Breathe: A Billionaire Romance, Part 1 (5 page)

“The overnight babysitter is almost as much as this job.” He looked down to his meticulously shined dress shoes. “After bills, there was nothing left... and barely enough for the bills and groceries. So I had to take a day job too, just until Mr. Yan can give me a raise—or I can get a better, higher paying job.”

Mr. Yan—from what I had gathered over our conversations—was the manager of the building and had been promising Jim a promotion for quite some time. What promotion that was, I had no idea... but the promise of higher pay was supposed to be just beyond the horizon for him. Only, as far as I could tell, the destination wasn’t getting closer. It was always just beyond the horizon.

“Jim, why don’t you check in with Mr. Sholts and see if he has any openings?”

“I don’t think I can work for Mr. Sholts, Ms. Zoe,” he replied timidly.

“Why not?”

“He’s not the nicest of men, and besides that, I don’t really have any skills.”

“Sure you do. You’re a door man. He has door men at our building as well.”

I couldn’t argue about him not being a nice man. He wasn’t. There was no hiding it.

“I don’t know...,” he trailed.

“Come on. Just think about it.” I smiled at him and walked towards him just so that I was close enough to reach out and squeeze him on the shoulder.

“I will, Ms. Zoe.” He smiled back. And in that moment, I realized that Jim had probably been the nicest person that I had met in the city next to Polly. I really enjoyed him. He was an amazing person, and he even seemed like the right type of person. He was genuine.

“I’m going to head up.” I gave him another half-smile and pressed the elevator button up.

Without missing a beat, the elevator made a loud dinging noise and the doors opened up. I smiled and waved one last time before they closed and I headed to the top floor, still in a pretty damn good mood considering the fact that I was about to enter the lion’s den.

I watched as the elevator’s screen counted the floors, and with each floor that went up, I couldn’t help but replay the images from my dream. I blushed crimson as I recalled the sexual activity that I engaged in—quite lustfully—with none other than Derek Sholts.

I wondered what must have been plaguing my subconscious to dream something so ludicrous.
I mean, me with Derek?
It was absurd, completely absurd.

DING!

The elevator sounded again as I reached the top floor, and the doors opened to befall a short hallway foyer which lead only to one door. His door. He had the entire top floor all to himself. I sighed. It was a life that would never be mine. But in all honesty, it still didn’t damper my mood.

I wasn’t sure what it was really.

I couldn’t place it.

I hated work, and I had dreamt of it.

I hated Derek, and I had dreamt of fucking him.

I hated feeling and looking disgusting, and in my dream my breath was rank and my looks were far from aesthetically pleasing.

But despite the dream, I had woken up with a greater sense of refreshing ease.

I was actually glad to be at work, as strange as it was.

I had no idea why, but all I knew, as my heels clanked on the marble tile floor heading towards his apartment, was that I was still happy despite all the negativity that loomed in that dream. It meant that nothing was going to bring me down.

At least, that’s what I thought.

I
t had been a long morning of phone calls to advertising companies, which had begun fairly decently for the most part. Derek was a total asshole, of course. I guess it was true what I had always read about him; he really was a perfectionist to the core. With each and every phone conversation—that he so eloquently eavesdropped on—he had more and more to critique about my deliverance.

I wasn’t aware that I was meant to rehearse what I was supposed to tell people on the phone.

No matter, though.

I stayed strong and did my thing. I remained positive.

I was well-rested and didn’t let the disgust of fucking him in a dream get to me.

I thought that was pretty damned note-worthy, and if that couldn’t get me down, then by God, I wasn’t going to let
anything
get me down.

Or so I thought—until I answered my desk phone’s ring.

“Can you get in here?” Derek asked as I held the phone close to my ear.

I knew that I shouldn’t have answered the phone.

I sighed, and immediately—once again—my eyes shot to the back of my head in an annoyed and frustrated roll. He was harping on the buzz and annoying the absolute piss out of me with his demands.

“Or is that too much of an inconvenience for you?” he continued with harshness in his tone. “If you don’t think you can do your job, then maybe you should head out the front door and I can find someone that can.”

