The Complete Bad Boy Billionaire Boxed Set

by Amelia Wilde

  During rush hour.

  Sweat pricks underneath my arms despite the A/C blasting from the vents on the front panel of the cab’s dashboard. For Christ’s sake, running there would probably be faster, and I’m wearing heels. I’m considering just paying the fare, along with a handsome tip, right now and making a break for it when, at last, the cab lurches forward.

  “Thank God,” I say, half to myself.

  The cabbie shakes his head. “Damn right.”

  It’s another forty minutes before we pull up in front of Adam’s apartment building in Sunset Park. It’s a third-story walk-up in a brick building that was recently renovated to cater to the influx of tech types in the area. His first nice place.

  My stomach clenches as I shove money into the cabbie’s hands and turn to face the building. The late afternoon sun glints off the windows, of Adam’s apartment but from here, nothing seems to be amiss. I grit my teeth. If this is some last minute bid for rent money....

  I take a deep breath.

  There’s only one way to find out why he called.

  I push the new plastic call button next to his name on the building’s intercom. Seconds later a buzzing fills the air and a clicking sound indicates the front door has been unlocked. As soon as I open the door and enter the vestibule, I’m hit by a wall of stuffy . Obviously the landlord doesn’t believe in paying for central air.

  Three flights of stairs later, I’m wiping the sweat from my brow and standing in front of the metal door to his place. A small plate positioned at eye level reads “3B.”

  I knock.

  Adam opens the door before I’ve even had a chance to lower my hand, and I see instantly that something is very, very wrong. His face is pale, almost ashen, and he looks like he’s been holding back tears.

  “Adam,” I say worriedly, stepping inside the apartment. He closes the door behind us before flipping the lock, and then unflipping it. “What—?”

  My brother clears his throat, cutting me off. We’re standing side by side on a welcome mat that covers part of his living room’s hardwood floor. “I have a guest, Ang.” His voice is tight, even though he’s clearly trying to appear cool and collected.

  It’s then that I register the man sitting on Adam’s futon. He unfolds himself from his seat, revealing his height. He’s well over six feet tall, and as he stands up, a shiver of dread streaks down my spine. The clothes he’s wearing are nothing special—khaki shorts and a black t-shirt that’s neatly tucked in at the waistband, the material fitted tight against his hard muscles—but there’s something off about the way he holds himself. His back is ramrod straight, yet his muscles flex like his limbs might fly out of control at any minute.

  “Hello, Angelica,” he says, his voice sharp, though the grin stays in place. It’s like he wants to eat me. It pisses me off.

  “Who the hell are you?” I ask, drawing myself up to my full height—all five foot four of me.

  The bastard chuckles. “Let’s not get off on the wrong foot.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “You can call me Charlie,” he says, spreading his hands out like he’s some kind of celebrity. I shoot a look at Adam. What the fuck is this?

  “Charlie,” I say, very slowly. “What are you doing in my brother’s apartment?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  A sharp heat surges across my chest, and on its heels my stomach flutters. What does he mean, ‘waiting for me?’ “I’m not interested in playing games, Charlie.”

  “Neither am I,” he says, taking a sudden step toward us. My brother and I both reflexively step backward, toward the door, but one more step and Charlie has closed the gap. “Here’s the deal, Angelica,” he says, and I can smell cheap cologne rolling in waves off his skin. It hits me that I have no idea where my phone is. It’s somewhere in my purse, probably buried under the flats I walk to work in and cast-off granola bars. There’s no way I can get to it fast enough if this guy is some kind of stalker or drug dealer.

  Charlie doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he takes a half step back and turns his evil smile on my brother, who looks down at the floor. “You tell her, Adam.”

  Adam’s jaw works but no sound escapes. He can’t bring himself to look me in the eye when he finally speaks. “I owe Charlie some money.”

  “Jesus, Adam,” I say through clenched teeth. I want to shake some sense into him, but I ask the question he’s waiting for. “How much money?”

