of distaste. The follow-up question confirmed this suspicion. “Have you been working out?”

  I nodded and took a sip of my sparkling water. We were in the Ironwood Café, the café in the lobby of the Ironwood, which was only available to residents. I hadn’t wanted to meet with Samantha. When our relationship fell apart two months ago, I’d hoped to never see her again. It had turned out that she’d only been interested in my business and in my money—not in me. But she’d insisted on getting together to talk about business. “Nothing personal,” she’d promised.

  She was a liar, because the way she was looking at me now was pretty damn personal.

  “Matthew and I were doing some BJJ in the gym upstairs. It was a pretty intense workout; he's a strong guy.”

  She nodded, maintaining intense eye contact with me as she slowly licked her lips.

  “I bet,” she said, with more than a mere hint of seductiveness in her voice. “But I'm sure you're stronger. It excites me, the thought of two powerful men fighting tooth and nail, like a pair of gladiators.”

  I chuckled and looked away, purposefully breaking eye contact with her. I knew quite well the type of game she was trying to play with me, and I wasn't going to let her do it.

  “Okay, cut the crap, Samantha,” I said, staring out at the busy street beside our cafe table. “Let's get back to the subject of this meeting.”

  “Of course,” she said, flicking her long, silky black hair over her slim shoulder and running her fingers through it as she did. “I know things didn’t work out great—”

  I snorted. Things hadn’t worked out at all, because she’d betrayed me. She’d pretended to not have any kind of interest in business. She’d played the part of an air-headed heiress who just wanted to hang on my shoulder and stare lovingly into my eyes when she wasn’t riding my cock. Things hadn’t worked out great because she’d been hoping to glean insider tips and tricks on becoming a billionaire, since that was currently the course I was on.

  Acting as if I hadn’t just snorted rudely at her, she continued, “I'm not asking for much, all things considered. And I promise you, I can help you guys get those share prices sky-high when your company goes public—and they'll stay there. You guys will be worth billions, and I'll get my cut, which will just be a few crumbs of the pie compared to what you and Matthew will make.”

  I nodded. At least she was talking business now. If I could treat her like any other investor, this might work. “I do appreciate your offer, and yeah, I know about your success stories. And I do think that you could help us get to the top.”

  She stared intently at me and smiled—a strange smile, half flirting, half accusatory. “There's a 'but' coming, isn't there?”

  I laughed softly and nodded. “There's a 'but' coming, yes.”

  “Go on then Jace, spit it out.”

  “But I still have a few other options to consider.”

  “Like what? Like who?”

  “Haha. Come on now, I'm not just going to spell everything out for you, and I'm not going to just give you all the details just like that. You’ve already milked me pretty dry of business details.”

  She smiled. “Fair enough, Jace. But I'm not going to keep my offer open forever. Just tell me, is there something specific in it that you don't like? Maybe something we could discuss in a more...intimate setting? Perhaps with a bottle of wine, some soft lighting.” She smiled, batting her mascara-darkened eyelashes at me.

  I simply chuckled and shook my head. The nerve of this woman. “No, Samantha, that didn’t work last time, and it won’t work this time. It would just cause trouble.”

  “And what fun is life without a little trouble now and then, Jace?”

  “I prefer my life free of clutter, and free of complications.”

  I was smiling, but the tone of my voice was steely with resolution, and she could see that she wasn't going to get any further with me. The expression on her picture-perfect face hardened. She closed her folder and slipped it back into her briefcase.

  “Well, I suppose that means that we're done here, doesn't it?” she said curtly.

  “I'll get the bill,” I said.

  She stood up, every inch of her perfect figure revealed by her skin-tight, black designer dress. Despite her physical beauty, though, I wasn't about to let her have any kind of a hold over me. Not even a loose one. Things would have been different if she had talked to Matthew. She would have seduced him long ago and gotten him to agree to pretty much anything she proposed, but I wasn't Matthew, and I didn't let anyone manipulate me.

  “Like I said, it won't be on the table for too long,” she snapped. “Goodbye, Jace.”

  She stormed off with her ridiculously high heels clacking loudly on the tiles. As she disappeared into a cab, my attention was pulled to the street where a long black limousine had pulled up right next to the Ironwood. The rear window rolled down with a quiet, electronic whir, and staring at me through it was the small, familiar face of my great-aunt Barbara wearing a stylish hat and perfectly applied makeup on her age-lined face. The smile I wore upon recognizing her was not reflected back at me, however. Instead, I got a cold, judgmental frown.

  “Get in the limo, Everett,” she said to me, using my given name rather than my nickname. “And hurry up! You're wasting my time!”

  When I didn’t move fast enough, she snapped, “What are you doing?” Then she began muttering, “Wasting time, wasting time, you're always wasting time. Time is money, boy! Now if you want to learn something from me, that's the first lesson: time is money. So, stop wasting time—and with it, money—and get in the car.”

