The CEO's Lucky Charm_A Billionaire Novella

by Stella Marie Alden

  “I think we need to break up for a while.” She tugs on her pants, lifts her pajama top over her head, and heads for the door.

  At first, I think she’s kidding, right? After making love like that? But her face is dead serious.

  “Whaa?” My chest gets all tight but I keep it together as I look for my trousers.

  “Gray, you hardly know me. You can’t possibly understand how screwed up I am.” Tears run down her face and I can’t fucking stand it.

  “What’s going on?” I jump up, stand in front of her, place my hands on her wet cheeks, and bring her gaze to mine. “I know what I know. Ten days or ten years won’t change the way I feel about you.”

  Her swollen mouth purses and just a small croak comes out. “Wait for me. Please.”

  She shrugs out of my grasp, unlocks my door and runs out of my life.

  Somehow, I have the where-with-all to text my driver, Slate, to take her home, then collapse on my bed wondering what just happened.

  Somehow, I fucked up royally.

  Chapter 3

  Isabella

  Once outside and not in view of the doorman, I fall back against the side of the building, slide onto my heels, and hold back a sob.

  Oh my God, what I have done?

  I should’ve told Gray about the break-in but if I did, he’d go after Xavier and get himself killed. How will we ever make it through this? I knew what we had was too good to be true. What kind of man wants to get married after only knowing you for a couple weeks?

  As I trudge along the sidewalk, there’s a deafening clap of thunder, followed by a drenching downpour.

  Perfect.

  With my head down, partially blinded by the rain, I run toward Grayson’s black limo. His driver, Slate, has an overprotective streak when it comes to me.

  Too late, I realize my mistake.

  The back door of the car opens, a rough hand grabs my waist, and I’m pulled into the back seat.

  “You stupid, stupid bitch.” Xavier’s face is crunched up into a snarl as he slaps me with the back of his hand.

  My bruised lip opens up and blood drips down my chin. “What the fuck? I did what you said. I broke up with him.”

  How could he possibly know what went down in Gray’s apartment?

  “This is all on you, Isabella. Don’t blame me for what happens next.”

  My stomach churns at the thought of Xavier eavesdropping on my most intimate moments and what about my niece? Will this madman make good on his threats?

  Before he can hit me again, I push into his chest ready to fight to the death. “I broke up with Gray. Now, let me out and leave me and my family alone.”

  When I reach for the door handle, all of the locks click and in the rearview mirror, a set of dark, angry eyes stare back. I hadn’t noticed before but the driver is huge.

  Xavier wipes spittle from his mouth. “I can see you can’t be trusted. Stay still.”

  He twists my hair around his fist, bringing tears to my eyes. Then, he bends me forward and clasps a chain with a clover-leaf charm around my neck. After, he holds up a thin plunger and sticks a needle deep into my shoulder.

  “Ow! What was that?”

  He drops the needle and speaks with his nose inches from my ear. “From now on, I’ll know where you are, what you say, and who you say it to. You slip up and I will sell your sweet, little niece to the highest bidder. I won’t kill her. That would be too easy. I’ll make you search for her for the rest of your life.”

  A tablet is shoved under my nose with a video playing. This time, Stacey’s playing in her front yard, under the watchful eye of Tina, my brother’s wife.

  “You wouldn’t dare.” My stomach churns, my heart races, and I look for opportunities to escape.

  “Give me your cell phone.”

  When I don’t do as he asks, he digs into my purse, replaces the smart card in my android, and puts it back.

  “Unlock the doors, Craig.” The locks click again, the car slows, and Xavier shoves me onto my ass into a puddle beside the curb.

  With index and middle fingers, he makes a ‘V,’ points it into his eyes, and then at mine. “I’m watching you, Isabella. Don’t fuck up again.”

  His vehicle disappears into traffic and New Yorkers rush by while I get up out of the mud. Lucky them. They’re on their way to work, having a perfectly normal day.

  Standing, I have an almost out-of-body experience when I recognize the charm around my neck. It’s made by my company, a Patten special.

