by Sienna Ciles
I went to put the key in the lock and a movement outside the building caught my attention. Glancing down the hall to ensure no one was around, and especially that Brittany was safely detained behind the door of her apartment, I stood a moment longer than necessary without moving. I wanted to go inside the apartment, start my day and pretend I didn’t see the man standing against the car outside. Unfortunately, the payment for such obtuse behavior was not something I could risk bringing into the building. The price for that consideration was my cooperation whenever and wherever it was demanded.
Resignation heavily hung around my neck as I flung open the front door and headed out toward the man. Every bright thought I had about a future free of my godawful past evaporated. This right here was why something with Brittany would never even be a possibility. Why, even if My father and mother were willing, I could never go home again. And why above everything else, the day would come when my two worlds would collide in a spectacular way, the outcome of which I was held captive by daily.
“Tommy,” I said, trying to keep the trepidation out of my voice. Fear was not an emotion I was to show if I intended to stay alive while dealing with the likes of Tommy O’Denill.
“Here,” Tommy said, holding out an envelope. “We have a situation that needs your help.”
“I told you guys last time, we have to keep this away from the building.”
“I tried calling yesterday and you didn’t pick up.”
I remembered seeing the number on caller ID, and sliding across the screen without answering. I’d had a flash of insanity hoping that Tommy wouldn’t show up here.
“Boss was going to send Tribado, but I volunteered so you need to thank your lucky stars.”
Tribado would not have been as respectful of his distance or demands—of that I was certain.
“I appreciate it,” I mumbled, looking at the contents of the envelope. I wanted to scream at the universe or hit something to make the nervous tension subside. I didn’t want any part of this latest endeavor, but I had no way out. Stuffing the contents into the envelope, I asked, “My role is the usual?”
Tommy nodded.
“I’ll be ready.”
With that, Tommy re-entered his car, and with a few engine revs he headed down the street. I was grimacing the entire time I watched the car roll down the street making such a scene so early in the morning. I felt certain I would need to apologize to the neighbors. I hit the envelope against my leg in frustration. Next time, I would pick up the phone.
I headed for the apartment complex, and for the second time that morning attempted to make it back to the apartment for a shower.
Chapter 4
Brittany
I finished up the last of my online work, and glancing over at the gorgeous painting I had found at the open-air festival that weekend, decided it was time for a much-deserved break. I picked up the vibrant oil painting and turned it to the light to allow the colors to play off each other. Looking over the open clean walls of the apartment, I decided that the space over the fireplace would be spectacular way to showcase the piece.
I found a few hooks I had purchased at the same festival this weekend. Then I grabbed a chair from the dining room table to start in on my mini project. Unpacking the apartment myself had been a first for me, and was a “frivolous activity” in my father’s opinion. He had wanted to hire someone to come in to unpack and decorate for me, but where was the fun in that? Beige and neutrals ruled my parents’ house and thus would have been the instructed palette for anyone they hired. I preferred another direction.
My passion for art had oddly enough been sparked by my father and mother early in life. They attended gallery openings and such to raise money for a variety of the philanthropic endeavors they oversaw. It always appeared to me those efforts were just a publicity stunt on their behalf; they didn’t even believe in half the missions of said charities. The events had ignited my soul, though, and Talia had encouraged me with her own bohemian tastes. Unfortunately, unlike my sister, I had never gained enough momentum or belief in myself to stand my ground and demand art school over a business or medical education.
As I finished hanging the painting and stood back to admire it, I again thought of Talia. How much fun we would have had sharing an apartment, going to art shows in the city, and exploring new adventures. I would probably have dared to even attend a non-society party or two as her escort. Instead, I hadn’t done a wild thing in my life outside of My father’s control since the moment Talia had left us.
Swiping at the errant tear that traversed my cheek, I turned away from the painting when my phone announced a text message’s arrival. Setting the hammer on the accent table behind the couch, I dug in my purse for the phone.
When I saw the message, I had the most unladylike desire to fling the phone out of the window.
I know you have a big test this week. Please study your hardest!
“Really?” I asked no one in particular. “Not even a how was your week, do you like the apartment? Nothing.”
I felt the irritation climb my spine, heat my skin with anger and tighten all my muscles. My father had the uncanny knack of being able to wind me up even without being in the same room. I wasn’t going to allow him to win. Maybe fresh air would help settle me, I decided. Grabbing my keys and leaving the phone where I had flung it on the couch, I headed for the door.
As I exited to the rear of the building, I was enthralled with the huge open courtyard. Benches, three large trees, and a tiny man-made brook constructed of cool shimmery stones completed the restful spot. I glanced about and noticed Dalton was across the way, down on his hands and knees in the dirt. He was wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirt. I was caught off guard by the tattooed arm that prominently featured intricate designs that had obviously taken quite a commitment to finish. As I watched, a few other residents walked by him, and he waved and called out to each by name.
