BILLIONAIRE: Protected (A Dark Billionaire Romance)

by Royer, Kristina

  I could hardly argue. He won.

  The manila folder atop my vanity was not what I had anticipated showing an investor. Despite my complaints, the marketing team had not made any significant strides in the logo or name development. I dreaded showing the suggestions to Liam, but our meeting was in less than an hour and there was no turning back. My only hope was to sell myself and the concept as well as I could.

  I lined my emerald eyes and applied some crimson lipstick, depending on my self presentation to make the deal. Surely, he did not want to see the same sloppy woman that had originally stood before him. I had to do better and I hoped the hour that I spent curling my hair would make a difference.

  As I finished getting ready, I stared in the mirror for a moment, evaluating whether or not my outfit was appropriate enough. I chose a cobalt blouse with a black blazer and pencil skirt, paired with black business heels and drop diamond earrings. I chewed on my lipstick-adorned lips for a moment before exhaling, anxiously. Getting ready for a business meeting had never been so nerve-wracking before and I questioned whether or not there was some truth to Patrick's accusations. They were silly, but I was clearly attracted to Liam and I wondered if I had subconsciously went to all of the effort for him rather than for the good of the business. I shook the thought as my doorbell sounded and I realized that Patrick had arrived to drive me to Liam's penthouse. Risking being late again was not an option.

  My heels click-clacked against my apartment's hardwood floor as I walked to the front door, the manila folder under my arm… I opened the door to see Patrick's grinning face before me.

  “Little fancier than business casual, not too sleazy,” he said, looking me up and down. I rolled my eyes as he added, “Classy and sexy. I'm a fan.”

  “I wasn't going for sexy,” I murmured, brushing past him. Was I? I really was not sure at this point, but I was hardly going to give him the satisfaction of being partially right. “We're going to be late again, Patrick. Come on.”

  “Alright, alright,” he said, closing the door behind him. I locked the door and followed him to his small hatchback.

  I slid into the passenger seat and he started the vehicle, music blaring from the speaker. He turned the notch and the decibel level decreased as he pulled out of his parallel parking spot. He chewed on his lip as he drove towards the intersection; I knew that he was fighting the urge to make more cheeky comments.

  The beautiful Manhattan lights glistened outside of my passenger window and I felt a small smile creep onto my lips. Sometimes I forgot how lucky I was to be in the city after everything that I had been through in rural Idaho. I pressed my fingertips on the windowpane and closed my eyes, inhaling and exhaling in quiet solitude. The nervousness began to subside as I realized how much that I had overcome in my lifetime.

  “Aaliyah?” Patrick interrupted my moment of spirituality. I shook my head as his interjection made me return to reality. I turned to him and raised my brows. He had a concerned look on his face as he added, “I've been trying to talk to you for the past two minutes.”

  “Sorry,” I apologized. “Sort of was day-dreaming for a second there. What did you ask?”

  “Why haven't you bought your own car?” he repeated, his pale hands gripping the steering wheel as a taxi pulled out in front of the car.

  I sighed and replied, “Well, I haven't driven a car in almost six years.” I hardly felt like elaborating, but I knew that my answer would not satisfy him. I was a very private person, but Patrick was the type of person that wanted to know everything about everybody that he met. I noticed that this was fairly typical in New York, as everybody who lived in the city had their own story. However, I was not the kind of woman to share my story with just anybody. There was a level of trust that had to be established first, and despite working as my assistant for four years, Patrick had not quite earned that level of trust.

  He frowned as he turned left and said, “Why?”

  Rolling my eyes, I retorted, “You ask so many questions, Patrick. Are we getting close?”

  “If you ever drove, you would know the answer to that question,” he murmured. “Oh come on!” He slammed his foot on the brake pedal as a taxi stopped in the middle of the street to let a staggering man out of the backseat.