  Shit like this doesn’t happen except in movies.

  Chapter 4

  Xavier Cross

  Twisting at the waist, I look over the backseat and out the window to make certain that stupid bitch hit the puddle.

  Good. She’s covered in mud.

  She’ll be sorry that she didn’t follow my directions. I’ll make damn sure of it. I had a sweet deal at Patten Securities until she hooked up with Grayson and ruined everything.

  She should’ve died that night on Bear Mountain but maybe it’s better this way. First, I need to get all the charges dropped so I can come back to the states. I need to buy a penthouse on Fifth Avenue, a yacht, and a jet. A man like me deserves only the best.

  This time, Grayson Patten, things are going to change. I’m sick and tired of being your lackey. If it wasn’t for your rich daddy, you wouldn’t have shit.

  Women think you’re charming, full of New England good breeding but it’s all the luck of the draw. If I'd been born into your family, I’d be the one with billions.

  Let me ask you? Who built up Patten Securities when your old man got sick? Who hired the brightest minds, managed the company to almost a billion in sales? Then, when I had it all set, your father calls in his namesake to take over the company.

  I did all the work and you get all the glory. Fuck that. Sure, I took a little off the top, but it was mine. I deserved it. But did I get paid for my genius? Huh?

  No.

  I was sure the old man would leave me in charge. He said I was a son to him but when he went into the hospital, who did he call?

  Oh sure, the prodigal son returns and just like that I’m dogshit. The old man probably got cancer from being such an asshole.

  I may have had a minor setback over Valentine’s Day but I’ve had time to lick my wounds and I am back and fighting mad.

  Who’s the one with the lucky charm now? Huh, Gray?

  I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget, starting with your fiancé. You told me not to mess with the girls I hired and look what you did! You’re fucking that big-busted Isabella, doing the same damn thing you gave me shit for.

  Well, the tide is turning and I’m going to be sitting at the head of the table. I didn’t cheat my way through Harvard for nothing. I’ve always had to sweat while you had everything handed to you on a platter but all that is changing. I’ll clean up my reputation while ruining yours. By God, I’ll take everything, especially that sweet piece of ass.

  That reminds me, I need to check my computer.

  Opening my laptop, I snicker. Isabella Harte has no idea that I injected her with a miniature GPS tracker. With that and the necklace, I can follow her, see what she sees, and hear what is said. Blood rushes to my cock and I grab it, picturing her sexy curves. I will fuck that bitch and ride her until she screams for mercy.

  Chapter 5

  Grayson.

  When my phone pings, I glance down at the incoming text.

  Slate: I lost her.

  Because of a jackhammer in the background, I can’t hear a damn thing when I call him back. “What?”

  The noise lowers after thirty painful seconds and Slate explains, “I pulled up in front of your building, circled the block, but she’d already split. Someone must’ve picked her up.”

  Jealousy flares. Is it the same asshole that hurt her?

  “I got a really bad feeling.” Slate’s got the instincts of an ex-marine and I trust him.

  Dammit he’s right
.

  Goose bumps run down my spine as I recall Izzy acting all kinds of strange this morning. Something is up. I should’ve questioned her before jumping into the sack. In my defense, I thought we’d have time after.

  I find a clean white shirt in my walk-in closet along with newly dry-cleaned slacks. Then, with my phone on speaker, I set them on the messy covers where me and Izzy just made love.

  “Where are you?” Quickly, I step into my pants and grab my shirt.

  Slate’s tone, like always, is emotionless. “Waiting outside.”

  “Give me five.”

  Before I met Isabella, my world was black and white. Now it’s Techni-color and I’m not giving that up, not without a fight.

  The way she made love? That wasn’t a woman ready to break up. So, what’s going on? And who the fuck hurt her?

  In the limo, I greet the grim-faced Slate, then call my personal assistant, Cherry.

  She sounds half asleep when she answers. “Hey, Grayson… What’s up?”

