Playboy Billionaire
By Cherie Mitchell
Playboy Billionaire by Cherie Mitchell 2019 © All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter One
Arial
Arial stared down at the letter that Mr. Robins had just placed in her hand, unable to comprehend its meaning. "What's this?" she stuttered as her eyes stumbled across words she'd never expected to see when she first walked into his office just a few minutes ago.
Mr. Robins, a pasty-faced man who wore dull brown suits and ate copious amounts of breath mints, which he often sent Arial out to buy for him when she had other more important things to do with her time, carefully arranged his face into the appropriate expression of compassionate sympathy. "I'm sorry, Arial. After the difficulties of the past year, the company is in a position where there is no alternative than to start cutting costs and unfortunately, the younger and less experienced employees are the first to go. I'd be happy to give you a reference once you find another job. I wish you all the best in your future endeavors." He'd already returned his attention back to the papers on his desk, ending the meeting even before he'd finished speaking his final words.
"But..." Her heart was pounding and a wave of dizziness threatened to overcome her. She grabbed for the firm, reassuring edge of the HR Manager's desk, afraid she might fall without its support.
Mr. Robins looked up again, not bothering to hide his impatience this time. "Your final payment will be in your bank account tomorrow. The company has graciously agreed to pay you out for the remaining three days left in this week. I'm sorry Arial, but I do have other people to see this afternoon."
Arial looked out through his office window to where Maggie and Lucy were nervously awaiting their turn on the uncomfortable, straight-backed chairs arranged against the wall. Two terrified victims waiting for the fall of the executioner’s guillotine. She'd waited there earlier but she had never expected such a blunt and final end to her employment here. She’d thought her future was secure with the company she'd worked for so diligently over the past six months. "Will they get the same letter?"
He had closed his face down into a professional mask, impersonal and impassive. "I am unable to discuss the outcome of any of the other employee meetings with you. As you are aware, this company takes the privacy of our personnel very seriously. Now, is there anything else?"
"No, there's nothing else." She pushed herself away from his desk and walked on unsteady, wobbly legs to the door with her own words still ringing in her ears. There really was nothing else. She had counted on this job as her only source of income and this was news that she had not seen coming. To make matters worse, her building manager had told her just this morning that he was not renewing her lease at the end of the week. He'd mumbled something about wanting to move his sick mother into her apartment and then he'd hurried away before she could protest. Unfortunately, when she sat down to read the fine print on the contract she’d signed before she moved in a year ago, she’d discovered that he was within his rights to refusal renewal. Once again, she hadn’t seen it coming. Good one, Arial. Blindly skipping through life without paying enough attention to the important things.
Arial walked stiffly past Maggie and Lucy without looking at them, unable to give the girls an encouraging smile or any other indication that there wasn’t bad news waiting for them inside Mr. Robins' office. She hesitated as she left the HR Department, unwilling to return to her desk and the concerned, knowing gazes of her colleagues. They would know as soon as they saw her face that she'd received The Letter, the notice of termination that had been on everyone's lips since the office of Carmond & Proctor, Advertising Agency opened this morning.
She suddenly veered off her course, turning left to push open the swinging door of the ladies’ bathroom. She hurried over to the sinks and sat the letter, still unopened and unread, on the side of the basin. She switched on the cold faucet and bent to splash water on her face, gasping as the chilly water touched her skin. She gasped again as the letter slid off the side of the basin and directly under the gush of the tap.
“Godammit!” She snatched up the sodden envelope and flicked it around in an attempt to rid it of some of the water but the paper was drenched through. Still cursing, she flung the entire envelope into the trashcan and slammed down the lid. She didn’t want to read it anyway. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know the contents.
She leaned her hands on the front of the basin and stared into her own eyes in the mirror. She was breathing heavily now and two high spots of pink on her cheeks added the only dash of color to her otherwise pale skin. Her raven dark hair hung in long waves around her shoulders and a lock of hair fell across her face. She pooched out her bottom lip and blew upwards to shift it back to where it belonged. Just one hour ago, she’d been sitting happily at her desk getting ready to type up a weekly report for Goldrush Orange, one of the company’s regular clients, and now she was unemployed and shortly to be without a home. It just wasn’t fair.
She turned as she heard the crash of a slamming door and the sound of a young woman’s distressed wail. Pounding feet ran down the corridor outside the bathroom, another door slammed, and then there was silence. Arial turned around to grimace at her reflection. That was probably Lucy. Maggie would be next, and did she really want to be here when the fallout from that little meeting hit the airwaves? Maggie was highly strung at the best of times and she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to support anyone else through a meltdown.