  I looked at the time on the car's digital clock and tapped my foot, impatiently. I had ten minutes to reach the penthouse and I was unsure how far away it was. Although I had lived in the city for many years, I still had not adjusted to the amount of time it took to reach destinations by car. When I had lived in Idaho, traffic had never been a concern.

  “Can you pull around him?” I asked, chewing on my lip.

  “Does it look like I can?” he spat, gesturing the parallel parked vehicles on both sides of the street. He rolled down his window and honked his horn. “Come on, buddy! Some of us have places to be!”

  The taxicab driver craned his neck to look at the two of us in the rear-view mirror, but it was too dark outside for him to see us, despite the light pollution. After another moment, the taxi drove away and Patrick pressed his foot down on the accelerator, cursing under his breath.

  “Are we going to get there on time?” I asked, nervously. I had four minutes until I needed to meet Liam. As I looked out the window, I realized that we were approaching the wealthier part of Manhattan and I hoped that we were near his building. “Patrick?”

  “We're here,” Patrick snapped. “You really need to get your own car. I can't be hauling you around New York off the clock all the time.”

  I pursed my lips and he turned right into a parking lot. The building was tall and covered in hundreds of windows. It was not anything like my own apartment building, but it was nothing less than what I had expected. Liam was much more contemporary than a lot of billionaires that I dealt with for my job, so it made sense for him to live in such a grandiose ultra-modern building. I cleared my throat nervously as Patrick parked. The clock read that I had two minutes to meet Liam, but I could not bring myself to open the car door.

  “What are you doing? Go!” Patrick ordered. “Ally, you're going to be late.”

  Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I opened the door, clutching the manila folder in my hand. Slowly, I stepped out onto my heels and bent my knees to look at him before I went inside.

  “Thanks for driving me,” I said. “Wish me luck?”

  He smiled and nodded, “Good luck. I'll see you at the office, alright?”

  “Yes,” I agreed. I shut the door and Patrick drove away. As I looked at the tall edifice, my anxiety became increasingly overwhelming.

  You have to do this, Aaliyah. You'll be fine, you'll be just fine, I thought to myself. With one last deep breath, I walked towards the building.

  I stood outside of the door to Liam's penthouse apartment. Several moments had passed since I first rung the doorbell, but I had not heard footsteps approaching the door. Furrowing my brow and frowning, I rang the doorbell again.

  I pressed my ear to the door, but I could not hear anything. Chewing on my lip, I raised my fist to the white door and knocked three times in one last effort to catch Liam's attention. Suddenly, the door flung open.

  I backed away in shock, tripping over my heels in the process, and falling onto my backside.

  I looked up at Liam in horror as he chuckled and offered me a hand. He seemed so much taller than I had remembered from my place on the floor. He was dressed in a plaid ash grey suit with a pink tie, his endearing smile upon his dimpled face. My cheeks flushed as he pulled me to my feet and I quickly realized he had probably seen up my skirt when I had fallen. Nervously, I looked to the floor and scratched the back of my head.

  “Bit of a fall you had there, eh? You aren't hurt, are you?” he asked, both concern and amusement evident in his tone. He put an arm around my shoulders and smiled at me. “Shall we?”

  With an anxious swallow, I nodded quietly and followed him into the penthouse. It was decorated in a very minimalist fashion, which was a little
surprising. The large living room area had only a black leather sofa and a glass coffee table facing a very simple fireplace. There was not even a television. The kitchen and dining area were one in the same, as three black stools were lazily pushed against the granite island counter. The entire apartment was painted a plain shade of eggshell white and the hardwood floor appeared to be a simple light finish. I had expected it to be much more ostentatious, but it was refreshing to see that it was not. Despite all of his money, he had found comfort in simplicity and that was something that I greatly respected.

  “Something wrong?” he asked, lightly touching the small of my back as he looked down at me. “Let me get us some wine while we look everything over.” Brushing by me, he went into the small kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of red wine and poured it as I smoothed my skirt and sat on the leather sofa, still somehow unable to speak.