  For her, it’s only five AM. “Sorry to wake you but I need you to cancel my flight. I’ll take my meetings today, virtually. Set that up for me, will you?”

  “Sure. No problem. Is everything okay?”

  “I hope so. Talk later.”

  Isabella is not slipping away from me. Whatever is going on, she damn well is going to confess the moment I find her.

  Slate opens the limo door in front of my Canal Street office and I catch his concerned gaze. “Ping me the moment she gets here.”

  No doubt he feels responsible for losing her. “Sure, Gray. You got this.”

  He slaps me on the back and gets back in the vehicle.

  I hate what happened this morning and again wonder if our sex was too rough. I never got around to asking about her childhood abuse. I figured it was none of my business and she’d tell me when she was good and ready.

  Shit. What if her past came back to haunt her? I have no idea what goes on inside her head. The only guy I know who might be able to help is the husband of her best friend, Melanie.

  I pick up the phone and call Cherry again. “Hey. Can you see if you can get CJ Quinn on the phone?”

  “The famous quarterback?”

  “Yes. His wife has a rehab center in Manhattan. You can start by looking there.” I hang up and by the time she calls me back, I’m sitting in my office in front of three monitors displaying about twenty spreadsheets.

  “Hey boss. I got Chance on the line. Do me a favor. Find out if he has a brother.”

  “Thank you, Cherry. You can hang up now.” I laugh off her request and wait for the click that tells me she’s gone.

  I must’ve interrupted something important because Quinn is out of breath and his tone is irritated. “Patten? What’s up.”

  “Listen, I know we didn’t hit it off but I need your help. It’s Isabella.”

  “Fuck. Is she okay?” Weights clang as if dropped onto a gym floor, and a man grunts in the background.

  “I know you’re busy but I was wondering… Ah, I don’t even know how to ask. She goes to that self-help group your wife started, right?”

  “Yeah. What of it?”

  “I ah… Isabella came to my house this morning all banged up and insisted we make love. Then, out of the blue she called off our engagement. I thought maybe you could help me out. I’m way out of my league.”

  “Wow. Oh, shit.” He pauses for almost a minute while fitness machines grind in the background.

  “I’m no expert. Most of what I learned, I got out of books. There’s some pretty good stuff online but who knows. Abuse is weird, man. The trauma comes and goes and you never know what might trigger PTSD. My suggestion? Tell her you love her, no matter what. Why don’t you stop by my gym and we’ll talk more.”

  My throat gets tight. “Thanks, I owe you.”

  “No problem. I can ask Mel to give her a call, okay? But keep this between us. I don’t want them thinking I’m taking sides.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Moments later, Slate pings me that Isabella is on her way up and it’s as if a huge boulder is lifted off my shoulders. However, I’m a complete chicken and close my office door. I don’t want her to know my whole world crumbled the moment she said goodbye.

  She goes to her cube and thankfully, board meetings keep my mind occupied until about two when I figure enough time has passed to check up on her. I walk down the hall made up of gray fabric cubes. I would’ve happily given her an office and a promotion but she won’t hear of it.

  Despite all the morning’s drama, I can’t help but smile as I approach. She’s biting the top of a pen, typing away, and checking monitors as she works. She’s the best God-damned software architect in the company, she’s beautiful, and she’s mine.

  Yawning, she slurps on an extra-large iced caramel latte. If she keeps that up, there’s no way she’ll sleep tonight and I wish I could scold her. Actually, I’m dying to say anything at all. Mostly, I want her to admit that breaking up was a huge mistake but remember what I learned today online.

  Don’t push. Give her some space.

  Her big blue eyes lock onto mine, then oddly, dart around the room as if trying to tell me something. “You need to go. Let me work.”

  Her voice is too curt and that strange, shifty look confuses me. Something is very, very off. Even though I have no idea what she really wants, I give her a quick nod and go. I’m pretty sure she’s asking for my help and it gets me thinking.