There was an ease and confidence about him that I found appealing, and yet those tattoos and his attitude screamed at me to run the other direction. As the girl who always took the safest, easiest route to any objective, I was definitely not interested in a relationship with him. However, my mind told me maybe I needed to channel Talia a bit, and have a fling with the handyman. Everyone I knew at boarding school had been known to hook up with an “undesirable,” as they had called these forbidden flings. A parent’s disapproval made the forbidden flings even more desirable to my peers.
I let the thought wander around for a minute, before I finally realized that Dalton was staring back at me. “Like what you see?” he asked with a huge, dimpled grin.
“What? No! I was just admiring–” I was stuttering like a ridiculous school girl.
“I know what you were admiring.” He winked at me audaciously.
“Seriously, I have never seen such large trees in the city,” I said, mentally hitting myself for the stupidity of the comment.
“Been here longer than us,” he acknowledged, standing up and wiping his hands on his dirt-splattered shorts. I didn’t seem to mind the long mud streak it left behind. “Did you need something?” he asked.
“No, I just needed some air,” I said, wrapping my arms around my mid-section with a light squeeze. “Sometimes I’m just grateful to be out on my own, and then I realize my father is never going to stop interfering,” I said before I could filter the words.
“You can’t let him rile you up. You’re an adult, capable of making your own decisions, and he will just need to get on board with that sooner or later,” he said, staring at me with such earnest eyes I almost believed him.
“Yeah, well I don’t have a job or the ability to support myself so I need to play the game for now,” I said with sigh. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it. I was just thinking about my sister and how she would have thumbed her cute little nose at him and do whatever she wanted.”
“Are you and your sister close?” Dalton asked.
It had been such a long time since
I had talked about Talia with anyone. The subject was completely off limits in our family. About a year after Talia’s death, I had offhandedly said something about a trip we had all taken together. Mother had stiffened and asked that I not bring up her name again. I never knew if it was grief, envy that Talia had refused to allow society to break her, or true uncaring that had prompted mother’s comments. I had never asked or uttered her name in the house again.
“She died,” I said softly. The words always took my breath away, and the pain ricocheted across my heart deep and painful as the first moment I had learned the truth. “Her boyfriend—he beat her to death.”
Dalton froze in place and his faced blanched whiter than a ghost. He gnashed his teeth together, and for a moment I was caught completely off-guard by the odd reaction. People always looked at me sadly or mumbled words of encouragement, but no one had ever looked mad.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “Men that beat up on women deserve what they get,” he said harshly. “I have to go.” And without another word he spun on his heels and walked back to his original task, not looking my way again.
I stared at him for a moment, unable to explain what had just transpired. Turning, I started toward my apartment before pivoting one last time to find him staring at me. The expression in his eyes was deep pain, more than my sister’s story should have inspired in him. I wondered what secrets he held onto in the dark that made him live a life as a handyman, and yet feel such a level of pain at a simple story from a stranger.
Returning to my apartment, I tried to put the odd interaction with Dalton from my mind and concentrate on studying. I couldn’t risk my father checking in with me and not having done exactly as instructed. Besides, I required every minute possible to pass my business ethics class. The subject matter was so boring, twice I found myself nodding off in class. But like a good soldier I would study and pass.
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Hard for Her
A Billionaire Romance
By
Sienna Ciles
www.SiennaCiles.com
Copyright
First Edition, January 2018
Copyright © 2018 by Sienna ciles
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and situations are the product of the author's imagination.
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.
License
This book is available exclusively on Amazon.com. If you found this book for free or from a site other than an Amazon.com country specific website it means the author was not compensated for this book and you have likely obtained this book through an unapproved distribution channel.
Chapter 1
Alex
“Congratulations! Ten big years. How’s it feel?” Alicia stood in the office doorway and stared at me with her overly white smile. “I got you a little something to celebrate.” She padded over to my desk with the box of bourbon in her hands. It was strategically held so her breasts rested on top with the bow perched in between them.
“Thanks,” I said with a grin. “You… really didn’t need to.” I played with the ring on my hand, twisting it. It was a nervous habit, and something about Alicia made me nervous. Her five-foot-two frame made all six-foot-one of me nervous, mostly because I wasn’t sure what she would do next.
“So, can we drink it tonight?” Alicia flipped her blond hair over her back, revealing her shoulder and neck. Then she slowly placed the box on my desk. Her cleavage hung in the pink sundress that definitely wasn’t suitable for the office. No one seemed to mind that she didn’t follow the dress code, though.
I took a long stare and then looked up, meeting her blue eyes that had caught me stealing a glance. Alicia smiled and stood up straighter, accentuating her curves and breasts.
“Raincheck?” I said. “I have a meeting tonight with a client.” I pushed the box of bourbon aside and grabbed the portfolio on my desk and flipped it open.
