Billionaire Bad Boys

by Holly Hart

  Silence again.

  “Chance, I don’t care what Pearce thinks. I know everything is aboveboard at Atlas. And if he has a problem with the truth, he can go fuck himself. I’m not going to make things up to help him steal your company, no matter how much he offers.”

  He rolls over to face me. The intensity in his gaze gives me goosebumps. Please don’t tell me everything is going to come crashing down again over this. Please.

  “Do you trust me, Sara?”

  That’s not what I expected. “Of course,” I say.

  “Thank you. That means a lot to me. Now I have to ask if I can trust you not to tell Pearce what I’m about to tell you.”

  “Off the record,” I say, pretending to lock my lips with a key. “Journalism grad, remember?”

  “I just don’t want to put you in a conflict of interest.”

  I shake my head. “Like I said, the longer this goes on, the more I think Quentin Pearce’s interests can spin on my middle finger.”

  I wasn’t trying to be funny, but Chance chuckles anyway.

  “Remind me never to get on your bad side,” he says. “Would you mind taking your phone out of your purse?”

  I raise an eyebrow but do as I’m told and hand it to him.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as he fiddles with it.

  “Taking you off the grid.” His fingers emerge with the phone’s SIM card and place it on the nightstand. “You can’t be too careful with a guy like Pearce. I want to eliminate the possibility of eavesdropping.”

  I wish I could say he was being paranoid, but after overhearing Quentin’s conversation at his office, I really can’t.

  “Okay,” he says, looking me in the eye. “Here’s the truth: you’re right, the angel investor was one of the Sullivans. In fact, it was Sully himself.”

  I snap my fingers. “I knew it! Pearce can suck it. But wait, where did he get the money?”

  “That’s what we need to talk about. And it’s all as off the record as you can get.”

  Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Four

  44. CHANCE

  “You asked about my scars that first night together,” I say. “Remember?”

  Sara nods.

  “I got those particular ones on a night with Sully in Mosul. This was back in the aftermath of a round of terror attacks on Assyrian Christians.”

  She nods again. “I remember seeing that on the news.”

  “Sully and Atlas had been involved with getting Christians out of the city the year before, during the first wave of attacks. That was when I first started doing work for him on my leave. This time, there were rumors that the terrorists behind the attacks were organizing something major.

  “One night, Sully came to me with some intel he’d gotten from a local: there was a financier from Qatar meeting with the group to pass along money to up their game. We tracked down their headquarters a few miles from the city and the two of us went in alone.”

  Sara’s eyes are saucers. “My God,” she breathes. “That’s…”

  “Insane?” I say. “Yeah. Looking back, it was far and away the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. But I was cocky back then, and so was Sully. So anyway, we bust into the place, guns drawn, to find eight Iraqis in their jihadi best and one guy in a suit. Our man from Jordan.

  “We got the drop on them, so when they drew on us, it was a foregone conclusion. The guy in the suit wasn’t armed, so we left him alive. We were going to take him to a CIA contact of Sully’s for interrogation.”

  Again, Sara goggles. “CIA ties? Holy shit, Chance.”

  “I know,” I say, grinning in spite of myself. “Went from shoplifting Zagnuts at the Bi-Rite to rubbing elbows with spooks. Hard to believe, huh?”

  She nods. “Go on.”

  “I kept my gun on the Jordanian as Sully checked the trunk he’d brought. It was stuffed with hundred-dollar US bills, $16 million in total. As he was looking at the cash, I saw something taped to the inside of the trunk’s lid. It was an IED – improvised explosive device.

  “I was off guard for just a second, but that was enough for our new friend to dash forward and grab the IED. I only had a moment to react – I threw Sully behind me and tackled the guy. I managed to climb over the trunk and toss him through a boarded-up window. Momentum carried me through with him. The IED went off when he landed.”

  She winces and points at my chest. “And that happened.”

  I grin. “You should’ve seen the other guy. Anyway, I came to in an Army hospital with Sully by my bedside. There was a colonel next to him, waiting to ask me questions. ‘I told him that we took care of the terror cell,’ Sully says. 'Got anything to add?’

  “I knew Sully well enough by then to know he was telling me to go along. I backed him up, and no one was the wiser about the cash. He stashed it in an Atlas tent for a few months before smuggling it into the States the next time we rotated home.”

  Sara sits in silence for a long time. It’s a lot to process, I know. I lived it and even I have a hard time believing it actually happened to me instead of Matt Damon in some movie.

  The quiet is just starting to make me nervous when she finally speaks.

  “So the expansion was funded by terror money,” she says.

  I nod. “We laundered it through some shell corporations first, but yeah.”

  “Why bother with the company?” she asks, ever the investigator. “Why not just retire rich?”

  “You had to know Sully. He saw a lot in Iraq, especially during those attacks in Mosul. Those people weren’t fighters, they were just ordinary folks trying to live their lives. And they were slaughtered. That’s what sparked the change in focus for Atlas.”

  “And you went along with it?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I thought it was the right thing to do. I still do to this day.”

