The Billionaire's Secret (Betting on You Series: Book One)

by Jeannette Winters

  Once showered, she had no choice but to put on her little black dress and high heels from the night before. It wasn’t what she’d normally wear so early in the morning. At this time of day, her attire screamed, “Yeah, I didn’t make it home last night.” Looking at herself in the mirror, she knew she would be doing the walk of shame. She shouldn’t care. She was in New York, and no one knew her here. And there was a saying: “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” She was hoping that held true for New York as well.

  Grabbing a pen and paper from a drawer in the bedroom, she decided to leave Jon a note. Yes, I am taking the coward’s way out, she thought. She could not face him this morning. It was hard enough facing herself.

  Dear Jon. Funny, I’m writing a “Dear John” letter to a billionaire. Actually, not so funny.

  Dear Jon,

  I wanted to thank you for a lovely evening. Your choice of restaurant was perfect. Everything was perfect. Last night was the date of my dreams. It was very kind of you, and I will never forget it. I will let Ms. Manning know you’ll contact her directly in regards to the sponsorship.

  Sincerely,

  Lizette Burke

  She laid the note on his pillow, looked around the room one last time, then picked up her purse and quietly left his penthouse apartment.

  The train ride from New York to Providence was four hours long. She contemplated asking someone to pick her up in Providence, but she didn’t want to answer any questions about everything that had transpired in the last couple of days. Lizette opted to take a bus home from Providence and finally walked through her front door at almost five in the afternoon. Her head was throbbing, her feet were aching, and every ounce of her cried out for a massage. Even though Ms. Manning had told her to take time off to get the sponsorship from Jon, it made no sense for her to sit at home all week doing nothing, now that the sponsorship was out of her hands. Actually, the last thing she wanted to do was sit at home by the phone. Lizette was positive if she did not get back to a normal routine quickly she would drive herself crazy with guilt, loneliness, or just boredom.

  Walking to her bedroom, she stopped and looked one last time in the mirror. Yes, it was time to take control of her life again. She slipped out of her dress and, as if on autopilot, opened her closet and took out her business attire for the next day: a crisp white long-sleeve blouse with a straight, sleek gray skirt.

  She hadn’t gotten her soak in the tub Friday, but she was going to get it tonight. As the bath filled, she poured herself a glass of wine, removed her remaining clothes, and slowly slipped into the warm bubble bath. There was no romance novel that could beat what she’d experienced last night in Jon’s arms, so she didn’t even bother to open one. Instead, she leaned back and closed her eyes, but all she saw was Jon’s face above hers as he tenderly stroked her cheek and told her how beautiful she was. Yes, the memories of last night, sweet as there were, were going to torture her.

  When the bath began to cool, she reluctantly dragged herself from the tub instead of adding more hot water, as she normally did. She quickly toweled off and got in bed. Tomorrow, I wake up from this dream, go back to work, and put this all behind me.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jon had spent the last three hours in his office reviewing the latest set of recalculations recommended by Ted, one of his software engineers. It seemed that, over the past six months, they’d discovered even a slight change to the interface program created a new issue with the robotic piece. The heat level of the microprobe rose to thirty-seven point five degrees Celsius after twenty minutes of insertion in the cerebral cortex. It may have only been half a degree over the maximum temperature, but the consulting neurosurgeons had voiced their concern loud and clear—a probe warmer than thirty-seven degrees Celsius will increase the chance of permanent brain damage by fifty percent.

  Their comments brought Jon back to the whole reason he was doing this. He had lost his father twenty-four years ago to a brain tumor because technology hadn’t been advanced enough for it to be surgically removed. The doctors had told his family his father only had a ten percent chance of survival, and if he survived, he risked a ninety-five percent chance of permanent brain damage. His best option back then was chemo and radiation. His father had endured three months of hell before he finally passed. Everything changed after that day. Not only did his mother, up until then a stay-at-home mom, have to become the family’s sole breadwinner, but Jon stopped playing sports and committed all of his time to his education, and then, after graduating from college, he focused on research. He promised his father he would develop the tools the surgeons needed to help someone in a similar situation in the future.

  When he first developed the software for the surgical robot, he only needed one robotic engineer in addition to himself to work with the consulting surgeons. Now, since he was stepping it up and bringing out virtual robotics, his team had grown from a few people to more than one hundred and fifty in each of the two divisions. If he could pull this innovation off, surgeons could save countless lives by being able to operate on a patient from the other side of the world. A surgeon in New York speaking English could assist a French-speaking surgeon in France on a patient in an operating room in India where the doctors only spoke Hindi. Multi-language translation through a surgical robotic device would be a huge advancement.

  Closing his laptop, he said, “This has to work.” He rose from his chair and left the office. He only had to give Ted the go-ahead and wait for him to complete the changes. That usually took about seven to eight hours. From there they could start their testing once again. He didn’t know why, but today just felt like it was going to be a good day.

  As Jon entered the lab he called out, “Ted, we were within specs on accuracy during the virtual simulation program. After reviewing your suggested changes on the interface program, I think we might have fixed the temp issue on the microprobe.”

