by Serena Vale
Russian Billionaire’s Holiday Bride
***
Janice
Janice Roe was a woman with a simple task in life: help those who had fallen from grace find their feet again. Her methods were unconventional, but effective. So long as her clients, rough and forgotten, had found new ways to shine again she was happy. But her new client has yielded a challenge that she might not be prepared to face: she needs to deliver a Christmas miracle. And she might find more presents waiting for her than she expected."
Alexi
Alexi Volkov was a boy born to privilege and wanted for nothing. He was happy to spend his father's money and quickly became lost in drugs, booze and women. But eventually the day came when his father wanted him to shoulder the responsibilities of man and learn to run the company that he will one day inherit. But lost in the fog of his fun he no longer cares for his birthright until he met Janice Roe. Only under her tutelage he learns that it's more than business that he cares to learn."
Copyright 2015 by Serena Vale - All rights reserved.
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Table of Contents
Russian Billionaire’s Holiday Bride
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 7
Chapter 9
Bonus Books:
Chosen By The Russian Mafia
Billionaire’s Marriage of Convenience
Loving My Savage Russian Billionaire
Italian Billionaire’s Holiday Bride
Becoming The Mobster’s Bride
Tamed by the Russian Billionaire
Billionaire Uncaged
Wanted By The Outlaw
The Lion’s Secret Baby
Mated To The Lion
Protected by the Soldier Bear
Rescued By Billionaire Dragons
Paradiso
Claimed By The Alien Boss
Ursa
Cowboy’s Mail Order Bride
Loved By The Seal
The Billionaire’s Baby
The Renegade’s Bride
Russian Roulette
Taken By The Highlander
The Only Promise
Charmed by the Wicked Billionaire
Touch Down For Love
The Highlander’s Surrender Bride
Russian Billionaire’s Holiday Bride
Chapter 1
Janice Roe had always been fascinated by the way men of power and wealth sought high-rise living places. They did so with the same gusto that a fish sought water. Today was no exception to her fascination. She was sitting in the private office of a man who was capable of filling the national debt if he really wanted to. The office itself sat on the top floor of a skyscraper that had yet to be surpassed in height, marking it as one of the places for someone to be.
It reminded her of medieval times, when castles were the standard for the rich and powerful. The bigger and grander, the wealthier a man was. And like all things it was a symbol of status. And what was true then was just as true now, as this building doubled as both the business headquarters and the living space of the man that had summoned her.
Like a castle, this building had been built with chambers and towers high off the ground that had been meant to protect the nobility… the kings… the dukes… the barons… the earls… the men who were expected to keep everything going. But still, they always stayed well above ground.
They just don’t care to be associated with the salt and dirt of the earth, she thought as she sat and listened while her client – or rather her client’s proxy – made his pitch.
“My son is an idiot,” he said, leaning on his mahogany desk that looked so old it could have crossed the Atlantic with the Pilgrims. But the man’s accent was certainly not that of those early day travelers. His accent came from somewhere further to the east… the old Soviet Block, she recalled. He was one of the many that had left Communism behind to embrace Capitalism with both arms wide open and, in an ironic twist, found that he was really good at it for the man was worth hundreds of billions if not more. “No… he’s worse than that,” the old man corrected, “he’s a raging idiot!”
Janice merely nodded, half interested. The old man wasn’t saying anything that she didn’t already know. She’d done her homework before taking this meeting and she knew what kind of a shit swamp she was about to jump into. But whether she was going to wade in it or swim was still a matter of some debate.
The older gentleman – a loose term in this case, as he had spoken as anything other than a gentleman – leaned forward and double-fisted his hands, resting his forehead against the knuckles and giving a heavy sigh. His gray suit looked about as evenly matched as his temper. Janice wondered if all of the gray and white in his hair was earned from making his millions or just having to put up with his son.
He was a stark contrast to her. She was big boned and her chocolate colored skin was offset by the blonde highlights that she had streaked through her jet black hair. Her business suit was not top-of-the-line, having cost her what most people made in a month, but still it was expensive enough to show that she was a woman that knew what she was about and that she needed to be taken seriously. That was usually enough in the eyes of others.
“His situation needs to change… and quickly,” the old man added.
“How quickly?” she asked, sensing an opportunity.
“Twenty years ago,” the proxy said pointedly. “The boy has been a nuisance ever since he was born.”
She knew it wasn’t an idle boast really. She had seen the pictures of the day the boy was born. His first act in life was to grope the cleavage of the nurse that had helped to deliver him. It had been dismissed as childhood innocence… back then. But no one had predicted that that single act was a prediction of the kind person that that baby would grow up to be. Fondling a woman’s breasts publicly had been the least of the stand-out things that he had done in his time. And as he had gotten older it had only gotten worse.