  I hurried over to the limo. “Nice to see you too, Aunt Barbara,” I said.

  She rolled her eyes. “Spare me the empty pleasantries, Everett. Now, do you want to learn something from me or not?”

  I did, so without another word I climbed into the limo, and we were whisked away.

  Chapter 3

  Marie

  When I pulled up to the address I'd been given, I had to double check to make sure this was the right place. I looked at the house, and yeah, it was nice; it was a large, spacious, well-maintained-looking place in an upper-middle-class neighborhood just outside of New York City—but it certainly wasn't the sort of house I imagined a billionaire would live in. I mean, even most millionaires lived in way larger and flashier places than this. The yard was large, pretty, and neat, but by no means exquisite, and there were no statues, fountains, or any other trappings of wealth. In the driveway, a ten-year-old BMW was parked—and it was one of the mid-range models, not even one of
the top-of-the-line ones.

  I parked my car and walked up the front path—there was neither a fence nor a gate—to the porch, and stepped gingerly onto it.

  My dad had in one moment both fired me and arranged for my paid internship with an apparently eccentric old man. Apparently this was the kind of position that would help me reach my goals of becoming a woman who could confidently do business for exciting, high-risk profiles.

  I seriously had my doubts. I checked the address once more.

  This really was the place—this was Isaac Wallace's house.

  As soon as I pressed the bell, a muted voice—that of an elderly man—called out from within.

  “Hello! Is that you, Miss Benton?”

  “Uh hi, yes, it's me, Marie Benton.”

  “Come on in, it's not locked.”

  I turned the door handle and stepped into the house.

  “Through this way,” he said, his voice coming from the left. I walked up to a door on my left, which was open, and headed through it, emerging into a bright study. The walls were lined with packed bookshelves, lit by the warm, golden afternoon sun. On a La-Z-Boy, with a book on his lap and a steaming cup of coffee on a side table next to him, sat Isaac Wallace. He was dressed casually, in sweatpants, running shoes, and a loose T-shirt. He was a small, unassuming-looking man with a chubby, red face and a shock of snow-white hair, along with a pair of thick-rimmed glasses perched on his large nose.

  As I walked in, he reached for a walking stick that was leaning against his chair and used it to heave himself up to a standing position. He held out a hand, which I shook. As he gripped my hand, I was quite surprised at the strength in his grasp. He seemed possessed of a vitality that belied his years.

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Benton,” he said with a warm smile.

  “You can call me Marie. It's great to meet you too, Mr. Wallace,” I replied.

  I was waiting for him to say, “You can call me Isaac, everyone else does,” but he didn't. Instead he simply smiled, nodded, and sat back down.

  “So, your father wants you to learn from me, does he?”

  I nodded. “I think that's the idea, yes.”

  “Good, good, well I need someone to help me out with various things, so I think this little arrangement will work out well for the both of us. Tell me, are you ready for your first assignment?”

  Now we were talking. I smiled widely—I couldn’t wait to get started. “Yes, definitely.”

  “Good, good,” he said again. “Well, see, I'm trying out this new thing. A plant-based diet, you see. Great for one's health, or so I'm told. I eat dinner at precisely five-thirty every afternoon, or evening, depending on how you see it. Anyways, I want you to do a little research and put together a nice wholesome plant-based meal for me. I don't mean you have to cook it, Miss Benton, not at all—you can order takeout, or go get bits and pieces from various places. All that I ask is that it's healthy and wholesome, and that it's in front of me, steaming hot and ready to eat, at five-thirty. That gives you just over three hours. You can take the BMW in the driveway if you need to drive, the keys are on the table over there, as are two twenty-dollar bills, which will cover the cost of the meal—and from which you will hopefully bring me some change. You can get yourself something to eat too, of course, with that money.”

  This wasn't what I had been expecting. Not at all. Was I some kind of personal secretary or errand-girl? However, what could I say? I wouldn't be making the best impression if I started arguing with him on the first day of the job.

  “Did you get all of that, Miss Benton? Do I need to repeat anything?”

  I shook my head. “No, Mr. Wallace. I understand.”

  “Well what are you standing there gawking for? Go on, get on with it. I'll see you again at five thirty, if you please.”

  I nodded and headed over to the table to get the car keys and the money, wondering just what I'd gotten myself into.

  Chapter 4

  Jace

  I stared out of the window of the limo, watching the world go by as we drove through the streets of New York.

  “How are your mother and your father?” asked Barbara.

  “They're good, Aunt Barbara. Dad just got over that cancer scare—luckily the tumor turned out to be benign—and Mom, well she's the same. Soldiering on, you know. She's taken up power walking and mountain biking to try to stay fit. And there are plenty of great trails for walking and biking in upstate New York, as you know.”