Holding her head up high, she left the bathroom and marched determinedly to the exit doors without turning back to the open plan office where she’d spent the past six months. Mr. Robins hadn't said anything about working out the remainder of the day so why shouldn't she leave straight away? She shoved open the glass doors and stepped out onto the street, gulping in mouthfuls of fresh air and fighting back her tears. She wouldn't cry, not here, not in public view. She was too proud for that.
Arial Jackson had faced far worse than this and she had come through it still smiling. She would do it again and no one would see her without a stoic smile on her face. Not if she could help it.
Chapter Two
Carson
Carson DuMonde instinctively ducked, well before his father's blindly searching ha
nd grabbed the thick, heavy hardcover book from beside his laptop and hefted it across the room. Terrence DuMonde was known for his sudden fits of rage and everything that wasn't glued together or tied down became a ready weapon in his infuriated hands. Carson knew by now that Terence never meant for his missiles to make contact with his targets but there was always a first time. A slip of the hand or a slight error in judgement would be all that was needed. The book sailed through the air, whistling past Carson's ears and smashing into the bookcase behind him. He sat upright again and cast a wary smile in his father's direction. "I was about to apologize."
"I'm tired of your apologies, your promises to change, and your endless weakness for unworthy women! You're the sole heir to the DuMonde estate! The future of the DuMondes rides upon your worthless shoulders!" Terence pulled his thick, hairy brows down into a ferocious scowl. "I've made up my mind and there is no going back. Things have to change or there will be dire consequences to pay."
Carson hid his grimace. His father's 'consequences' were always tiresome. What would it be this time? A ban on driving his fleet of luxury cars for a week? The removal of cash privileges for the weekend? Would he be forbidden to enter the family Casino, his favorite playground and hunting ground, for a month or two? Whatever it was, he'd find some way around it. Terence's fury would soon burn out, Carson would mumble yet another apology, and they could all get on with their lives again. Anyway, this latest indiscretion wasn't all that bad - it was just unfortunate that his father had stumbled upon that little ménage-a-trois in the breakfast room. He didn't usually come downstairs before 8 am each day but then again, Cassandra and Geneva were making quite a bit of noise. Carson's eyes gleamed at the pleasant memory. They were both such naughty girls.
"By the 30th of the month," Terence was saying now, "Or you will be disinherited. Your cousin Matthew is a fine upstanding member of society and he would make a fitting heir to the DuMonde fortune. He is also highly unlikely to embarrass the family name or soil our reputation in any way."
"Wait, what?" He'd obviously missed a vital part of this conversation and he didn't like the part that he had heard. "What do you mean when you say that Matthew would make a fitting heir to the DuMonde fortune? The man is as weak as a cup of milky tea. And what has the 30th of the month got to do with anything?" His father must have thrown out Matthew’s name just to irritate him. Terence knew that Carson and his cousin did not get along, had never got along. Matthew said it was because Carson was an arrogant, spoiled bastard but Carson blamed it on an incident in the sandpit when they were both three. Carson prided himself on his ability to hold grudges. Despite what his father might say, he’d never been a quitter.
Terence pulled irritably at his short beard, a vanity that he refused to shave off despite his wife Martha's constant pleading. She was fond of pointing out the grey hairs scattered throughout, telling him that the beard aged him in a way that a clean-shaven jaw never would, but Terence and his beard were inseparable. "That's another of your faults, your inability to concentrate for even the shortest amount of time. I will repeat this only once.”
“That’s unfair. I’ve proven my ability to concentrate on many occasions in the past.”
Terence licked the tip of his finger and used it to smooth down the hairs on one eyebrow. The ruddy color of rage had left his face now and Carson could see he was gradually coming back down from the heights of his anger. “I’m not talking about your ability to concentrate on the number of women you can bed in one night.”
Ha. He knew a reference to that little frolic would come up at some stage. “I had a little too much to drink.”
“By the looks of things, so did your female companions.” Terence cleared his throat and allowed his lowered brows to do the talking for the next few seconds.
“We were celebrating. Geneva won some money at the Casino, which brings me neatly to the example I was just about to give you. I’ve proven my ability to concentrate many times over through the work I’ve put in to make the Casino the outstanding success that it is.”
“How? By handing yourself out as a party favor?”
“Come on, you know that my PR services have been an invaluable component in branding the business. You have to give credit for that.”
“I would love to give you credit, but credit must be given where credit is due. From my observations, your so-called PR services have amounted to nothing more than selecting the prettiest girls and escorting them up to the suite for a few private games. I’m not sure how you can believe your shenanigans have made any impact on the company’s brand, other than a detrimental one.”
