Read PIERCE : A Billionaire Romance Book Series (The Complete Van Doren Series) Online
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PIERCE : A Billionaire Romance Book Series (The Complete Van Doren Series)
Pierce
The Van Doren Series
Copyright © 2016 by E.Domino. All rights reserved
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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A Van Doren Series,
Book 1
Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved.
The Van Doren family is known for two things, fabulous wealth and secrecy. When Christina Manning is given the opportunity to interview the reclusive heir apparent to the Van Doren fortune, she is at once astonished at her good fortune… and slightly overcome with unease. As she finds herself being buzzed in through the massive wrought iron gates of the family’s estate, she can’t help but run a hand through her carefully arranged, generally unruly blonde curls.
“Ugh, what a mess!” she grumbles, moving quickly to tuck an errant lock back into place. The gates swing wide, and she drives her practical, late model, blue Toyota on to the sweeping grounds. The wind-swept, leaf-littered driveway is long and curving, the house still not visible.
Despite her misgivings, the young reporter drives on. Soon, she crests a small hill and spies the massive, ornate Victorian mansion in the distance.
‘
Deep breaths, Christin
a
,’ she thinks, filling her lungs up with a slow inhale and holding it for a few seconds before releasing it in a sigh. The house grows larger in tiny increments, soon becoming a behemoth of a structure on the horizon.
Warm lights glow in several of the windows, and the grounds that spread out before her in the dusk throw shadows across her path. Trees and shrubberies hug close to the driveway. She can see a fountain of some sort near the house, its cascading waters glinting as the light from the home filters through the droplets. While her foot wants to move towards the brake and her hand wants to shift into reverse, she continues on. She can’t pass up a chance like this. It could be her big break, and even if it’s a small break, she can definitely use the money.
The crunch of gravel from the driveway disappears as she pulls into the circular turn-about that curves in front of the house. Christina slows; craning her neck to gape at the façade of the house, then stops a few feet away from the front steps. The house literally looms – casting even more shadows onto the already dim grounds. Taking another deep, calming breath, she glances in the rear-view mirror, tucks that stubborn lock of blonde hair back into its place once more, and gathers her bag from the passenger seat.
“Let’s do this!” she murmurs, opening the car door and stepping out into the brisk autumn evening. A shiver works its way up her spine, but she tugs her coat more securely around herself and nudges the car door closed with her hip. She’s here. She’s done the hard part. All that stands in her way now is a few yards of driveway and some rather impressively intimidating stone stairs. A huge wooden door is at the end of her path. She grits her teeth as she takes note of the antique brass knocker that’s centered at eye level, as if this could get any more stereotypically foreboding! Hugging her bag to her chest, she ascends the stairs and stands face-to-face with the doorknocker. A rather terrible gargoyle head holds the knocker in its teeth, and she grimaces as she reaches out towards it.
Before Christina can touch the chilly brass, the door swings inwards, momentarily throwing her off balance and pulling a little ‘yee!’ sound from her throat. Her hand immediately comes up to clap over her mouth, and her eyes are comically wide as she lifts her gaze to greet the individual on the other side of the threshold.
Standing at just over six feet tall, Pierce Van Doren is exactly as she expected – except about ten times more attractive. His skin is a dusky olive hue, his hair almost blue-black and tousled as if to suggest she woke him from an after-dinner nap. His eyes – startlingly blue and slightly dilated – are bright as they settle on her hazel gaze. The smile that dimples his cheek is charming and sincere, and the shadow of vague evening stubble that roughens his jawline gives him a roguish demeanor. Whatever he does to stay fit, he does it a lot – his shoulders are broad and strong, his posture straight and confident.
Holy shit
…
Christina bites her lip behind her fingers before prying her hand away from her mouth and extending it towards the young man in awkward greeting.
