Maid for the Billionaire

About the author:
Ruth Cardello lives on a small farm in Northern Rhode Island with
her husband, three children, three dogs, two horses, one barn cat
and assorted chickens. If there is a happier place on Earth, she
hasn’t found it.

Dedication:
This book
is dedicated to Heather and Kelly – two friends who never grew
tired of revising the story with me. It is also dedicated to my
loving husband – a good man who often does all the barn chores to
give me more time to write.

Maid for the Billionaire

by Ruth Cardello

Copyright 2011 Ruth Cardello

Smashwords Edition

Chapter One

By dying now, his father had won again.
That old bastard.

Dominic Corisi slammed the door of his black
Bugatti Veyron and stepped onto the sun baked Boston sidewalk
without giving the million dollar vehicle a backwards glance. The
joy of owning it was dead along with his desire to answer the
incessant ring of the cell phone he’d ignored since yesterday.
Rather than turning it off, he’d muffled the noise by burying the
device deep within a coat pocket; maintaining the connection to his
life like a distant beacon.

Despite the oppressive heat, he paused at the
bottom stair of his old brownstone. There was nothing spectacular
about it, outside of its location near the upbeat Newbury Street.
If he remembered correctly, its rooms were small and the main
staircase had a creak that he never did get around to fixing. It
was nothing like the sprawling mansions he now owned in various
countries around the world.

But it was the closest thing he had to a
home.

His phone rang with a tone he couldn’t
ignore.
Jake
. His second in command would simply call again,
killing whatever chance Dominic had of finding a moment of peace
inside those brick walls. “Corisi,” he barked into the phone.

“Dominic, glad I caught you,” Jake Walton
said smoothly, as if he hadn't unsuccessfully rung twenty times in
the last two days. That was Jake, calm and professional, even in
the storm of hostile takeovers. Nothing fazed the man.

Normally, Dominic appreciated his even
temper, but today it grated. Maybe the forty or so hours without
sleep were beginning to catch up with him. He fought an impulse to
toss his phone over the metal railing. The world wasn't the
orderly, rational place Jake liked to organize it into. It was
messy. It was ugly. And, most recently, it lacked justice.

“How is Boston?”

The inane question almost sent Dominic over
the edge. “How do you think?”

It was probably too much to hope that Jake’s
uncharacteristic silence signaled an end to a conversation Dominic
wished he had avoided.

“We need to discuss the China contract. The
Minister of Commerce is expecting to meet with you tomorrow to
cement the details. This is your dream, Dominic. By next week,
Corisi Enterprises will be a major global player. What do you want
me to tell the Minister?”

“I don't know,” Dominic said wearily.

Jake made a sound somewhere between a choke
and a cough, then was speechless – a revealing response for a man
who handled irate international diplomats without missing a step.
He was the fixer and navigated the unexpected with ease. Until
now.

Poor Jake. Nothing in their shared history
had prepared either of them for Dominic's sudden desire to withdraw
from the world. The creators of financial empires didn't take
sudden vacations and they most certainly didn't hide, especially
not after having laid the groundwork for the single greatest
business venture of the century. Bill Gates himself had called last
week to discuss the ramifications of the negotiations.

“Jake, I need to drop off the radar for about
a week. Why don't you take over the China contract?”

“O-o-o-k.” Jake said awkwardly. In another
situation, Jake's loss of composure would have been amusing.

“Can you handle it or not?” Dominic
challenged. He could barely think past the throbbing of his
headache.

Maybe coming to Boston was a mistake. It had
been here, at seventeen, that he’d walked away from his inheritance
and waited tables to fund the search for his mother. Here, in this
very brownstone, that he’d cultivated a hatred for a father who had
denied both involvement and interest in the disappearance of his
wife.

Jake’s voice slammed Dominic back into the
present. “No problem. I've followed the progress you've made with
the Chinese Investment Promotion Agency. They’re eager. I'll clear
my schedule and cover yours. Duhamel will forward all of your calls
to me until further notice.”

“Good.”

“Dom-” Jake hesitated. “It's normal to need
time to grieve. You just lost your father.”

A harsh laugh escaped Dominic. “Trust me, I'm
not grieving his loss.” He leaned a hip on the metal railing and
looked up at the building he had instinctively returned to,
searching for the man he’d once been and hoping to find something
there that would shake off the immobilizing apathy he felt for all
he had done since; high expectations for brick and antique
wallpaper.

Jake said, “That's what worries me. No matter
what your plans were or what he once did to you, he's gone now.
You've got to let it go.”

Jake was asking the impossible. Of course the
past mattered. Sometimes it was the only thing that did. “Just do
your job, Jake. If you can't handle it, tell me and I'll promote
Priestly to help you.”

For the second time since they had met at
Harvard, Jake lost his temper. “That's bullshit, Dom. You want to
send Priestly to China? Send him. You're absolutely right -- you've
made me a very rich man. I don't need this. But heed my warning;
you won't be a billionaire for long if we both step away from the
helm. A lot is riding on this contract. The lawsuits alone will
freeze your assets if you screw this up. You invested too much of
your own and you're playing with the big boys, now. Governments are
not very forgiving when it comes to last minute walk outs.”

