Billionaire's Pursuit

by Sloan Storm

  I jostled the house keys back and forth in my palm. The cool brass edges dug into my flesh as I closed my hand around them and slid the key into the lock. With a swift turn of my wrist, the sound of the deadbolt sliding into the open position cued me to unleash holy hell on Katy the instant I saw her. Turning the knob, I pushed the door open to see Katy in the kitchen bent over at the waist, looking for something in the cabinets.

  “Hey girl! You’re home just in time,” she called out without looking up. In the background, a large pot bubbled on the stove top. Judging by the pungent aroma, she was having pasta for dinner and I guessed she expected I’d be joining her.

  Oh boy, was she ever in for a surprise.

  Without a word, I wrapped my hand around the door and slammed it shut. An instant later, Katy poked her head up over the edge of the kitchen counter. A random strand of her hair fell across her eyes as made visual contact with me. I glared at her, but before I could utter a single word, she brushed the hair from her face and after gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, pushed herself into a standing position.

  Katy wasn’t as tall as me but she was cute. Chestnut hair with auburn highlights framed a roundish face accented by freckles and two caramel brown eyes, the shapes of tiny moons. If anything, her looks made people think she was a pushover when it came to business, but nothing could have been further from the truth. She ran the travel agency she started like a diminutive tycoon. She was bossy, businesslike and as sharp as they came. But as I looked down at her, it was time for me to give the business genius a piece of my mind about her ‘client’.

  Katy tilted her head down in my direction. Her eyebrows wrinkled together in the center of her forehead.

  “Maddie, what’s wrong? What is it? Did something happen with Mr. Sinclair?”

  I removed my bag from my shoulder and after suspending it in midair with my index finger, I dropped it on the living room table. It collapsed with a heavy thump.

  “Well, that all depends on what you mean by ‘happen’,” I replied.

  Spinning around, Katy turned down the flame on the pot. As she did, she glanced back over her shoulder at me and said, “Maddie, you aren’t making any sense. Are you going to tell me what’s going on or not?”

  Fifteen minutes later, we stood side-by-side in the closet together.

  As she spoke, for about the fiftieth time in the last three minutes, I flicked the hangers in my closet. One by one, sorry reminders of my wardrobe raced by me in a frumpy parade. No matter how much I willed the perfect dress to appear, it became obvious I’d have to see him again in the same dress I’d picked him up in a few hours earlier.

  “Ugh!” I groaned, as I looked up towards the ceiling.

  “I don’t get why you’re so upset, Maddie. What girl in her right mind wouldn’t want to go out to dinner with Greyson Sinclair?! Hot, young and rich--are you ill or something?”

  She reached up towards my forehead in a mocking gesture, pretending to check my temperature.

  I swatted her hand away.

  “Would you stop?” I moaned. “This is really serious!”

  She giggled as I protested.

  “It’s one thing if I screw this up because I do a bad job, Katy, but it’s a whole ‘nother one if…”

  “If… what?” she began, filling in my pause. Katy hesitated for a moment. Then, raising her index finger, she pointed at me and continued, “Ohhh, I get it. You think that unless you give it up for him, he’s gonna come back to me and tell me what a terrible job you did. Is that right?”

  I shrugged. It was a terrible thing to think about him but after the way he looked at me in the back of the limo, what else could I conclude? I’d seen those looks from men ever since I turned thirteen. As much as I didn’t want to say that to Katy, those sorts of glances always meant the same thing.

  “No,” I lied.

  “Yes it is, Maddie. I know you well enough to know when you’re lying to me.”

  I rolled my eyes and turned to walk past her towards the bathroom. Time wasn’t on my side and since it looked like I was stuck with the same outfit, I needed to salvage what I could at the mirror.

  Blocking my path, Katy stepped in front of me and pressed her still-straight index finger in the center of my chest. She looked me in the eye and shook her head as she began to speak.

  “I don’t believe Grey would do that. He might be a lot of things but unfair isn’t one of them.”

  I leaned away from her. “Grey? I didn’t realize you were so chummy with him.”