“Children born into extreme wealth often have problems like these, Mr. Volkov,” she said knowledgeably.
“God,” he spat in a second ironic-anti-Communism twist, “you sound like those head shrinking doctors that my wife hired to try and cure my son’s wild side.”
She took the hit towards her profession. She’d expected it. “I didn’t get to be where I am without studying, Mr. Volkov. You say you need your son’s image to change, then that means playing hard ball. That means I’m going to tell it to you like I see it. You didn’t come to America to have your hand held, did you?”
He looked at her over his folded hands and there was something that crossed his face that she recognized all too well. It wasn’t anger or resentment that he was feeling.
It was approval.
“You speak your mind,” he said, his tone confirming what she had read in his face. “I like this about yo
u.”
She gave an appreciative nod.
“Everyone that I have spoken to confirms that you are the top-rated image consultant on the east coast. Is that true?”
She could tell when there was a hook in the water, but Janice had been swimming with sharks too long to know better than to bite. “You’ve seen my resume, Mr. Volkov. I’m sure it speaks for itself. But we’re not here to talk about my previous successes. We’re here to talk about how your son needs to shape up. Shall we get on with it?”
“Straight to business, huh?” he said, his tone again approving. “I like this about you, too. Very well,” he adjusted himself in his seat, “the particulars then?”
“I am all ears, sir.”
He took a breath. “The holidays are approaching. My company needs to make a good presentation for Christmas. And my son is the only one who can do that.”
“Unfortunate.”
“I’m glad you understand.” He leaned back in his chair and adjusted his tie. “All of the attention that my son’s… exploits… have gotten has brought a great deal of attention to my company. Although this is not the kind of publicity that I need or want and it is damaging. Publicly, even socially, we are famous… to teenage girls who drool over the pictures of my son when he half-naked on a beach. But my investors… my board… they are not pleased. Profits and sales are down fifteen percent across the board because of this negative impact. They want things to change. And I want them to change even more than they.”
She nodded. “Your son is supposed to inherit your company?”
“That is the destiny of all great fortunes, Ms. Roe. My father and his father before him began this business and it was passed to me in my time. It must also pass to my son.” He took a patient breath. “But America has corrupted him… he acts more like an American than he does a Russian.”
“You immigrated legally, Mr. Volkov. And your son was born here. By definition that makes him an American.”
The older man turned his eyes away from her for a moment and glimpsed out the window with its god-like view before looking back to her. “That is so… but I tried to instill in him Russian discipline.” He looked back at the tops of his knuckles. “I failed. Here in America, wealth does not mean the same thing it does back in Russia. Here… to be rich often means that one is spoiled… that the rules do not apply.” He gave a small grunt. “This cannot be permitted for my son any longer. Sometimes I think that I should have waited until he was born before my wife and I came here.”
He began tapping his fingers together patiently, forming a small steeple with them. “That is why I sought you out. I need this problem corrected.”
She could sense when he was leaning towards a point but didn’t care to share it unless prodded to do so. “Or…?” she prompted.
“I have numerous investors that will withdraw their funding… the value of my stock will plummet… I’ll be moving back to Russia before next Christmas on a supply ship because I will not have enough to pay for an airline ticket.” He said it with such simplicity it was as if he’d already planned for it to happen and had already memorized the shipping schedule so he knew when to leave.
She nodded. Now she knew the game and she knew the way to win and to lose. Although losing wasn’t really much of an option at this point; if she couldn’t finish the job then she wouldn’t get paid either.
“Then tell me, Mr. Volkov, how exactly do you need me to shape up your son’s image? I’m guessing we’re not talking about into turning him into a choir boy?”
The older man looked at her contemplatively. She knew that look as well. He was trying to determine if he could trust her enough with certain details to get the job done or if he should hold back.
He sighed. She knew that discretion was right out of the window by this point. The man had too much to lose and too much money on the line to keep the details to himself. It would have to be all or nothing and he knew that.
“Make him presentable,” the older man said. “I want to see no more photos of him throwing his wild parties. I don’t want to hear another word of his whores and debaucheries. I want him sober. I want him well dressed. I want his manners improved. I want him to be the goddamn spitting image of a man that statues are built for.”
She arched an eyebrow. She’d thought as much. He’d hit all the high notes that she was usually called in to sing. “Is that all?”
He leaned forward on his chair, as if he were daring her to defy him. “Can you make it happen?”