  Charlie steps in. “Ten thousand.”

  “Ten thousand dollars?” I wheel on Adam again, but his eyes are glued to the floor. “For what?”

  “We’ve made some...investments in Adam over the past few months,” Charlie says, pursing his lips like he feels sorry for my brother. “But they didn’t pan out.”

  Adam has asked me to bail him out countless times since we left home and moved to the city, and I’ve always done it. Who else was going to? Our mother doesn’t make any money and our father has never been in the picture. Up until now, his money problems have always been annoying, yet they were for simple things like rent and food. He hadn’t contacted me for money for several months so I really thought it proved he was working his way out of the habit. I have no idea what kind of investment Charlie is talking about, but it can’t be good.

  “What the hell do you two expect me to do about that?”

  “Pay it,” Charlie answers, his tone direct and matter-of-fact.

  “I don’t have ten thousand dollars.” I’m having trouble keeping my voice steady. I desperately want to project an air of confidence to this asshole and somehow convince him to get the hell away from us. This entire thing seems so absurd. What was Adam thinking?

  “She doesn’t need to be part of this,” Adam bursts out. “I can do whatever it is you need her to do.”

  Charlie laughs cruelly. “We’ve discussed this. It won’t be nearly as successful unless your sister here—,” he pauses to look me up and down, eyes lingering on the buttons of my top, “—does exactly what we tell her to do.”

  “Just leave her out of this.” Adam’s voice is shaking.

  Charlie clicks his tongue. “It’s a bit late for that now. Keep in mind, Adam, that it could be worse. We could have just taken her for payment.” Charlie’s eyes haven’t left my breasts.

  “You sick bastard—,” Adam starts to say, and he takes one step toward Charlie.

  That’s as far as he gets.

  Charlie’s movement is so fast, so calculated, that Adam doesn’t have time to flinch. Fist meets face with a sickening crunch, and before I know it, Adam has dropped to the floor, clutching at his nose. “Fuck,” he spits. There’s blood, a cut—Jesus Christ. I drop to my knees next to him, my heart in my throat.

  “I’m not generally a violent man,” Charlie continues, as if nothing has happened. “But we have some terms and conditions.”

  “We?” I choke out as Adam groans, twisting his body away from Charlie.

  Charlie grins at me, then shakes his head as if he’s saving the surprise for later. “It’s not important for you to know the names of my associates. The important thing is—,” he says, and every muscle in my body tenses as he reaches behind him. Does he have a gun? Time seems to slow as Charlie’s hand disappears behind his back. It reemerges...holding a phone. “The important thing is that you realize what’s at stake.”

  “I think we get it.” My voice trembles now despite my best efforts to remain calm. I want this man out of Adam’s apartment.

  “Listen, Angelica, I can tell you’re angry.”

  I bite back a caustic reply, instead turning my attention back to Adam. His hands are pressed to his face, but blood is seeping out from around his fingers.

  “I don’t know what your people are into—.”

  Charlie holds up his hands. “Now’s not the time to go into detail about our organization. Your brother offered to resolve this himself, but it will be far easier for you to complete the assignment.”

  I don’
t know what the fuck Charlie is alluding to, but the more he talks, the more I’m certain that my only option is agreeing to whatever it is that he wants. My brother writhing on the floor is proof of that.

  “What assignment?”

  Charlie smiles like I’ve made the right choice. “You’ll complete a little side project for us, and we’ll leave your brother unharmed.” He looks down at Adam and chuckles. “Well, mostly unharmed. But remember, if you call the police, the deal is off. You tell anyone about what you’re doing, the deal is off.”

  “Fine.”

  “Ah, ah,” he says, holding up one finger, and suddenly he’s in my face, his breath hot on my skin. “One wrong move, and the deal is off. You don’t want your brother to face the consequences of your failure, do you?”

  What can I possibly say?

  “No.”

  “Of course not,” Charlie says congenially, reaching down and patting my shoulder. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to flinch away from his touch.