  “I’m not. It’s not like that. Look, don’t change the subject. What I’m saying is whatever you think his intentions might be doesn’t mean he’s not going to give you a chance to do your job.”

  I exhaled. “Well, I just… I don’t know, Katy. I don’t know what I'll do when he tries to make a move. I don’t want it to affect the job, that’s all.”

  “Why worry about it?” she replied.

  “What do you mean?”

  Wordless, she reached down towards my waist and spun me around to face a full length mirror, which leaned against one of the closet’s interior walls.

  Gesturing at my body she began, “What I mean is business is tough and Grey Sinclair is the toughest customer you’ll ever have. You need to use all the assets you have to get this started out right.”

  I bit my lower lip between my teeth as she spoke. A few last hints of my berry lip gloss rippled across my tongue as I listened.

  Katy continued, “Maddie, you can trust Grey to give you a shot to earn his business. And, who knows, if you’re lucky, that could lead to something much more.”

  “I don’t want to sleep with him, Katy.”

  “Uh huh,” she snorted. “I’m sure you don't. If that were true, then why are you wearing the slinkiest dress you own? There’s more conservative looks you could have opted for, right?”

  Breaking my eye contact with her in our mutual reflection, I shook my head. “Yeah, I mean, I know what you’re saying. Uh, I just don’t want to screw this up.”

  Katy reached towards me and stroked my forearm with her hand.

  “You won’t, Maddie. I know you can do this. Okay?”

  After a brief pause, I nodded.

  She smiled, winked and said, “Come on then, let’s get you ready. You don’t want to keep Greyson Sinclair waiting. If there's one thing I know for certain about him, it’s that.”

  GREY

  I made my way to the hotel bar about fifteen minutes ‘til eight. This was Friday, and it was already getting busy, so I grabbed a seat at the end where I could get a clear view of the hotel’s lobby. One seat remained open next to me. I pulled my phone from the inner pocket of my suitcoat then tossed it over the free chair.

  A few seconds later, the bartender approached. “What’ll you have, sir?”

  “Vodka, rocks,” I replied.

  “Twist?”

  “No, no thanks.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Angling my head around the room, I took in my surroundings a bit. I’d never stayed in this hotel before. The suite Maddie booked for me was acceptable enough. As good as any, I suppose. The staff was pleasant, accommodating. She’d done well so far, I'd have to give her that much at least.

  The bartender returned, “Vodka, rocks… no twist, sir.”

  Wrapping my hand around the thick, cold glass, I swirled the clear liquid and ice mix. I nodded in appreciation.

  “Should I start a tab for you?”

  “Um, yeah. Go ahead.”

  He nodded. “Right away, sir. Are you staying with us in the hotel?”

  After taking a sip, I placed the glass back down on the bar’s surface. The heat from the liquor slid down my throat, singeing me and soothing me at the same time.

  “I am,” I replied with a rasp in my voice. “Presidential suite.”

  The man’s eyebrows arched a bit. “Yes sir. I’ll take care of that right away. Let me know if there’s anything else I can get for you.”r />
  I leaned back a bit and reached in my pants pocket. Producing a half-inch-thick folded stack of one hundred dollar bills, I peeled one off and tossed it on the bar.

  “Appreciate that,” I said. “For you.”

  With a quick nod, the man reached for the money, thanked me profusely and headed down to the other end of the bar. After he walked away, I took another sip or three from my glass over the next several minutes. At last, I flicked my left wrist, pulling the cuff of my shirt up far enough so my watch appeared.

  Three minutes past eight. She’s late. This will be fun…

  Just then, I glanced towards the entrance of the hotel and fixed my gaze on the large brass revolving doors. I took one last swig of my drink and prepared to unleash a well-earned tongue wagging on her when after a final spin, Maddie emerged from the huge glass carousel and into the lobby. She stopped for an instant to get her bearings and I noticed she wore the exact same dress she had when she picked me up at the airport earlier that evening.

  Good. She just keeps making this easier on me.