“Hi, I’m Christina Manning. From Eastern View Magazine? I’m here for our appoint – eh… interview?” Her cheeks flush slightly red as his grin broadens, but then his hand finds hers and gives it a warm squeeze, followed by two shakes. He doesn’t let go right away, but instead gives her a little tug, encouraging her to step inside.
“Come in, Christina,” he says, his voice low and almost liquid in its timbre. “You’re a little early.”
Stepping past her host, Christina finds herself flushing deeper red as she realizes she is indeed about twenty minutes early. Before she can respond to him, he pushes the door closed behind them and lets go of her hand, then waves his own dismissively, turning that bright, disarming smile towards her once again.
“It’s no problem, really. I was just working.” Christina takes in his casual attire, then – tee shirt, track pants, and socks – and her nervous smile calms slightly. His open, easy way sets her at ease rather quickly, and soon she finds herself being led through an expansive entry foyer towards a pair of French doors to her left. She barely has time to take in the impressive architecture of the house before she’s swept through those doors and into an intimate, antique-filled study. There’s a big desk with a laptop open on top, several shelves packed with various books, a large window covered with drapes, and a sitting area complete with sofa, love-seat, and oversized armchair.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Pierce says, padding across the room to push his laptop closed atop the desk before moving towards the couches. He waits for Christina to choose her own seat, which she does after only a couple of moments of consideration. After shrugging out of her coat, she drapes it across the chair. Then settles into one corner of the sofa, crossing her legs and resting her bag atop her knee.
“Thanks,” Christina says, wincing slightly at the high-pitched tone her voice takes as she addresses Pierce. She clears her throat, then repeats, “Thank you.” There. That’s better. She situates herself more comfortably in her seat, luxuriating a little bit in the plush, buttery leather of the cushions. Her fingers worry the strap of her messenger bag, and she feels like she should say something - but he's jus
t
standin
g
there, looking down at her from a few feet away. She clears her throat again, looking pointedly at him as if to will him to take a seat. At first, it seems like he intends to have her conduct the interview from her diminished position, but then he strides over to the sofa and takes a seat opposite her, leaving the middle cushion of the couch unoccupied, for now.
Pierce doesn't actually sit, though. Not in the generic sense of the term. H
e
occupies.
His body reclines comfortably into his own corner of the sofa, his back curving just a bit to put a relaxed slump in his posture. His legs part a little bit, and one arm stretches out across the back of the couch, which positions his hand directly behind Christina's shoulder. She finds herself fidgeting a little bit at his purposefully relaxed demeanor, and when his fingers 'accidentally' brush the side of her neck, she flinches ever so slightly. Once the handsome young man has finally settled, Christina sits up straighter and turns a bit, opening her bag to retrieve a small hand-held digital recorder, a stenographer's pad, and a pen. Sitting up straight, she starts the recorder with a subtle 'beep', and then places it on the cushion between them. It runs silently, a tiny white blinking LED light the only sign that it is active. Placing her bag on the floor near her right foot, Christina rests the pad on her knee and writes "Van Doren Interview" at the top of her pad.
"So," she begins, looking up and meeting Pierce's gaze. She's momentarily frozen as she takes in his expression. He's smiling. It's a lazy, knowing smile, and it's borderline infuriating. He looks cocky and self-sure, as if he knows he's already thrown her off balance and is greatly enjoying that fact. Christina finds herself clearing her throat yet again, which makes her try to stifle it - which in turn makes her cough slightly. Lifting her left hand, she covers her mouth, and then begins again, straightening her posture further and trying to take on a more commanding tone. For now, she succeeds.
"So," she says again, clenching her jaw a little when his smile twitches a half-centimeter wider. "Tell me about Van Doren Enterprises. It's been a little difficult for me to get a handle on what exactly it is you all do." Her pen is still against her pad, for now... but she holds it at the ready, doing her level best to appear professional and no-nonsense.