  He sauntered into the living room, offering me a glass. I accepted it and drank nearly half of the glass out of sheer nervousness. I had never found myself to be so awkward at a business meeting. To be fair, I had never been asked to have a business meeting in a handsome, young billionaire's penthouse either.

  “I'm sorry for being late,” I murmured in an attempt to start a conversation. “I rang the doorbell a few times but you didn't answer.”

  He sat on the sofa beside me and nodded as he took a sip of wine. “No, no, that's my fault. I should have told you that the doorbell doesn't work.

  I've talked to maintenance probably eight bloody times,” he replied, tapping on the manila folder in my hand. “So what do we have here?”

  I cleared my throat and set it on the coffee table, placing my hand firmly on top of it to give myself a moment to explain why the work it contained was not to the standard that I wished it was. “Before you judge anything, please know that Hoffman gave me the worst marketing team and that this work is not to the standards that I would like to be upheld. It was just short notice and—”

  He shushed me and took another sip of wine before furrowing his brow and asking, “Why are you so nervous? This is probably the most relaxed meeting you'll have in your entire career.” He took my hand in his and moved it, smiling at me. His blue eyes twinkled as he opened the folder and added, “Besides, I knew Hoffman wasn't taking the idea seriously. Everything you told me at the meeting said that he was just going to let this thing die off... I just see too much potential to let go to waste.”

  He flipped through papers as I beamed at him. “Really?” I asked.

  Nodding, he replied, “Really. It's superb, and your model will work much better, I think. Not to mention, having someone like you behind the project will only make it better. I have full confidence in your abilities.” He chewed on his inner cheek and looked up at me with an amused smile. “You're right, your marketing team is crap.”

  I blushed and looked away, murmuring, “I know. I wish they could do better. I'm really sorry. I promise if you invest I—”

  “If?” he interjected. “I already have a check written, Miss Barr. There is no question whether or not I'm investing. I couldn't invest at the meeting because I didn't have my checkbook on me and I don't like doing deals without having the money ready.”

  I was sipping my wine, but choked on it slightly out of surprise. He patted me on the back as I regained my composure. “Y-you already decided to invest?” I asked, incredulous. My performance at the initial meeting had not been worthy of an investor. I was grateful, but unsure how he determined that my presentation was worth a partnership.

  Liam nodded and replied, airily, “There was just something about you. I knew I had to be your partner.” He drank the rest of his glass of wine and narrowed his eyes. “Why would you think that I wouldn't invest?”

  I chewed on my lip and muttered, “Well the presentation wasn't all that great. Let's be honest, Mr. Manning.”

  He laughed and said, “Please, never call me Mr. Manning. Good God, you have no idea how much I hate that.” He ran a hand through his thick, sun-kissed hair and added, “You just had a way about you that screamed 'hard worker,' you know? Sometimes it's the passion of the person behind an idea that's the most important thing.” His blue eyes bore into my own and I felt my cheeks become hot. “I think that is the case with you, Miss Barr.”

  “I-it's Ally,” I murmured, looking away from his gaze. “O-or Aaliyah.”

  “I'll go with Ally,” he said. He stood and held out his hand. “More wine?”

  I nodded and handed him my glass. The twinkle in his eye told me that perhaps Patrick had been right. It was more than just business.

  *****

  Chapter 3

  Liam and I had been through the content of the manila folder at least three times and we were quickly approaching our second bottle of wine. Usually I would object to such an intimate business meeting, but usually the investors with whom I spoke were nowhere near as young and handsome as Liam was. The alcohol was beginning to make me a little giggly and I was trying my best not to make a pass at him or anything that may result in a misunderstanding between business partners. Nevertheless, the way that he looked at me told me that he was just as interested in me as I was in him.

  “I haven't worked with many women,” he admitted. His face was becoming redder and redder as he grew more intoxicated, but he still took another sip of wine. “Just hasn’t had the opportunity.”