  Then Charlie looks down at the watch on his wrist. “I’d better be going,” he says, and moves toward the door. Adam jerks toward me as he steps around us, but Charlie doesn’t land a kick. He pauses once more before he leaves. “I’ll send the instructions on Monday.” The door swings open, closes behind him, and then he’s gone.

  I’m left alone with my bleeding younger brother, his life, once again, in my hands.

  Chapter Two

  Jett

  I’ve got to get that wretched woman out of my head.

  One week back in New York City, and the time I wasted on Emerald Winslow still makes my shoulders tense and my cheeks flush with a sickening heat.

  My fingers clench around the stylus I’m using to mark up some contracts on the brand new tablet I had Stuart pick up for me this morning. I wiped the old one clean before I left London and threw it into a box of Emerald’s things. I don’t give a damn if it gets broken on the way to wherever her sorry ass is now.

  Sorry ass. She had a wonderful ass, I think as I press down too hard with the stylus. The tablet screen skews my signature. What Emerald didn’t have is a worthwhile personality. I took a risk on her but I shouldn’t have. My hit-it-and-quit-it lifestyle was serving me perfectly fucking well until I went and ruined it by falling for her.

  One wrong move and even a billionaire can find himself screwed over.

  Financially, I’ll recover. I didn’t invest much, comparatively, into the venture with Emerald in London. But I’ll be damned if I ever let another woman get that close to me again.

  I put a hand to my forehead, and Stuart notices the movement in the rearview mirror.

  “All right, Mr. Brandon?”

  I’m not going to admit to being mortified by the fact that I let some stupid infatuation take me across the Atlantic and open up my wallet. I take my hand away. “Just considering some options.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  My focus does not improve once I’m in the office. The headquarters of Brandon, Inc. occupies six floors of a Midtown high-rise, with my office at the very top. The various companies and divisions under the Brandon, Inc. name are all serviced here. Most people will never hear of my umbrella company, but they’d be shocked to know how many products and services we produce. I took my father’s advice and diversified. That advice has made me very, very wealthy.

  Of course, all the damn money in the world couldn’t save me from being overtaken by Emerald, and I can’t force the thought from my mind. It’s like a black cloud covering the summer sun. You don’t get to the top of the Fortune 100 by being a cuddly pushover, but today I’m acting like an even bigger asshole than usual.

  I shouldn’t have ignored what my father had to say about women. He’s been happily married to my mother for thirty years, but he always communicated a similar strategy. Once, on a big game fishing excursion in the Bahamas, he turned to me and said, out of nowhere, “Marriage is generally a bad investment, Jett. You can really get your ass handed to you if you’re not lucky.” Then he turned and helped the crew members wrestle a marlin onto the boat.

  By the time my CFO comes into my office to update me on a pending merger between one of my media companies and a social site I decided to acquire, the day has already taken a turn for the worst. I’ve snapped at my head secretary, Emily, twice, and though she doesn’t say a damn thing about it, I see the set of her jaw when she pokes her head in the doorway to tell me that Connor has arrived.

  “Send him in,” I say sharply. Connor has been one of my best friends since college. The man can drink most people under the table, but he also has an exceptional mind for business. He never schedules meetings like this unless it’s bad news.

  He enters my office, his lips pressed into a thin line. What the hell went on here while I was in London? I thought I’d had the situation well under control from overseas, but it looks like somebody—maybe several somebodies—have been dropping the goddamn ball.

  “It’s my fault,” Connor starts in, and I roll my eyes. I have to give him credit for that—he never throws anybody else under the bus.

  “Just tell me, Connor. Is the merger fucked?”

  “Not entirely.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and lean back in my leather chair. Connor takes that as his cue to continue.

  “The original documents they supplied overestimated the area of influence by quite a bit.”

  Wonderful. I hate when this kind of stupid, amateur shit happens in my own company. “What’s the game plan?”

  “We can pull out of the merger if you don’t want to take the risk.”