  My tongue slipped out from between my lips as I watched her move across the marble floor. A small group of half-soused businessmen huddled midway between the entrance and the concierge desk stopped talking and stared slack-jawed as she passed by them. She paid them no mind, of course. Women who looked like her had no need to. I’m quite certain she was all too aware of the effect she had on the opposite sex.

  Sure, I’d tipped my hand a bit in the back of the limo, but I didn’t see how that would matter much, if at all. If anything it would mean a little delay getting her in the sack, a few hours at most. Plenty of time, especially with the night only just beginning. Right about then, I noticed the hotel concierge point in the direction of the bar and seconds later, she headed my way.

  As she approached, I stood and hitched up my pants a bit.

  “Mr. Sinclair,” Maddie said as she drew near. “I’m sorry for being late.”

  “Yet another disappointment,” I deadpanned.

  To my amusement, she cocked her head at me and if I wasn’t mistaken, the hint of a smile came to her lips.

  “I can see that I’m never going to win with you, am I?”

  “No, you won’t,” I said. I stepped aside and removed my coat from the top of the barstool. “But I’m enjoying watching you try.”

  With a subtle motion, she pulled her hair behind her ear as she moved towards the seat. As she passed me, her scent captured my attention. Her torso brushed against me and as it did, her eyes darted to meet mine. They were the color of steel blue, like a late winter sky, made all the more intense by the rose-tinted hue of her supple, full lips.

  I felt my jaw flex.

  The animal inside was eager to pounce. I fought the urge to clear the whole goddamn bar with a single swipe and take her right then and there. The moment felt frozen, as if the universe slowed time, daring me to reach out, touch her, taste her.

  Fuck her.

  “What can I get you ma’am?” I heard the bartender say to Maddie, breaking my trance.

  She looked in my direction. “Mr. Sinclair, our table is ready in the restaurant. That is, if you are ready to eat.”

  I turned my attention to the bartender. “I’d like to eat my meal here. Is that a problem?”

  My question caught him off guard. “Um, to be perfectly honest, sir, I have no idea. I know Chef Claude is pretty particular about how his restaurant operates.”

  “Well,” I began as I took my seat at the bar once again. “Tell you what… You can go over there and bring us back a couple of menus or by this time next week, there won’t be a hotel for any of you to work in. Feel free to tell Claude to come and discuss it with me if feels the need. How’s that?”

  After a quick, hard swallow, he nodded.

  “Sir… yes, sir. I’ll be right back. I’m sorry, Mr. Sinclair.”

  As he walked away, I slipped my hand around my drink glass, now wet with condensation. I raised it to my mouth and sucked down the last of the liquor that remained. Placing it back down on the bar, I glanced in Maddie’s direction to see her eyes locked on mine in an icy stare of disbelief.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” she said breaking my gaze. She lowered her hands into her lap and continued, “It’s not my place to say.”

  I smirked. Raising my elbows to the edge of the bar, I tented my hands and tapped my index fingers together.

  “Please,” I began. “If you’ve got something to say, by all means feel free.”

  Straightening her posture, she cleared her throat a bit and smoothed the lines of her dress at the same time.

  “Well, I suppose I don’t see why you felt it necessary to be rude to that man when all he was trying to do was answer your question about how Chef Claude likes to serve his meals.”

  I nodded. “And so you think that’s what I was. Rude?”

  “Basically, yes,” she replied, still confident but not quite as much as she was a few moments earlier.

  “Hmm, well, what you think of as rude, I think of as direct.” I paused for a moment and then leaned in towards her before I continued. “You see, Maddie, I'm a man who knows exactly what he wants. Plain and simple. Do you know what I want, right now, Maddie? Do you?”

  Doubt and uncertainty etched into her features as I spoke. She remained silent for a few seconds before lifting her hands from her lap and folding them on the bar in front of her. At last she looked back at me and shook her head back and forth in silence.

  “I want to eat dinner with you.”

  Her eyes remained locked on me as I spoke, when just then the bartender appeared in my peripheral vision.

  In his hand, he carried two menus.