  Ted raised his head from behind his computer monitor and said, “Great, I’ll get started entering the changes. It will take me several hours. Would you like me to call Matt when I’m through?”

  “I’ll give you a hand with it.”

  “You want to help key in your calculations?” Ted asked.

  “Is there a problem with that?” Jon said.

  Ted shook his head. “No problem at all. You’re the boss, Mr. Vinchi.”

  He ignored the fact that Ted hadn’t called him Jon. There seemed to be a lot of that going around lately. Jon sat at the monitor across from Ted and began making the entries. Ted didn’t move; instead, he sat watching him. Without looking up from the monitor, Jon asked, “Again, is there a problem, Ted?”

  “You’ve never offered to help before. Usually you come in, bark out orders, and tell me not to screw it up—which, by the way, I never do. So either you’ve lost your faith in my ability to do my job, or your doctor put you on some happy meds. Since I think I almost saw a smile on your face when you entered the lab, I’m going with the latter.”

  What was Ted trying to say, that he was normally an unfriendly jerk? That wasn’t the case; he was a busy man who took his work seriously. What part of that didn’t people get? “Ted, I’m helping, not doing your job for you. Now get to work,” he said gruffly.

  Ted chuckled and said, “Yes, sir,” and sat down at his own monitor.

  They both worked at keying in all the changes. What would have taken Ted most of the day on his own was completed in just a few hours. After that they spent another four hours testing. They had spent the last couple weeks on recalculations, and yet they’d always found something wrong, something missing, which they hadn’t quite been able to figure out. Today, things were different. The stumbling blocks they’d faced in the past weren’t there anymore. Each test proved successful. The temperature was now below thirty-five point five degrees Celsius after sixty minutes in the mock cerebral cortex. The final test would be given by the consulting neurosurgeons during the virtual simulation. There was nothing left for Jon to do until
he received their findings.

  Leaving the lab, Jon turned and said, “Good work today, Ted. I think you really called it with that last adjustment.”

  Ted smiled and said, “Thanks for the help today, Jon. I hope this passes in simulation.”

  “Me too.”

  “Jon,” Ted shouted as Jon left the lab, “don’t forget to take your pills again tomorrow.”

  Pretending not to have heard Ted’s last comment, Jon continued down the hall to the elevator. It had been a long, hard day, but it was finally done. There was only one thing left on his mind. It was the same thing that had threatened to break his concentration all day—Lizette. The thought of her lying in his bed naked when he left earlier in the day hadn’t broken his creative flow; in fact, it only seemed to enhance it. He had to admit, he was looking forward to continuing where they had left off last night.

  He did feel bad he had gotten so wrapped up in the software updates he hadn’t even stopped to call and check on her. But he planned on making it up to her tonight. Jon didn’t stop back in the office. Instead, in the limo on his way back to the penthouse, he called Matt with instructions to make dinner reservations for two. He normally would have had dinner delivered, but not tonight. He actually was looking forward to going out with Lizette. He wasn’t going to lie to himself; he enjoyed listening to her, watching how her eyes lit up when she spoke about something she was passionate about. It was . . . nice. Of course, the thought of spending another sleepless night further exploring her body appealed to him even more. But first, dinner.

  It was almost five o’clock when he entered the penthouse, which was quiet as always. Somehow he thought it would’ve been different with her there. She wasn’t in the living room, dining room, or kitchen. Ah, maybe we won’t need dinner after all, he thought as he headed for the bedroom. When he entered, he was surprised to find it vacant as well. From across the room he could see a folded piece of paper on his pillow. He picked it up, unfolded it, and read it. The note was not what he’d expected after last night. He picked up his cell phone to make sure he had not missed a call from her but there wasn’t one. He started to dial her number to find out why the hell she left, but changed his mind. The chemistry between them had been amazing but maybe that was all it had been, one hot night you’d never forget. One night, one fucking awesome night he had planned on repeating, but unfortunately it wouldn’t be tonight. It was probably better this way. The last thing he needed was a clingy woman who wanted to monopolize all his time. He was finally on track with his work, which was most important to him at the moment. Tomorrow things could go back to normal. He knew once he received the response from the FDA, he intended on finding out exactly what last night was all about. Pulling his cell phone from his suit jacket, he called Matt and let him know he wouldn’t need the reservation after all. Then he called the Thai restaurant a few blocks away and ordered his standard: chicken pad Thai and summer rolls. Dinner for one.

  The timing was perfect. Jon had just finished his shower when his food arrived. Grabbing an ice-cold beer from the fridge, he headed for the comfort of his couch. Picking up the remote, he turned on the TV and flipped to the local news. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been home early enough to watch the six o’clock news. Most nights he never even turned on the TV. His routine was always the same: work very late, order delivery, shower, eat, and review the status of his current project. Maybe after the release of the software he would take a vacation. Jon laughed softly to himself, since it had been years since he’d taken any time off from work. Yeah, Ted would really think I was on happy pills then.