  “Do you have new numbers?”

  “Working on it now.”

  “Get them to me by 5:00. I’ll decide then.”

  Connor gives me a curt nod and heads for the door. “Hey,” I say when he’s almost at the threshold, and he turns back to look at me. “I signed off on it, didn’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  He doesn’t pull any punches.

  “Thanks.”

  Connor opens the door, steps through, and closes it gently behind him.

  Fuck.

  A few months under the spell of a woman like Emerald and I start to lose my edge.

  My chest tightens. I’m not going to become some weakass idiot who can’t handle his business.

  I want to text Stuart to tell him to bring the car around. I want to hit the gym across the street from my penthouse until my muscles are screaming, then stand in a steaming shower until all of the tension knotting in my shoulders is gone.

  But backing down from business isn’t an option for me. Not ever again. And definitely not for anything less than the absolutely perfect woman. After Emerald, I’m convinced there is no such thing. Resorting to hit-it-and-quit-it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore.

  So I don’t text Stuart. instead, I pick up the phone and tell Emily to schedule status meetings with all of the section presidents. I don’t apologize for anything. I’m done being sorry.

  They’re probably calling me a tyrant behind my back, but that’s too bad. Most of Brandon, Inc. will be working late tonight.

  Chapter Three

  Angelica

  Adam stays with me at my place for the weekend, so it’s a blessing my roommate Sarah is gone for a few weeks. She’s a sparky redhead with a great sense of humor, but Adam clearly doesn’t want to talk about what happened. He mostly camps out on the couch and broods in silence. We watch shitty movies and order takeout.

  Charlie’s punch didn’t break his nose, but the skin over his cheekbone was cut so badly that he needed four stitches, and his left eye has a deep purple ring circling it. Friday morning before I left for work, I overheard him in the bathroom calling in sick to Freddy’s, the pub where he bartends, his voice low and shuddering.

  I spend all weekend trying to tactfully ignore the fact that my brother is a wreck. He jumps every time the delivery people knock on the door. By lunchtime on Saturday, I’ve started leaving instructi
ons for them to leave the food with the doorman.

  With every hour that passes, I get angrier.

  I’m not thrilled with Adam for getting himself into this situation, but these scumbags are far worse. I’m not sure exactly what kind of “assignment” they want to send me on, but I’m sure as hell not going to do it.

  Late Sunday night I send an email to Hadley, telling her a family emergency has come up and I need to take a few hours off on Monday to sort things out. Her reply comes back within minutes, like she’s been sitting in front of her computer waiting for messages to come in. I feel a flash of pity for her. She can be a real bitch, but at least she’s not cutting herself any slack either.

  I’m assuming you have enough sick time? -H

  I write back immediately.

  Hi, Hadley. Yes, I do. Thanks for your understanding. -Angelica

  On Monday morning, Adam is still asleep on the couch when I head out the door. I’m all set for work, wearing a lightweight blazer over a navy sundress with a white-stitched flower pattern that I love. I plan to head to the office as soon as I visit the police station.

  Charlie said that if I called the police, the deal would be off. His words echoed in my ears all weekend, making my heart race whenever I thought about it. I don’t have any way of knowing if he’s listening in on my phone calls, so even though it’s paranoid, I didn’t make any calls all weekend except to restaurants that didn’t have online order forms.

  It’s going to be hot out today, but at 8:00 in the morning the air still seems pleasant and light as I make my way down 21st Street in the direction opposite from my apartment. It’s only half a mile to the 10th Precinct station house, so I take my time. The story I have to tell sounds insane, so I’d rather not arrive looking like a sweaty mess. A little over a block and I turn right onto 8th, then take another left onto 20th.

  At first, the man standing halfway down the block—between me and the police station—barely catches my attention. He’s lingering on the edge of the sidewalk holding something in his hands. CD cases. The closer you get to Times Square, the more of those kinds of guys you run into. I’ve lived in the city long enough that they’ve started to blend in with the background.