What the hell?

My eyes widened.
Why was he being such a colossal dick?
I mean, sure he was always a colossal dick, but never
that
much of one. He had never questioned my work abilities before, and he certainly never treated me
that
poorly. I mean, sure, he was always a bit of a jackass, but not that much of an asshole.

I shoved myself up off my cubicle desk and clanked my feet roughly and angrily on the carpet as I walked. Everyone around knew that I was pissed, and I hoped he did too.

“What do you
need
, Mr. Sholts?” The words were friendly enough, but the tone was far from it. And I meant for it to be that way.

“I need you to go meet with Mr. Darango.”

Mr. Darango was one of his investors, one of his biggest investors.

“Why?” I asked.

“He seems to be a little iffy about the next few steps we’re taking in the company, and I want you to reassure him that his money is as safe as ever—if not safer.”

“And how would you like me to do that?” It was his sales coordinator’s job to keep investors interested, not really mine.

“Be a public relations officer, for one. It’s your job to make me look good.” He was stern, and a little huffy in his response, and to be honest, I was a little taken aback. It was true that my job was to make him look good, but that was more to the public than to investors directly. Sure, some PR reps did that, but I hadn’t since beginning my job. He usually wanted Frank to handle all that mumbo jumbo. He trusted Frank a lot more than he seemed to trust me.

Hell, he had downgraded me to his assistant for the most part.

But—as always—I did what he wanted. No matter how badly I wanted to argue, no matter how badly I wanted to object.

He
was
the boss after all.

“W
here’s Frank?” Mr. Darango asked as I approached, folders tucked beneath my arm as I walked towards him. “Not that I’m not pleased to see you.”

Derek had set up the meeting at a nearby bistro so that we could discuss investment opportunities. It was nice. Definitely out of my budget. As soon as I walked in, a lady checked my coat—and that was something that I had never quite experienced before.

The only place my family ever took us out to eat was the local diner or a buffet somewhere.

I had never been to a place with valet parking and coat checks.

“I’m Ms. Zoe Shadrick, Mr. Darango.” I extended my hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

I was nervous, and I could only hope that it wasn’t too ridiculously obvious. His handshake was firm, but gentle, and I knew that was because I was a lady, but my daddy always said to shake hands like a man—even if you were a lady. And that’s exactly what I did.

“Nice grip you have there,” the man mused, and I could do nothing but smile in response.

“Are you the new sales coordinator?” he asked and laughed. I could tell he wasn’t laughing at me though. He seemed more amused by the fact that he didn’t have to face Frank, and I couldn’t say I entirely blamed him. Just like Derek, Frank left a lot to be desired. “I already like you more than Frank. Not only because you’re prettier.”

“Thank you,” I said as he gestured for me to sit in a nearby chair.

He had already taken the liberty of ordering a couple of drinks, two gin and tonics, likely because that was Frank’s signature drink.

Gin and tonics smelled—to me—like pine needles. And the taste reminded me of Christmas. However, the thing was, I couldn’t down the stuff. Never had been able to. It was a fierce drink—to put it lightly. At least, on my belly it was.

I could handle bourbon, whisky, rum, vodka, hell, even moonshine. But I could not handle gin.

“But we really need to scratch the gin and tonic. Horrible drink!” I mused, hoping that he would like my light-hearted approach.

He grinned, ear to ear, as he took his seat across from me.

He was a nice-looking older gentleman. He had white hair, but very young looking in the face still. If anything, the hair just gave him character. He had very few wrinkles on his face, and instead possessed some of the smoothest skin I had ever seen. He was very white, pale almost,  but it worked for him. It made him look younger. The lack of tan and sun damage did wonders for his face. I couldn’t count a single wrinkle, and I knew that the man had to be at least in his sixties.

His hand raised up, and I could see that he was gesturing to the nearest waiter, who wore the same uniform as all the others—black pants, black suspenders, white shirt, and black bow tie. It was definitely cute and a little nice to know that I was in a place so completely fancy.