  “Mr. Sinclair,” he began, as he leaned across the bar and extended them to Maddie and me. “Here are your menus, sir. Compliments of Chef Claude.”

  MADDIE

  After we’d finished dinner, Mr. Sinclair excused himself and went to his room for a few minutes. Before he did, he left me with instructions that he wanted to hit one of the hottest clubs in town. I explained that I needed some time to make a few calls and arrange a table for us. To be honest, I was lucky Mr. Sinclair’s bank account had nine zeroes in it, because unless you were a serious A-lister, that’s what it would take to get in.

  After a short limo ride across town, we pulled up in front of the club. Exiting the vehicle, I gestured for him to follow me around to a side door entrance, past the long lines and ropes outside the front of the establishment. While we walked, he closed the space between us and put his hand in the small of my back, sending a tingle up my spine in the process.

  As we walked by the line, a guy about my age yelled out, “Hey what the fuck? You guys let hookers in and we’ve been out here for two goddamn hours? This is some bullshit, man! Come on!”

  My eyes widened and I stopped right away. Who the hell did that sonofabitch think he was talking about?

  Me?

  I turned to say something but before I could do a thing, I felt Mr. Sinclair’s hand grip my waist with a firm squeeze.

  “Wait right here,” he said. “Don’t move.”

  Turning, I watched as Mr. Sinclair walked away from me back in the direction of the man who’d hurled the insult. The warm night air licked at my skin while the hairs on the back of my neck stood at rapt attention. A few seconds later, Mr. Sinclair reached the roped area where the man stood surrounded by what I assumed were his friends.

  “What the fuck do you want, pretty boy?” the man said. Puffing out his chest, he moved towards the edge of the rope.

  Unflinching, Mr. Sinclair leaned in towards the man, inches from his face, and gestured in my direction.

  “Apologize to the lady, shithead.”

  The man leaned away, roaring in laughter as he did. He clapped his hands together in front of his body at chest level and rubbed them together with a vigorous motion. Then, quite suddenly, his demeanor changed. His glare grew dark and dangerous. O
thers in line, sensing the change, began to back away, giving the men their space.

  The man flicked his tongue like a serpent and after making a quick gesture with his chin he glared at Mr. Sinclair and said, “Or what, yo? What the fuck you gonna do about it?”

  Throughout the entire display, Mr. Sinclair remained silent, still. As the man threatened him, he simply moved his head from side-to-side as if he were studying him, sizing him up. At last the man seemed to have had enough.

  “Yo, mother fucker, what the fuck you gonna do!”

  Mr. Sinclair smirked. “Last chance dirtball. You apologize or I make you do it myself.”

  No sooner had he finished speaking than the man bumped him with his chest making his intentions clear. Then, almost before I realized it, he turned his back towards me and took a swing at Mr. Sinclair. Covering my mouth with both hands, I almost fell back off the curb as I watched what unfolded in the next few seconds.

  Like a skilled combatant, Mr. Sinclair sideswiped the man’s lunge and before I took another breath, leg-swept him to the ground. As he did, he grabbed the man’s arms, pulled them behind his back and with his knee firmly in the man's back, Mr. Sinclair gestured for me with an almost casual nod.

  Mr. Sinclair’s sinewy musculature rippled beneath the expensive fabric of his jacket as he looked at me. A loose strand of hair fell across his forehead, casting an ominous shadow over the dark brown pools of his eyes. The man lay fully prone and motionless beneath him, yelping in pain.

  “Maddie, come here. This man has something to say to you.”

  I hesitated. I felt every single pair of eyes on me as I looked in their direction. Mr. Sinclair’s voice cut through the haze of the chaos.

  “Maddie,” he said. “It’s okay. Come on over.”

  I staggered with the first few steps I took--my feet seemed as if they moved through quick drying cement. With my mouth devoid of all moisture, I struggled to choke down my disbelief at what I was watching. Yet, I did as he said and a moment later I stood next to him.

  Mr. Sinclair lowered his head to the man’s ear. “If you want to use your arms for anything other than stuffing for your shirt sleeves the rest of your life, I suggest you do as you’re told and apologize…”