Billionaire's Pursuit (Billionaire Erotic Romance, Never Never Man Series) Book 1 (2 page)

“Well, Grey?”

I looked up at her. How had I done this to myself again? Every time I hire a good assistant, I go and screw it up by, well,
screwing them
.

“Listen, Mary Ann,” I began.

“No Grey!” she snapped, interrupting me. “I want an answer, now! Am I going with you to Los Angeles or not? I’m tired of
whatever this is we are doing
. I want to be more than…”

I nodded, raised my index finger in the air and silenced her mid-sentence.

“Mary Ann, you know I enjoy your company but, like I told you in the beginning, there’s nothing to this. You won’t be going anywhere with me. I've got no interest in doing anything more with you than what I already do. If that’s not sufficient, you’re welcome to leave. But I’m warning you—don’t say something you’ll regret later because you misinterpreted what is happening between us. Or, not happening as the case may be.”

As I spoke, I noticed the jagged lines of her angered expression begin to dissolve into the beginnings of a tear-filled meltdown. Moisture pooled at the corners of her eyes as she attempted to stop their advance. She made careful strokes under her eyes, preventing them from spilling forward and ruining her makeup.

“Grey,” she begged. “Please don’t do this.”

“Do what, Mary Ann?”

“Treat me like I’m nothing.” She waved her arms and spread them open as she continued, “I knew this would happen. I don’t know why I thought I would be any different. That’s what women are to you, aren’t they? I'm just like a business deal, aren’t I? Once you’ve gotten what you want, that’s it.”

While she spoke, I rubbed my forehead and hoped somehow I could magically put this genie back in its bottle. I pinched the bridge of my nose between my eyes with my thumb and forefinger as she rambled.

“I won’t be ignored, Grey,” she continued. “I'm not going to let you throw me away like you do every other woman in your life. I have feelings, deep feelings, for you and…”

I’d heard enough. Whenever a conversation took this turn it was time to put an end to it, no matter what the cost.

“Stop. Mary Ann,” I said. “Stop speaking right now before you make a complete fool of yourself.”

I placed my hands on my desk and pushed myself into a standing position. Looking down at her, for a moment I felt what I always do in these situations. Pity. No matter how many times I tell a woman like her to expect nothing from me other than a bit of my time, they always mistake it for more. I rounded my desk, walked towards her and wrapped my hands on her upper arms.

She trembled as I held her. Her eyes widened as she looked up at me.

“Grey,” she uttered. “I love…”

“No,” I interrupted her. “You don’t. I never promised you anything. I never lied to you about what this was. Isn’t that true?”

She turned her head away from me and sniffled as I finished. A single tear streamed down her cheek but she didn’t reply. Without turning to look at me, she said, “So now what? Are you just going to fuck me and fire me?”

It’s amazing how putting your dick in someone can change how they behave towards you. I’d treated this woman damn well and that’s the way she’s going to act? That level of disrespect coming from a man would have deserved a punch to the jaw. But her fairer sex spared her from such an outcome. Instead I shook my head in disbelief, released my grip on her and walked back around my desk.

“That will be all for now, Mary Ann. You have my word I won’t fire you but as far as you and I are concerned, this is the end of our time together.”

Then, in a performance I’d seen once or twice or a hundred times, Mary Ann twirled in a huff and stormed towards the entrance to my office.

“Go to hell, Grey Sinclair!” she yelled as walked out. “I hope you die alone! And I quit!”

I exhaled, shook my head and eased back into my chair. After a brief moment of reflection, I realized that could have gone much worse. Satisfied it didn’t, I turned my attention to my computer monitor. After confirming the travel arrangements I’d discussed with Katy earlier that day, I scanned the top of my inbox for Randolph’s background check.

“Let’s see what Katy has in store for me,” I muttered as I finally located it. “Ah, here we go. Madeline Olsen. Twenty-three, aspiring actress and model and hello, hello, what do we have here?”

I double clicked on a photo of her and felt an immediate pulse in my lower extremities.

She’d do.

Oh sure, I’d seen her type before. Your garden variety, blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty. They were everywhere in Los Angeles. Nothing special, but definitely worth a few hours of my time.

I leaned back in my chair and interlaced my fingers behind my head. It looked as if this trip wouldn’t be purely business after all. And after what had just happened with Mary Ann, I could use a bit of mindless distraction for a few days.

MADDIE

By the time I finished the conversation with Katy my mind was clouded with a mish-mash of to-do’s.

Frantic, I pulled up the proposal I’d sent, grabbed a pad of paper, a pen and immediately began to scratch out a list of calls I’d have to make all over town. I rolled the hard plastic of the pen back and forth in my fingertips as I brainstormed. However, only a few minutes into my note taking, my email notification chimed once again.

“Uh, now what?” I groaned.

Knowing I’d never get anything done with it incessantly alerting me all day long, I picked up my tablet to silence the distraction. But before doing so, I checked to make certain nothing urgent needed my attention. As it turned out, the email was a notice from my bank that the deposit went through.

Thank God.

Now at least I would have the money I needed to put down on his transportation and hotel not to mention grease a few palms at some of the better restaurants and nightclubs around town, if required.

I was hoping it wouldn’t be necessary but since most of the people holding those jobs were Trevor’s friends to begin with, I needed every little bit of help I could get. God forbid there was somewhere Mr. Sinclair wanted to go and I couldn't make it happen. That would probably be the end of my entire business right there. Too much was at risk not to take whatever measures I had to, even if that meant cutting into my profit margins to do it.