She nodded. “I can, Mr. Volkov. But your son… he’s got an interesting history. And it won’t be easily overcome. I can do everything that you ask. But there will be a small catch.”
He waited for her to make her terms.
“In order to make this happen I’ll need to be attached to his every move. I will control his appearances. I will make sure that he’s dressed. I’ll see to it that he minds his manners. I’ll make sure that he dries out. And by the time I’m through the next time that he’s seen in public, no one will recognize him. And when they do, they’ll be blown away by the metamorphosis.
“But in order to do so, I’ll need carte blanche. If you need him for any reason and I say he’s not available, then he’s not available until I say otherwise. If I need money, regardless of the amount, you pay it. If I need to take him somewhere in the mountains to have him locked in a dark closet for defying me so he can scream to his heart’s content, then you make it happen no questions asked. If I make a statement publicly or if I tell you to make one, even if you know it’s a lie, you confirm it. If I choose to fire his bodyguards and hire new ones, ones that you know nothing about, you’ll support me.” She paused. “Are these terms at all disagreeable?”
She waited for him to digest that.
He shut his eyes and once more she saw the pensive look on the man’s face. The scales of his mind were balancing, measuring what he might gain against what he had to lose. He was quiet for only a few moments before he made his decision.
“When can you start?”
Chapter 2
Janice was introduced to her new client the same day that she had taken the meeting with his father. She had seen the photos of him – good and bad – and while she had enjoyed seeing them to a certain extent she had not been prepared to see the flesh and blood version of the man that she had been contracted to straighten out.
Alexi Volkov.
He was built like most of the other celebrity men that she had worked with in her time that needed to have their images tweaked. He had all of the usual features: a washboard belly and well-developed pectoral muscles and arms that looked like they could have crushed bowling balls. Those muscles looked good and well kept. She noted that that had mean that he at least had enough motivation to take care of himself, but that in itself was not enough.
His hair was long and ragged, matted together as if he hadn’t taken a shower or at least run a comb through his scalp in weeks. His beard was thin, growing almost in the fashion of a chin-strap, and his eyes were a deep hazel. Taken together his scalp and beard reminded her of a surf bum mixed with a classic stoner that one might have been inclined to see quite regularly in the 80’s.
His chest, part of his belly, and his entire right arm was covered in the kinds of tattoos that looked more like they had been attained in a drunken or even a drug-induced stupor than by choice. The ink on his skin was so badly mangled together she couldn’t even tell what all of the shapes or pictures were. So much of his skin was covered in the ink it was as if he was wearing a shirt that had been ripped, leaving only a small portion of his belly uncovered.
Janice could only wonder what the rest of him must have looked like. Though she recalled from the tabloids that there were certainly more tattoos on his legs… and possibly even other parts of his body.
Can’t wait to find out, she thought happily.
Janice stood side-by-side with Mr. Volkov in the bedroom of Alexi’s penthouse suite. The penthouse, like its occup
ant, was a mess. It was littered with the remains of one of the parties that Alexi had thrown the night before… or maybe even from parties before that. The place was cluttered with pizza boxes, some of them empty and others not and insects had been swarming around them in small clouds in some places. Mr. Volkov had told her that he’d attempted to tame his son’s parties by advising him that housekeeping would no longer clean up his messes. It had been a sound tactic, the desired aim to be that sooner or later Alexi would grow tired of living in filth. But so far, the result had not come.
There were cartons of Chinese food left to rot on table tops or on chairs and couches where they had been left. Empty cases of beer sat idly in the halls and in some places that she saw empty cans of beer had literally carpeted the floor so that the expensive marble floors could not be seen. She found piles of shattered glass in which laid bowling balls and from the shards the scent of whiskey and vodka wafted. She could tell that the liquor bottles had been set up like bowling pins and then smashed.
She saw a large salt water fish tank on the opposite side of the room in which she saw a woman’s complete bikini floating idly inside with oblivious fish. She found more assortments of clothing along the bannisters of the stairs or even hanging from some of the potted trees like flags on a pole. Among such things were women’s bras and panties, some of them were pairs of jeans or plain shirts. She wondered briefly how the women that had worn them had managed to get home without too much difficulty in being so unclad.
After seeing all of that Mr. Volkov brought her to the bedroom of the man that was her new client. The bedroom, like every other room that she had glimpsed, was also a wreck. The drapes were wide open and she saw that the floor was littered with dirty clothes, muddied boots, plates of food that had been unfinished, half-full bottles of beer or liquor, and even a few garments that she knew couldn’t belong to the room’s owner. The place smelled of cigar smoke and stale beer as well as other assorted substances. Some of which she couldn’t identify.