I hated to toot my own horn, but it made me feel like a real business woman.

And that was something I had never experienced before recently.

The young man approached us with a great big smile and immediately Mr. Darango said, “Patrick, could you get these gin and tonics out of the way and bring us two—” he stopped, looked at me, as if to see what I wanted to order instead.

“Just your best top-shelf bourbon, neat,” I said with confidence.

The young waiter nodded and gave me a half smile before pivoting on his heel and heading towards the bar to retrieve our drinks.

“I like your style,” Mr. Darango whispered, leaning forward. “So you’re the new sales coordinator?” he continued, still reeling from the assumption that Frank was no more.

“Sorry to disappoint, but no,” I laughed, “I’m actually the public relations officer.”

“Interesting.” He nodded and leaned forward on his elbows. He seemed intrigued. “So I read the proposal, and it just looks like a lot of money to invest when Mr. Sholts hasn’t really brought any sort of extra incentives the last couple quarters.”

I nodded. He wasn’t wrong.

“He’s really not giving me a good turn-around on my investment thus far. So why should I invest more money into this company?”

“Besides the fact that it’s a multi-billion-dollar company in a multi-billion-dollar industry?” I jested, leaning forward as well.

I wanted to give off good, open body language and keep the dialogue casual.

I had read Mr. Darango’s blogs. He was a laid-back guy, and he had made a lot of his money by investing in new and innovative tech companies. And it all started with buying a small share of stock when he was twelve years old.

I couldn’t help but feel a little insecure and intimidated around men like Derek and Mr. Darango.
I mean, seriously? What twelve year old thought about buying stocks?

“Well, yes, we all know that Mr. Sholts has made a lovely company, and I’ll continue to own stock in it. But as far as investing more when I really haven’t seen any promises of new software or even hardware—where is the incentive?”

“The proposal didn’t mention new products?” I asked, a little confused.

I knew that Derek was planning a lot of huge lines of software, as well as a new beta-test for a super-computer, essentially.

He wasn’t just sucking on his thumb. He had huge plans.

Why hadn’t he brought it up to his investors?

“It did,” he sighed. “But no specifics. That makes me nervous, and I haven’t seen anything from him in two quarters, and the last time I spoke with Frank, I was promised a product release in that time. There wasn’t one.”

“Well, I don’t know what Frank told you—nor do I care. What I can tell you is that Mr. Sholts is a genius. He created an incredible operating system, and that’s why you invested... but there’s so much more that you’re missing here.” I leaned back in my chair, at ease with the conversation.

“Oh?” he questioned.

“Yes. See, you’re not just investing in the product. You’re investing in Derek Sholts,” I said, without the need for a rehearsal, no matter what Derek thought. And it was because I was speaking the truth.

Derek Sholts was an arrogant prick, and I had a lot of issues with him as a person—but as an inventor, as a great mind, he was something special; he was something worth investing in.

“I’m aware of his incredible journey, but how do I know that his software wasn’t just a fluke that he got lucky with?”

“Is anyone that lucky, sir?” I asked with a smirk. “Your blog posts talk about men making their own luck and that real luck doesn’t really exist. So is Derek Sholts lucky, or did he just make himself appear to be lucky?”

And as the words left my mouth, I knew that I had him. I knew he was my fish. I had caught him. And what I loved most was that he smiled at me, knowing that I had caught him.

“Well, one thing I’ll invest in is you,” he said before reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small white card and handed it to me. “If Mr. Sholts ever finds himself without you as a rep, give me a call. I’m sure he won’t mind sharing a past employee with an investor.”

We laughed and talked a little more, and without even remembering that we had even ordered drinks, Patrick came back just as we shook hands.

“Sorry for the wait,” he said shyly, almost timidly.

Mr. Darango lifted his hand, reassuring the young man that his tip was safe.

“You’re fine, Patrick,” he said. “Thank you.”

I smiled at the boy too and then back to Mr. Darango. He glanced down at the drinks, and winked. “Shall we?” he asked, and I nodded in response.