  Settling back into the couch, he thought about how beautiful Lizette had looked last night when he’d found her asleep. She had looked so peaceful he’d debated whether or not to move her. However, she’d looked more beautiful sprawled naked in his bed. When he touched her, she came alive. No hint of the shy, fragile girl Ma had warned him about. The way she came alive as he cupped her breasts and nibbled on her nipples—she responded to him as though they’d been longtime lovers. Even the thought of her made him hard with need.

  Picking up the note, he read it again. The one thing the note did do was remind him he still needed to address the sponsorship, and he knew just who to call. Picking up his cell phone he texted Trent, Ross, and Drew: “Conference call, 8 p.m. Business proposal.”

  When it came to business, they had always supported each other. Whether it was just to listen or to give advice, they were more than just friends—they were like brothers.

  The call took place on time. Jon explained the financial issue that Another Chance faced. “This is exactly the kind of company Brad would have wanted us to sponsor. It represents what he was all about, on a local level. This company doesn’t give money and walk away. They are personally invested in providing their community the tools and knowledge it needs to rebuild and grow. All they need is our financial support. Everything else is already in place.”

  “I agree, Jon, but nothing is ever that simple,” said Drew.

  “Jon, you know how Takes One functions. We anonymously provide a onetime donation,” Trent said. “We do not publicly sponsor any specific organization or group.”

  “Sponsoring means going public,” added Ross. “Right now we have been supporting a number of groups for the right reasons. Sponsoring their company is not something we can take on. We would be more than happy to provide an anonymous donation from Takes One, but that is all we can commit to.”

  “If Another Chance is struggling that much, maybe it needs more than just a sponsor,” said Trent. “Maybe it needs new management.”

  “Forget it, Trent, you are not what this company needs,” Jon said. “And anyway, it’s a not-for-profit. Not the type of company you usually take over.”

  “You’re right, but maybe it’s not the profit I find appealing. Someone has to step in or the company closes, so why not me?” Trent asked.

  “I don’t have enough time to list all the reasons why it should not be you. But for starters, Trent, you have a reputation for taking over a company, firing the staff, changing the business totally, and making it your own. That’s not what they’re looking for, and that’s not what they need.”

  “Jon, you’re correct, that type of company is not for me,” Trent said with a chuckle. “Since you’re set on saving this company, I see only one solution. Quit trying to talk us into doing what you already know is something you need to be doing yourself. Time for you to start personally getting involved. You want a sponsor for Another Chance, then let the sponsor be Vinchi Medical Engineering. It will be good for the company and good for their community, and just think how appreciative Lizette will be. Hmm, maybe I should reconsider sponsoring it myself. She is a beautiful woman.” Trent laughed again.

  “Cool it, Trent, she’s not your type—she has a brain,” Jon stated. He didn’t want Trent anywhere near Lizette. His reputation with the ladies was infamous. He wasn’t just a shark with corporations; he seemed to be the same with women. Jon couldn’t count the number of broken hearts Trent had left behind. The thought of Trent with Lizette made his blood boil. She deserved better than someone like Trent. There was only one thing to do. “I never thought I would hear myself say this, but for once, I agree with you, Trent,” Jon said. “I will talk to you in two weeks at our quarterly meeting. I believe we still have some unfinished business to discuss regarding the future of Takes One.” Without leaving time for the others to continue that conversation, he hung up the phone.

  Leaning back in his chair, he played with the idea of sponsoring Another Chance. The positive was, he could monitor how it was run to ensure it would be successful for years to come. The negative was the amount of time he would need to give to effectively set them back on track, from New York. First he would have to determine why and how they ended up in this situation. Next would be to make the corrections to ensure they didn’t repeat the error. And third, he’d want to make this company able to stand and grow on its own
moving forward. Not a quick or small feat. The question wasn’t if he could pull it off, but all the time and work it would take to accomplish this would negatively affect all he currently had on his plate with Vinchi Medical Engineering. This was something he was going to need to think hard about. He could not afford to lose anymore time and didn’t need more distractions, and sponsoring this company would mean a lot of both. Distractions! He had not had anything but distractions for almost a week now.

  Tomorrow was Tuesday, and he had promised he’d have an answer regarding the sponsorship by Friday. Searching his desk, he located the business card Lizette had given him at the charity event. Picking up his cell phone, he dialed the number on the card.

  “Hello, Elaine Manning speaking, may I help you?”

  “Ms. Manning, my name is Jon Vinchi. An employee of yours, Lizette Burke, brought to my attention the financial needs of your company. There is a business proposition I would like to discuss with you.”

  After a short pause she replied, “Yes, yes, of course, Mr. Vinchi. I would be more than happy to meet with you at whatever time is most convenient for you.”

  “Ms. Manning, I would ask that you keep this meeting and all we discuss confidential for now. This is between you and me only.”

  “Of course. I will tell no one.”

  “Good. I will have my personal assistant, Matt, call you shortly with the arrangements. ”

  “Thank you, Mr. Vinchi.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Let’s meet and see if we can come to terms with what’s best for Another Chance.”