  Barbara nodded, clasping her liver-spotted hands together.

  “And when did you last go out there to visit them?”

  “Around six months ago,” I said, looking away as I felt a flush of guilt heat up my cheeks.

  “Six months! You should see them more often than that, Everett. It's not as if you're a poor, struggling software engineer who just started a fledgling company out here anymore! No, from everything I've read you're doing very, very well, especially since Quickchat has just exploded across the country—and the world—like it has. It's not as if you're hurting for cash, my boy. And while your parents may seem like they're not that old, they won't be around forever. And you'll miss them when they're gone. My, my, I can't believe my niece is sixty-six years old now.”

  The niece she was talking about was, of course, my mother.

  “I know,” I said, still feeling guilty. “You're right, it's not a question of money at all, it's about time. I'm so busy with the company, Matthew and I—”

  “When are you going to ditch that boy? Buy him out and cut the deadweight off. He's holding you back,” she said sharply.

  Her bluntness took me by surprise.

  “Whoa, wait a second Aunt Barbara, hold up, hold up, I can't—and I won't—ditch Matthew. He's been my best friend since I was twelve years old, and he did a heck of a lot of work on Quickchat. Without him, there wouldn't be anything called Quickchat. And he's helping me out with some essential upgrades to the program, and—”

  “He has the wrong attitude. He's too laid-back, too easy-going. He can't make a hard decision when a hard decision has to be made. He can't be ruthless. And I promise you, Everett, when your company goes public, things are going to change. Things are really going to change. Remember, Everett, that I've had large shares in other companies that have undergone the same transformation in much more recent times. You need my advice, and I hope you appreciate the fact that I'm even willing to give you advice. I'm doing this for you out of my own generosity, not because I owe you anything—and I dare say, I hope that you appreciate what I'm doing for you.”

  “I do, please, trust me on that. Can we just leave the Matthew issue alone for a while and talk about something else?”

  She stared at me, her blue eyes cold, magnified to a huge size by the thick coke-bottle lenses of her glasses. “Very well, we'll ignore the Matthew issue for now, but sweeping problems under the rug never makes them go away, Everett. Mark my words, you're on the cusp of true greatness here, you really are, there's no denying that. But if you go in the wrong direction, you'll slip, and you'll fall all the way into obscurity. I've seen it happen, many times.”

  I nodded. “I'll think about the Matthew issue, all right?”

  “You'd better.”

  We pulled up to the huge wrought iron gates of her mansion and waited as they swung silently open. The limo then drove up the winding driveway and parked outside the palatial veranda at the entrance to the massive mansion in which she lived. The driver, with his smart uniform and white gloves, rushed out and hurried over to open the door on my aunt's side, and helped her out. I, meanwhile, was left to get out on my own.

  We walked up to the huge doors, which swung open as if by magic as we reached them. I saw a wide-range retina scanner mounted discreetly on the wall next to the doors; it appeared that despite her advanced age, my aunt was on top of current tech trends, at least regarding security.

  I walked into the marble-floored lobby, replete with tasteful modern art sculptures, paintings,
and well-kept plants.

  “This way, Everett,” she said, veering off to the right.

  We entered a huge, brightly lit room with floor-to-ceiling windows all around, giving a fantastic view out over the town. There was a grand piano, pearly white, and more art. On a brand-new designer sofa, a young man, dressed impeccably in what looked like an Armani suit, was sitting reading the latest copy of Forbes magazine.

  He saw us walking in and smiled warmly at my aunt, but for me he had a different look—one of cool judgment, as if carefully sizing me up.

  He looked like the prototype of a successful New York businessman. Stylishly cut blond hair was slicked back over his scalp and buzzed short at the sides, and he had a goatee of meticulously trimmed stubble. Deep-set green eyes sat beneath straight, thick eyebrows.

  “Mrs. Ameson, it's good to see you,” he said, his voice smooth and his attitude that of a slick charmer. “You look like you've just had a wonderful afternoon out.”

  She beamed a warm smile at him.

  “Thank you, Cory,” she said. “And I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. My great-nephew here wasn't as punctual as he could have been. We can go and discuss business in my study shortly. I suppose I'd better introduce you two though. Cory, this is my great-nephew Everett J. Cooper IV. Everett, this is a new business partner of mine, Cory Burton.”

  Cory walked over to me, an unmistakable gait of arrogance and overconfidence in his stride, smiling smugly all the while. I extended a hand to him, which he gripped, and then tried to crush in his hand. I returned the favor, and he almost yelped. I could see surprise and shock flash across his face as he felt the raw strength of my grip.

  We each held the grip for a few moments before letting go, testing each other out.

  “You've got decent grip strength there, Everett,” he said to me, smiling strangely. “Not too bad.”

  “I do Brazilian Jiu Jitsu,” I said. “You need good grip strength for effective grappling.”