  There it is – it’s out there. The question is how will she feel about it? What we did was highly illegal, but as far as I’m concerned, everything Atlas has accomplished since then was worth it and more.

  But will she? Either we’ve just gotten a lot closer to each other, or I’ve handed her exactly what Pearce needs to ruin me.

  “Who else knows about this?” she asks.

  “Including you and me? Nobody.”

  She blinks. “Really? Not even Tre?”

  “Tre has always given me a nod and a wink when it comes to anything that might be on the fringes of the law. And he didn’t become president until after the money was in place.”

  “So this is how you ended up inheriting Sully’s share of the company,” she says. “It wasn’t just that you shared his vision. You were literally the only one he could trust with Atlas.”

  I nod. “Desmond – he was the guy who spoke at the board meeting that day – wasn’t overjoyed that Sully had skipped over his own son to give control to me. But he also realized he didn’t have the experience to run Atlas.”

  “Terrorists funded the world’s first and only humanitarian security company,” she says.

  “That’s the long and short of it, yeah.”

  She stares into my eyes for a long moment before taking my head in her hands and laying a soft kiss on my lips.

  “I always knew you’d make it big,” she says. “But I never realized you were a genius.”

  Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Five

  45. SARA

  The expression on Quentin Pearce’s face is passive, but his eyes are blazing. I’ve never actually been scared of him until now – intimidated, sure, but not flat-out afraid like this.

  “I don’t have time for this,” he says coldly. “Get back to work.”

  “I meant what I said,” I say defiantly. “I’m done.”

  He stares at me for a moment before starting to pace his office. It makes him look like a panther in a cage.

  “Let me guess,” he says finally. “You and Chance Talbot are sleeping together.”

  My gut cramps as I realize he’s even smarter than I thought. Could he have poss
ibly been listening in on my phone the whole time? No, that’s outlandish.

  Isn’t it?

  “My reasons are my own,” I say.

  “It’s either that or he’s tried to co-opt you by offering you a job.”

  Whoa. Thanks for the excuse, Quentin. I couldn’t have come up with a better one myself. I fake a flinch to make him think he’s hit it on the head.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “What matters is that our contract is done. We agreed on $5,000 a day. It’s been fourteen days. You owe me $70,000.”

  “You won’t get a penny,” he says acidly. “Can you afford that?”

  I can’t, and I knew it was a long shot, but I had to try.

  “We’re done here,” I say with a sardonic smile. “It’s been a slice.”

  I turn to walk to the door when he says: “Not so fast.”

  Shit. I almost made it. Should have known he’d never let this go that easy.

  “If Talbot thinks he’s won, he’s deluded. I told you before that I’ve heard rumors about Atlas. About him. Blackmail. War profiteering.”

  I turn to face him again. This time, I meet his glare with my own.

  “Good for you,” I say. “Have fun dishing about it with your coffee klatch.”

  “Your abrupt resignation, especially in light of our conversation the other day, only serves to confirm that I was right. The missing investor is the key. All I need is evidence.”

  Oh, fuck. I never thought of that. Neither did Chance.

  “You’re the one who’s deluded,” I say, trying to sound cool. “Leaving this job has nothing to do with Chance Talbot and everything to do with you. Working with you makes me constantly feel like I need a shower. You leave a slime trail behind you like a slug.”

  His eyes flash again and he crosses the room to where I’m standing. I hold my ground, until he’s well inside my personal space. It’s an intimidation tactic that won’t work on me.

  “You’re quite pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” he says. “I can’t help but wonder if Talbot will still have a job for you when you’re on the witness stand, testifying against him.”

  My heart sinks, but I keep it off my face. I hope.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “A few calls to the right people will be enough to have the Department of Defense in Talbot’s office within a week,” he says. “At the very least, they’ll have a lot of difficult questions about their contracts with Atlas. They’re the company’s top client, after all.”

  My eyes narrow. “What good will that do? You’d put the company you want to buy out of business?”

  “Not out of business. Under new management. The DoD need only bring you in for a deposition to get enough evidence to call in the FBI. The Sullivans won’t be able to sell fast enough. I might even be able to lower my initial offer as well.”

  Oh, shit. Shit shitshitshitshit.

  Keep your mouth shut, Sara. Just walk out.

  “Judging by your silence, I’ve struck a nerve,” he says. “So let me prove to you that I’m not the slug you think I am. I’ll give you a way out of the situation.”

  I reach the door to his office. Every fiber in me wants to just turn the knob and walk out. But I can’t.

  “Go ahead and tell me,” I say without turning around. “I know you’re dying to.”

  “Talbot can have a change of heart and recommend that the Sullivans take my new, smaller offer. Of course, he’ll have to sell his shares, as well. Atlas will belong to Empire, lock, stock and barrel.”

  Some choice. The devil or the deep blue sea.

  I walk out without saying another word. As I cross the threshold, I hear Pearce’s parting shot.

  “Don’t make me go to court, Sara,” he says. “Believe it or not, I’d rather not ruin your life if I don’t have to.”

  Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Six

  46. CHANCE

  “You should have punched him,” I growl.