“Sounds perfect. It’s a date!” She giggled as she lingered a bit longer and then pretended to pick a piece of something from my suit. “Is this a new client?”
“It’s an athlete… I’m hoping to land an endorsement deal. We’ll see.” I pushed past Alicia and headed toward the door. “Do you know if Charles is still in the office?”
“His light was on when I walked past.” Alicia followed behind as I left my office and headed down the hall of the Westbrooke, Inc. headquarters. “So, next week then?”
“Sure.” I quickened my pace toward Charles’s office. Charles. My father had always insisted I call him by his first name while in the office. As if everyone didn’t know I was his son. It seemed ridiculous but he wouldn’t even answer if I called him Dad. I did it anyway—oftentimes when I just wanted to get a rise out of him and piss him off.
When it really counted, I addressed him by Charles, and this particular instance just happened to count. A possible endorsement deal with a popular former athlete had come across my desk and I knew that my father would likely be interested in this particular individual.
Alicia continued down the hall toward the elevator, much to my relief, and had all but disappeared from my view as I approached my father’s private office. As I raised my hand to knock on the door, surprisingly, it opened as soon as my hand touched the cherry wood surface.
“Alex?” My father’s voice filled my ears as his piercing blue eyes met mine.
Everyone at the company said we looked a lot alike. I’d definitely inherited his deep blue eye color and thick brown hair. Also, my strong, well-defined chin and the ability to grow a perfect goatee were two other traits that were passed on to me by Charles Michael Westbrooke.
Another similarity was that I’ve been six-foot-one since my third year of high school and my current weight is roughly 215—give or take a pound or two. Back in my college days, I was an avid football player and fan, and over the years, I’ve been able to maintain my athletic frame pretty well.
“Charles,” I replied, clearing my throat, attempting to sound more in control than I actually felt.
“Come on in,” he said firmly, briefly raising his eyes up from whatever paperwork he was currently working on. I could see that he was on a business call, and the tone of his voice made it evident to me that it was likely an important one.
I entered his office quietly, taking in the wooden bookshelves and the large metal desk he was sitting at. Sitting down in one of the leather chairs, I made myself comfortable, still watching him intently as I waited for him to finish his call. He signaled me with his pointer finger and a fervent wink of his eye.
After what seemed like forever, he finally hung up the phone and turned his attention to me.
“So, I hear that you have some good news for me, then?” he asked, brushing his graying goatee between his fingers and raising his left eyebrow as he spoke.
“Ah, yes.” I set the folder I was holding down on his desk in front of him. “A former pro-football player. We may be able to talk him into an endorsement deal that will benefit our company and his career.”
Putting on his reading glasses, my father opened the folder and began to browse through its contents. Something about him always made me feel self-conscious whenever I was in his presence. I reached up and adjusted my tie as I watched him look over the athlete’s file.
“Well, Alex, seeing as you’ll take my place as the CEO of this company when I finally retire next year, perhaps you should be the one handling this particular deal,” he said sternly, closing the folder and sliding it across the desk back over toward me.
A small, sly grin was playing at the corner of his lips as he eyed me with a concentrated stare.
He had been discussing this shift in ownership of the company for the past several months. I had
been the president of Westbrooke, Inc. for the past ten years but my dad had always been the CEO. When he announced his plan to retire a few months ago, he named me as the sole heir and future CEO of the company. Somehow, though, he had this way of making me feel intimidated by the way that he looked at me and addressed me whenever it came to important business matters and situations.
Though I’ve never felt exactly inferior to him in anyway, he just has a way of making me wonder whether or not I “measure up” to the incredibly high standards he has always had when it comes to leadership and responsibility. Knowing that I will have to “fill his shoes” one day soon is a constant reminder that it’s time to for me to put my playboy days behind me and man up to the task. Not just in my business life, but in my personal life as well.
This was one of the main reasons why women like my gorgeous and overly-flirtatious assistant, Alicia, are no longer on my personal “to-do list.” A few years ago, I would’ve had her bent over the desk in my private office and probably would’ve carried on a superficial fling with her until I became bored and moved on to another hot, big-tittied, long-legged vixen. However, with the constant pressure I’ve been getting from both of my parents to settle down and start acting like a “grown man,” I’ve had to stifle my boyish, superficial passions and start looking for a more meaningful relationship with a woman of actual depth and profundity.
Believe it or not, though, for a wealthy businessman like myself, that has actually been more difficult to find than pretty much anything else in my luxurious, sumptuous little world.
My father founded Westbrooke, Inc. nearly twenty years ago, and he and my mother built the company from the ground up. The patents their company invented on footwear and clothing technology helped them turn it into a multi-billion-dollar conglomerate within the first five years. Ten years ago this week, I’d graduated from Yale with a master’s degree in business management, and my father made me the company president. That was why Alicia had been so adamant about celebrating with the box of bourbon.