Carson didn’t have an answer to that right now but he was shocked to hear that his father had such a poor view of everything that he’d done.
Terence sighed and tugged at his beard again. “As much as it pains me to say, I am going to have to offer you an ultimatum.”
Carlton waited. He’d never been fond of ultimatums. As he’d discovered in the past, other people’s ultimatums were not usually for his benefit.
“You must find a bride and marry her by the 30th of the month or you will be disinherited. I have made up my mind and you won't change it."
Carson's mouth hung open. "The 30th of this month? But that's outrageous! None of the women I'm involved with are interested in marriage!"
"And that's a very good thing because none of the women you're involved with would meet my criteria anyway."
Carson made a rude noise. “And what kind of ‘criteria’ are you talking about?”
Terence paused for effect before delivering his punch line, a statement that sent Carson reeling back in astonishment. "First and foremost, the next Mrs. DuMonde must be a virgin."
Chapter Three
Arial
Arial had exactly fifty dollars and twenty-five cents in her bank account until the company deposited her last wages tomorrow. It was 3 o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon, she'd just walked out the front doors of Carmonde & Proctor vowing never to return after her awful meeting with Mr. Robins, and she had no idea what to do next. Her apartment no longer felt like her own and she had no wish to go back there and start packing up her stuff. That would just be more awfulness on top of awfulness.
She walked listlessly through the city streets without paying any attention to where she was going. At least she'd thought to take her handbag along to her meeting in the HR Department but she would never go back to rescue the little plant in the red pot from her desk or her pen with a fluffy pink pompom on top. Lucy could have that, or Maggie, if either of the girls were still there after their individual meetings with Mr. Robins. Unfortunately, she had the feeling that they had both received the same letter as she had, although she still had no idea what it might have said and she never would know. How could a week that had started out so well turn so bad so quickly?
She wasn't sure what to deal with first - her lack of an income or her lack of somewhere to live. It wasn't as if she could call on her parents and move in with them. She'd lost both of them in a car accident two years ago and the only thing she had to say about that was at least they'd exited this world together. Lived in love and died in love. She had no brothers or sisters to turn to, except for Steve and he was currently somewhere in Africa without any access to WiFi and he probably would be for some time, and her friends were caught up in mini life dramas of their own. Not that she'd ever ask to move in with them, of course. She was used to being independent and figuring things out on her own and she liked it that way. What was it that her father used to affectionately call her? A tough nut. She could hear his voice now. “You’re a tough nut, Arial. You don’t let anything get to you. You’ll do well for yourself in life, sweetheart, and I couldn’t be prouder of you.”
She stopped to press the pedestrian button at the intersection traffic lights, still lost in her thoughts. There was no boyfriend to run to either and it wasn't from lack of trying on the part of the many eager and lust-crazed men who regularly crossed her path. She k
new her glossy dark hair, shapely figure, pixie face, and pouting smile attracted plenty of male attention but Arial was an old-fashioned girl. She believed in the sanctity of marriage and in keeping her virtue for the man whom she would one day marry. Sure, virgins were an out of date commodity in these equal opportunity, modern times but she remained firm in her decision. The first time she would ever make love would be in the bed of her adored husband and only after a gold ring was firmly wedged on her finger. She’d made up her mind on that point long ago, back when she was little girl with her head full of dreams of flaxen-haired princesses waiting for their dashing princes on white horses to arrive. She’d once thought that Wyatt was that man, but he’d soon proven himself to more of a scoundrel than a prince.
“Oh, pardon me.” A young man wearing a business suit and a pair of dark-rimmed spectacles, too occupied with looking down at his phone to notice where he was going stood on the back of her heel with the toe of his heavy shoe. The momentum of his forward movement painfully pinched the tender skin between his thick sole and the back of her kitten heel.
“Ow!” Arial gritted her teeth and pulled her foot out from beneath his. She could feel a blister forming on the spot already.
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you alright?” He stepped up beside her and she saw the sudden gleam in his eye when he caught sight of her face. She was used to seeing that gleam in the eyes of strangers but it soon faded when the man it belonged to discovered she wasn’t the type to put out for the slim price of a night out.
“I’m fine,” she lied. She crossed the street as the green man icon blinked on. The young man hurried along behind her although he was making sure not to stand on her foot again. “Can I buy you a coffee to make up for my clumsiness?”
“No, thank you.” She stared grimly ahead, hoping he would leave her alone. If he wasn’t matching her steps she would have stopped by now to check her injury.
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