With that bit of financial reassurance now in hand, I spent the next few hours making what seemed like a million calls. For whatever reason, things were going my way and because of that,
time flew by. In fact, it was past one o’clock by the time I realized I still hadn’t eaten anything all day. In the wake of my breakfast disaster and the ensuing conversation with Katy, I’d worked straight through the morning. Now famished, I’d reached my
low blood sugar limit.

The kitchen stool groaned on the linoleum floor as I pulled it up to the counter and sat down to grab a quick bite before I made the final arrangements for transportation to the airport. And last, but certainly not least, I had to figure out what the hell I would wear when I picked up Mr. Sinclair.

Like an idiot, I assumed I would have time to shop for an outfit or two before I got my first job. But now I’d have to throw something together I could get away with wearing during the day and night, if it came to it. Hopefully it wouldn’t. In any case, I had to come up with something and quick.

With that, I plopped down over a savory meal of canned tuna and crackers. As the salted fish lingered in my mouth, I looked at my list and checked off the items I’d managed to get done. To my surprise, I’d made some decent progress.

Maybe Katy was right after all. With a little hustle I could pull this off.

Just then, my phone rang. With my mouth half full of crumbs and bits of fish, I grabbed it from the counter and flipped it over.

It was Katy.

I swallowed a dry, hard bite and pressed talk, “Hey.”

“How’s it going? You doing okay?” Katy asked.

I spent the next few minutes recounting my series of minor achievements to her and finished by explaining the dilemma I now found myself in when it came to what I would wear.

Unfortunately, even though she and I had similar styles, we didn’t have the same shape whatsoever. Katy was quite a bit shorter and curvier than me, which meant wardrobe sharing was out of the question. About the only thing she could offer me was my pick of her abundant accessories. Before we hung up, I thanked her and promised not to lose or break any of her things I chose to wear.

As I disconnected, I glanced down at my pitiful excuse for a lunch and decided I’d had enough. Besides, by that time it was closing in on two o’clock and I needed to get moving if I was going to get the car and get myself ready in time to meet Mr. Sinclair's private jet at Van Nuys airport.

After a hasty shower and an even worse attempt at shaving my legs, I wrapped a towel around myself and ran a comb through my wet hair as I made my way to the closet. As I walked, tiny droplets of water rolled from the rounded teeth of the comb down between my shoulder blades, causing me to shiver. I stopped in front of my sorry excuse for a wardrobe and sensed a deep-creased wrinkle form between my eyes. I scowled at the underwhelming choices that hung from plastic hangers of every color in the rainbow and as I did, a single thought dominated my mind.

What the hell do you wear to pick up a billionaire?

After a few more minutes of deliberation, I reached my decision and selected a low-cut, crimson cocktail dress and a cute pair of sling-back pumps. It was the closest thing I had to a power ensemble. The dress had enough sex appeal to capture any man’s attention but concealed what it should to command respect. I wanted him to remember me in one sense and forget me entirely in another.

Everything was going smoothly when about halfway through blow drying my hair, the power went out.

Seriously?

When does the power go out in LA?

Never is the answer. Well, hardly ever.

Shit, shit, shit.

As if losing power wasn’t bad enough, Katy’s apartment was in a section of the complex that only got direct sunlight in the morning. The only chance I had to get ready on time now was to use the flashlight on my phone.

My phone! It was nearly dead when I plugged it in before my shower.

I scrambled across my bed like a hillbilly sliding across the hood of his supercharger before climbing in through the driver’s side window and roaring off down a dusty country road. Nearing the far edge of my bed, I wrapped my fingers around my phone and spun it back towards my face.

Eighteen percent charge left. Damn…

At this point there was nothing I could do except move as fast as I could and hope to get the limo driver on the phone and here to pick me up, before the power drained from the battery for good. Fifteen minutes later, I hopped down the hall in one heel while trying to slip the other one on at the same time. I nearly had it when I hit a soft patch in the linoleum and my plant foot slid out from underneath me.

The next thing I knew I was flat on my butt.

Okay, Maddie. This is the part where you need to calm down. Breathe girl. Let’s take it down a notch.

Still clutching my remaining shoe in my hand, I blew a bunch of hair out of my eyes and checked the time and remaining battery on my phone.

Twenty minutes to four and eleven percent remaining.

With a final shrug of resolve, I tossed my hair back from my face altogether. I flipped through my address book, located the number for the car service and pressed ‘talk’. As I waited for an answer, there was no question I’d be at that airport in time to pick up Mr. Sinclair.

This was going to happen and nothing was going to stop me.

MADDIE

I’d pulled it off.

After calling in a last second favor with the car service, I was
just
going to make it. At five minutes to five o’clock, the limousine pulled along the frontage road to the Van Nuys airport.

“What terminal ma’am?” Armando, the driver, asked from the front seat.

“Terminal One.”

Reaching down, I smoothed the fabric of my dress. If nothing else, I hadn’t eaten much all day so I looked as good as I could under the circumstances. Otherwise, I hoped my still half-wet hair wouldn’t be too off-putting. When the car swung around towards the runway, I reached into my purse and as a last ditch measure pulled out a tube of texturizing taffy. A quick pass through my hair would hopefully stave off the inevitable flyaways that were sure to come.