  “Believe me, I wanted to,” Sara says as she pours a vodka from the bar in my office. “But he’s the kind of guy who’d sue you for looking at him wrong. And knowing him, the fucker would win.”

  I’m propped against the corner of my desk, brooding. Pearce is a hell of an opponent. I’ve got wheels within wheels, but so does he.

  “One thing’s for sure,” I say. “Once the Sullivans hear about this, there’s no way they’ll sell.”

  Sara gives me a stricken look.

  “You don’t get it, Chance,” she says. “We’re in deep trouble here, all because of me.”

  I reach out and take her free hand. “I’m not scared of Quentin Pearce.”

  “It’s not him you need to be scared of,” she says. “It’s me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If I get called for a deposition, or worse, if I get called as a witness in a trial, I’m compelled by law to tell them what you told me last night.”

  My heart skips a beat. Jesus, she’s right. Suddenly those wheels within wheels are skidding off the tracks.

  “Shit,” I say.

  “Shit is right. If I were to lie and the evidence ever came to light, I’d be charged with perjury.”

  “I’m sorry, Sara.” It’s all I can think of to say.

  She squeezes my hand. “It’s not your fault. It’s this fucked up situation. I don’t know how the hell we’re going to get out of it. Pearce is going to force an investigation, and he’ll use me against you.”

  I shake my head. “That’s not in his best interests. He’s hoping his threat will be enough to drive me out and push the sale through. He doesn’t want anything to happen that will throw a wrench into his plans.”

  “But you can’t lose Atlas,” she says. “I don’t know exactly what he’s up to, but I can tell you this much: putting Atlas into Pearce’s hands would be a disaster.”

  “Agreed,” I nod. “I guarantee he’s flipping it for someone who wants the company’s good will and reputation. I just don’t know who or why.”

  Sara finishes her vodka and puts the glass back down in the bar before wrapping her arms around herself.

  “I don’t want you to have to sell out,” she says. “But I definitely don’t want to be used as a weapon against you. The situation is impossible.”

  Come on, Chance. You’re strategic. You think around corners. You can’t let Pearce get the better of you, on sheer principle alone. You didn’t survive on the streets and then Iraq just to have a little pissant like him put you on your knees.

  Wait a minute – on my knees…

  Sara tangles her fingers in her auburn hair and tugs in frustration. “Argh!” she hollers, her eyes squeezed shut. “There has to be a way!”

  “Sara,” I say.

  “Why can’t I think? I’m better than this! There has to be a solution!”

  “Sara.” More firmly this time.

  She opens her eyes and looks in my direction. It takes her a moment to realize I’m not at eye-level anymore.

  I’m down on one knee on the floor.

  “Sara Bishop,” I say, taking her hand. “Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Seven

  47. SARA

  My heart can start again any time now.

  Aannyyy time now…

  “It only makes sense,” Chance says from his place on the floor. “A person can’t be forced to testify against a spouse. It takes you off the board as a chess piece, and it gives us time to come up with a new strategy against Pearce.”

  “Uh-huh,” I mutter, blinking.

  “Are you okay?”

  You mean other than being proposed to as a legal maneuver by the boy you used to love and the man you just recently rekindled your relationship with?

  “Uh, yeah,” I say. “Fine. That, uh. That makes sense. I guess.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  I nod stupidly. “Yes, it’s a yes.”

  “We should get it done as quickly as pos
sible,” he says, glancing at his watch.

  “You mean today?”

  “No time like the present. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say with a shrug. “Let’s do it.”

  I actually feel dizzy, my heart is racing so fast. I’m not one of those girls who sat around fantasizing about a dream wedding – hell, I never actually thought I’d ever get married, period. Now I have a guy tapping his watch and saying tick-tock, Sara.

  Chance must see all this on my face because he takes me by the shoulders.

  “Look, Sara, I know this is another rung on the crazy ladder. It’s just as nuts for me as it is for you. But the last thing I want to see is you in an impossible situation.”

  I nod. “And I don’t want you to lose everything you’ve worked for.”

  “And time really is of the essence.”

  I take a deep breath, exhale. “Okay,” I say. “Next stop, the courthouse and the justice of the peace.”

  He takes my hand and leads me to the office door. Karen perks up as we step out and pass her desk.

  “Where are you two off to?” she chirps.

  “We’re getting married,” Chance says distractedly.

  As we disappear into the hall, I hear Karen mutter: “Fine, don’t tell me, then.”

  Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Eight

  48. CHANCE

  “I’m sorry,” the woman behind the counter says with an insincere smile. “It’s a one-day wait for a marriage license in Cook County.”

  “We really are in a hurry,” Sara pleads. “Is there any way to do a rush order?”

  She gives us a sidelong look. “I’m afraid not.”

  I tug my wallet out of my back pocket and discreetly remove five photos of Benjamin Franklin.

  “You’re sure about that?” I ask.

  The woman’s eyes narrow and she leans closer to the counter. “How do I know you’re not an inspector trying to pull some sort of sting?” she hisses.