  “Does your girlfriend disapprove?” I blurted. I immediately regretted what I said, because I knew that I was overstepping boundaries. However, I could easily argue that he had overstepped boundaries by getting me drunk.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Girlfriend? What rubbish have the tabloids made up now? I don't have a girlfriend.”

  I blushed and hoped that the warmth from the wine would disguise my embarrassment. In a desperate attempt to escape the awkward situation, I seized the manila folder and swallowed nervously, flipping through the pages that we had already been through a number of times throughout the evening.

  “So, er, what about this graphic? Now that I look at it again it isn't so bad,” I murmured, pointing out a logo of a homeless man eating a freshly made cake. It was bad, but I was looking for any reason not to mess up the deal that we had made. Making my business partner uncomfortable was not my goal.

  Liam laughed and refilled his glass. “You don't have to be nervous, Ally. I think we've discussed enough business for the evening. The wine has clearly gotten to your head if that logo is starting to look even remotely acceptable,” he said. “So tell me about yourself. Not how you'd portray yourself in a cover letter, either. I want to learn more about the real you.” I felt myself melt as he offered me a crooked smile.

  The real me? I really had no idea where to begin. My past was long and strange.

  There was a lot of room for judgment when it came to everything that I had been through and the person that it made me. I usually kept those kinds of things to myself, considering nobody needed to know about me to respect me as the ambitious businesswoman that I turned into, but something about Liam seemed different. He seemed genuinely interested. Perhaps it was the wine, but I felt compelled to let my guard down even if it scared the hell out of me.

  I drank a rather large portion of wine from my glass in order to prepare myself to release all of the emotions that had been sitting in the pit of my stomach for so many years. I took a deep breath and looked into his patient, blue eyes. He simply waited for me to muster up the courage to tell him. He did not press me. He only waited. Something about that fact was comforting.

  “Well, I grew up in a small town in Idaho. You've never heard of it so there's no reason to tell you the name,” I started. I cleared my throat and averted my gaze to the plain white wall behind him. For some reason, it made it easier to talk. “Anyway, I come from a place that doesn't really drive women to do much with themselves other than become housewives or schoolteachers if they're smart enough to go to college. There are a lot of farms. That kind of a
place, you know? My mother died when I was twelve and my dad was an alcoholic. My religion helped me get through it all a bit, but it was still tough. I ended up maybe sleeping around more than I should have. We all make mistakes, you know? I haven't been down that road in a long, long time. Regardless, I guess the scars are still there a bit. I'm pretty okay most of the time, but I still won't even drive because the last time I did, I was driving my drunk dad back to his house and he tried taking the wheel from me. It ended up in the hospital. This scar is from the stitches.” I pulled my collar to show him the scar on my shoulder. It was strange how natural it felt to tell him everything. Even my therapist had not heard as much as I had just told him. “Anyway, that's my story. Um, I got sick of it, went to college, moved to New York, and here I am. That's about it. Judge me as you will.”

  I gulped the last of my glass of wine as I prepared for him to tell me how much less attractive and professional I seemed from my background. However, he did not scold me with even a word of negativity. He simply looked at me, sadness in his eyes, and held out his arms to give me a hug.

  Surprised by the gesture, I clutched to my empty glass and allowed him to embrace me. It felt like the safest place that I had been in my entire life.

  “I am so sorry for what you went through,” he murmured, rubbing my back with his fingertips. He pulled away and looked me in the eyes, his hands still lightly touching my upper arms. “Listen, I've been to hell and back too. I never knew my father. My mother was a drug addict. There are a lot of things that I can't tell you yet, but I feel so connected to you. I hope you're the woman—er, business partner—that breaks my shell. I really do.”

  I frowned, wondering why he was unable to open up to me to the extent that I had opened up to him. Something about it felt unfair, but I knew that I had to try to be understanding. We were only business partners and I could hardly expect him to tell me the things that he would tell a significant other. I chewed on my lower lip as I pondered.