  I wonder if it has to do with Bear Mountain. Four weeks ago, I almost lost her to hypothermia in the woods. She was chased there by some thugs and although never proven, we always assumed they were hired by Xavier Cross.

  Oh fuck!

  What the hell is wrong with me? I should’ve thought of this sooner. When all that shit went down, I had Slate install cameras outside her apartment. We need to check.

  Me: I think X may be back. Need Izzy’s videos.

  Slate: On it.

  I’d call the FBI, the CIA, and the State Police but need some kind of proof. I also need to know how to deal with her weird mood so I shut off my computer and text Slate to pick me up.

  When he stops outside an old warehouse in Queens, I ask, “Wait for me, okay?”

  Nodding slowly, his bodyguard eyes dart, taking in the surroundings before opening the back door.

  Then, I step over to the building, push the doorbell, and an automated female voice responds. “Hello, Mr. Patten. Please push on the door and go down the stairs to your right.”

  I do as she says and find Chance Quinn bench pressing what must be two hundred pounds. He places the barbells in the holder, climbs out from under, and stands to shake hands.

  Looking over my corporate attire, he shakes his head and points to a blue door. “Get changed and we’ll talk.”

  I nod, amazed at the dozens of machines, and return moments later in sweats. He finishes some crunches on a matt, grabs a towel, and heads toward one of two treadmills.

  “So, how can I help?” CJ walks quickly, sneakers pounding on the belt.

  I join him on the right and start up my machine. “Isabella came to me all bruised this morning and when I pushed for details, she said she fell out of bed. It looked more like someone punched her.”

  “Shit. Has anything like this ever happened before?” He presses the up arrow on the dashboard and starts to jog.

  I do the same, near my max, and talk between deep breaths. “No. This is a first.”

  “Huh.”

  We run for a while before I ask what’s been on my mind for some time, having to shout over the noise of the two treadmills. “How did your wife find Izzy, anyhow?”

  “Craig’s list.” He chuckles.

  “Damn. Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Yeah. I had my man Jack investigate every one. They’re all legit. All abused. Some rape, some less. One woman is almost eighty and another not even twenty.”

  Not to be outdone, even though I know he’s a profes
sional athlete, I push my limit and up my pace until my thighs burn. “How many?” I huff. “In total?”

  “She’s got about ten but she’s starting up another group in Manhattan.” CJ raises a brow as he glances down at my speed.

  “Not bad. But you can get a workout anywhere. Spit it out.”

  My ego takes a deep dive, having to ask such basic questions but obviously he’s got this relationship-thing down. “How do I get Isabella to talk to me?”

  Frowning, his eyes narrow. “And how long you been sleeping together?”

  “A month, give or take a couple days.”

  “Okay, I thought it was longer than that.” He slows his pace to a walk, I do the same, and the machine noise lowers.

  “First off, man. Don’t skirt around the issue. Call it what it is. Sexual abuse, rape, whatever. Don’t pretty it up. Pisses them off.”

  I nod. “Check.”

  “Hell, I don’t know, read up on the subject. How it fucks with their head, makes ‘em feel bad about their bodies, makes ‘em feel guilty. There’s some easy phrases to help. Her favorite line of mine is I’ll kill him for you, if you want.”

  “Are you serious?”

  He nods. “I must’ve threatened to kill her fucked-up father about a million times.”

  “Shit. I’m so sorry, man.”

  “Don’t say it to me, say it to Isabella.”

  “I don’t think she wants me to know.”

  His palms shoot together in namaste and he bows. “Ah, grasshopper, you have much to learn. They want the subject to be less taboo. Mel thinks the reason that sexual abuse is so widespread is that no one talks about it, which means the fucking predators get away with it.”

  I can see why it’s taboo. This whole conversation is making me damned uncomfortable. I don’t want to think of a young Isabella being touched by some deranged asshole. When I picture that, I want to shoot someone between the eyes and generally, I consider myself a non-violent man.

  “It’s hard, right?” Quinn’s back to running full out while I walk, figuring I already measured up pretty well. After all, the guy’s an NFL quarterback.