The speech should have shaken Dominic, but it
barely breached the numbness that had settled in since he'd
received the phone call from his father's lawyer. What did all the
money matter anyway? He'd wasted fifteen years amassing an empire
that would allow him to throw down a forced buyout contract on his
father’s enormous mahogany desk. Dominic should have taken action
years ago, but no level of prior success had felt like enough. He’d
choreographed the day from both sides, building his company while
undermining his father’s; always working toward that one absolute
win. Dominic had counted on his father’s desperation finally
forcing him to confess what had actually happened to his
mother.

It was that loss that he mourned today.

In its place was a carefully orchestrated set
of instructions from his father’s lawyer. No, it wasn’t enough to
simply disinherit his only son, Antonio Corisi had also included
provisions in his will to ensure that Dominic had to attend the
reading. He’d used Dominic’s one weakness, his one regret, to
reaffirm his control, even from the grave.

Jake coughed, reminding Dominic that a
response was required. What could he say? As usual, Jake was
correct in his assessment of the situation. Dominic had used his
own wealth as well as that of investors to back this venture. The
risk had seemed worth it. The government contract would crack
China's software market wide open for them and their global
influence would double exponentially. It was a daring move that if
carefully implemented could put Corisi Enterprises on a
stratosphere of power few companies ever acquired; a goal that a
week ago had seemed imperative.

Jake could handle the negotiations. Dominic
had always been the one to charge forward, shaking the situation up
and clearing the way. This time would be no different. Jake could
merely take over a few documents earlier this time. Priestly was
good at the local level, but he was no Jake.

“One week, Jake.” It was the closest to an
apology Dominic was able to get out. He hoped it was enough.

Sounding more like an older brother, than a
business associate, Jake said, “Take two weeks if you need it. Just
get your head together. I can wrap up the China contract, but it'll
need your final signature and your presence. I’ll do a press
release today and ask the media to respect your need to mourn in
private; that should give you at least a few days before they
descend.”

“Call Murdock.”
The man owes me a few
favors.

“Do you mean the Murdock? I thought he’d
retired.”

Ah, there is the real difference between
us
. By not fighting in the trenches of financial warfare,
Jake’s business associations had remained above reproach, but he
lacked the back door connections to those seemingly innocuous
individuals who wielded real international influence. Dominic
casually gave Jake a number that many would have paid a small
fortune to dial just once. “Men like Murdock don’t retire, they
delegate from warmer climates. Tell him that I don’t even want a
good spin on this. It’s non-news. He’ll understand.”

Jake whistled softly in appreciation. “Is
there anyone you don’t know?”

“Yes, you if you call me again today.”

Jake laughed, but they both knew it hadn’t
been a joke. “Do yourself a favor, Dom...” Jake continued in an
unusually authoritative tone.

What now? Dominic sighed.

“...put down the Jack Daniels for a night and
pick up one of those models you like to date. You'll sleep
better.”

Dominic gave a non-committal grunt and hung
up.
If only it were that easy.

Chapter Two

Arms full of bed linens, Abby Dartley froze
at the click of the front door opening.
Darn it.
She
couldn't get caught here, especially in an oversized shirt and
jeans instead of her sister's maid uniform.
Lil needs this
job
. Cleaning the brownstone of a man who never actually
occupied it had sounded like a relatively simple, albeit annoying,
way to help her sister remain employed.

“Do not let anyone see you,” Lil had pleaded
between the fits of sneezes that had accompanied her low, but
persistent fever. “They’ll fire me in a second if they find out
that you went in my place.”

“Can’t you just call in?” Abby remembered
suggesting hopefully.

“I already used my two allowed sick days for
Colby,” and then the tears had come.

A year ago, Abby would have let her sister
add this lost job to the long string of employment she’d already
tried and failed at and would have covered her expenses until she
found a new job. They’d been through this cycle countless times,
resulting only in Lil resenting Abby more with each passing year.
The closeness they’d shared before the death of their parents was a
distant, surreal memory.

Abby had considered asking Lil to move out,
hoping that some separation would give Lil the independence she
said she wanted, but that was before she’d held her new niece in
her arms. It wasn’t just about Lil anymore. Colby deserved a mother
with a stable career and Lil was so close to having one. She was
one semester away from finishing her administrative assistant
courses. Even when Colby’s father had walked out at the news of his
fatherhood, Lil hadn’t crumbled. For the first time since they’d
received the news of the accident that had claimed the lives of
both of their parents, Lil wasn't hiding from her
responsibilities.

Colby had changed that, too.

It wasn’t Lil’s fault that she’d caught the
flu. Half the city seemed to be either recovering from it or
succumbing to it. More importantly, it had been a long time since
Lil had actually requested help, rather than merely grudgingly
accepting it. Abby didn’t want to put too much significance on such
a miniscule connection, but she couldn’t shake the hope that things
could get better between them.

Her first impression of him as he stood in
the entrance, unaware of her existence, was that he looked more
tired than a man of his age should. Dark circles were evident even
against his olive complexion. His expensive suit did nothing to
conceal the slump of his wide shoulders. According to Lil, he'd
paid to have the brownstone cleaned on a weekly basis, but hadn't
actually been there in over a decade. Something had brought him
back and whatever it was, it had steamrolled right over him.

He looked up and through her as he crossed
the foyer. “You can go now.”

She considered following his weary command,
but something held her immobile.

“Are you deaf? I said you can leave. Finish
whatever you're doing tomorrow.”

Mr. Armani sounded like an over-tired child,
although she was fairly certain that he wouldn't appreciate the
comparison. The wisest choice of action would have been to do as he
said and leave before he had a chance to question her on her
attire, but she couldn't.