Pierce is silent for a few moments, eyes roaming to the ceiling before he re-aligns them upon his interviewer. He rolls one shoulder languidly. "I guess we're a multi-faceted corporation, really - we do import-export business with electronics distributors in various countries, we own interests in an investment firm, we do a good deal of business in the Information Technology field. We're rather diversified." He says all of this with a disinterested tone; as if he's answered this question so many times he's repeating his response from rote memory. "We have a research facility in Germany that's developing solar-powered vehicle batteries."
Christina takes quick, efficient notes as he speaks. She found all of this on the company's Wikipedia page, though. Slightly miffed that he's not being more forthcoming, she sits up straighter and throws out a suddenly hard-hitting, clearly off-putting question.
“So why is your father nowhere to be found?” Pierce’s eyes harden at that question, and he sits up a bit, focusing his gaze more steadily upon her own. Christina continues, proud that she seems to have finally commanded this arrogant man’s attention.
“He missed the yearly stockholders’ meeting, as did his assistant…” She pauses, wracking her brain for a name. “A… Deanna Somerset?” Pierce clenches his jaw, sitting up and leaning towards her so they seem to be subtly facing off in some kind of silent aggression.
“My father’s whereabouts aren’t important to your article, Miss Manning.”
Christina can’t help but wince a little, as he is suddenly so formal. She also can’t help but probe more deeply, having obviously found something juicy that he doesn’t want to discuss. “They’re important to your shareholders, and apparently to the well-being of the company. Your stock interests have dropped dramatically over the past week, and with your father apparently disappearing into the wind, they don’t seem likely to rebound anytime soon.”
Pierce’s hands press against his knees, rubbing there with obvious nervous energy. His eyes stay hard and dark, though, and he gnaws the inside of his cheek for a few seconds before responding to her further questioning. When he does answer, Christina is surprised by an abrupt smile that blooms across his lips, revealing straight, strong teeth and that maddeningly handsome dimple in his cheek once again.
“Since you’re so keen to be up in my personal business, how about you tell me a little bit about yourself?” he asks, once more settling back into his nonchalant, self-satisfied position. His hand once again rests behind her shoulder, the heat from his arm warm along the line of her neck. Christina inwardly curses her choice of attire, wishing for some kind of heavy sweater or turtleneck to keep his presence at bay.
Her choice of attire for this evening was one of pretty professionalism. She’s not very tall, but she’s delightfully curvaceous, and this works both to her advantage and to her occasional dismay. As a reporter, she tries to keep the focus on her stories and her hard-hitting approach to interviews. Still, she knows being a lady can work to her advantage with some people, so she dresses accordingly. Tonight, she is wearing a dark blue, short-sleeved A-line dress, the skirt just long enough to graze her knees and full enough to disguise her pretty rump while accentuating her chest and narrow waistline. Her legs are bare, and she has on classy-yet-feminine blue pumps. Her generally unruly sunshine-colored hair is gathered up into an elegant twist at the crown of her head. Her pretty features are made up only enough to accentuate them, giving her eyes a slightly smoky appearance, her cheekbones a flush of life, and her lips a rosy hue just a shade darker than natural. All-in-all, she is a picture of elegant professionalism… but she still wishes she had worn a lot more clothing now that she’s sitting a couple of feet from this admittedly gorgeous man.
Pierce’s hand shifts closer to the back of her neck as he adjusts himself on the couch and slides a few inches nearer. The leather creaks subtly, and Christina feels a flush of nerves rush up through her chest and into her throat. “I’m here to interview you, Pierce…” she reminds him, her voice sounding entirely too small and girlish for her liking. “My life is none of your business.” She sets her jaw, bracing and steadying herself.
“Bullshit.” Pierce laughs. “My life is yours so why shouldn’t I make yours, mine? Your business is why you’re here, why you’re dressed like you are – why you want to talk to me to begin with. My life brought you here to my couch, and that’s why you’re going to tell me about yours if you want me to tell you about mine.” Christina grinds her teeth, letting her eyes flutter closed for a second before meeting his gaze. He is closer, now – maybe a foot or so separating his hip from her own.