Romance: The Billionaire Alpha Collection (38 page)

Chapter 12

Derrick grinned at me.

That in and of itself was rare.

“I don’t know what you did to this kid, but I’ll have to thank you,” he said.

I stared at him in shock. “What for?”

He shrugged, turning his attention away from me and back out to the mat where Ryan faced off with his opponent.

“For straightening his ass out.” He shook his head. “I’ve always known him to be a bit of an airhead, more worried about looking good rather than tackling this match. He can do it. He has the talent, no doubt about it. He’s fast and strong, but he’s never had the motivation before. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but keep it up. It’s working. He’s more focused and he’s actually concentrating on what he’s doing rather than just going through the motions.”

It was the longest speech I’d ever heard from the trainer, and I didn’t doubt it was one of the few I’d ever hear.

I had no reply to it though.

Ryan and I were still on rocky terms with each other.

I didn’t trust Patricia, who seemed glued to his side during the match.

However, I did notice that beyond a kiss on his cheek and a hand on his chest, he and Patricia kept their distance from one another.

As Ryan had told me, it was all an act for the sponsors and the potential new fighters for the gym.

She was merely playing a part.

There was no chemistry between them, no love apparent in the way they stood together.

That was something I hadn’t known the first time I’d seen them together.

Then again, I hadn’t been looking for it either.

Whose fault was that?

Mine.

All mine.

Ryan moved in a flash of skin and clothing, too fast for me to see, and the next thing I knew, his opponent was flat on the mat.

Beside me, Derrick pumped his fist in the air and the crowd cheered.

“What happened?” I asked Derrick, still uncertain what was going on around me.

I was only here because Ryan had asked me.

I didn’t even understand the dynamics of what was happening.

Ryan jumped out of the quickly gathering crowd and found me.

“What happened?” I asked Ryan.

“Well, baby,” Ryan said, walking straight up to me. “I just won.”

There was a wicked grin on his face as he pulled me into his arms and kissed me.

I answered his kiss.

What girl could resist a man like him anyway?

I certainly couldn’t, but at that moment, I didn’t want to.

Not in my lifetime at least.

The End

Romance:

The Billionaire’s Contract

Penny Ward

Chapter 1

Damn.

The Richmond Building is enormous.

It is even bigger than I expected.

The giant foyer of the inner city tower is lined with tall shapes made of silver, reaching for the sky. This should impress me but the extravagant artwork only makes me more nervous. Or perhaps that’s the reason for it?

“Focus, Abbey,” I whisper to myself. “Focus.”

I am here to land a contract.

And not just any contract.

I am here to land the contract that could change my life from a sad, struggling graduate to a successful, happy entrepreneur. I am here to convince Zane Richmond, one of the richest men in the country, to back my idea with his money.

I take a deep breath as the receptionist directs me where to go.

My best friend Kylie is the one that pushed for this opportunity. She convinced me that my idea was good enough to pitch at investors.

While I stayed in our hometown to take a regrettable break between school and university...
for a boy, ugh
... Kylie left for a new city, studied hard, and played even harder. She’s now well ahead of me career-wise. All that and she never had to suffer a broken heart, which is all I got out of my ‘break.’

Kylie manages a respectable bank, so I trust her advice in these things, especially as I’m just a business graduate with big ideas and an urgent need to make up for lost time. Trouble is, in a classroom I rock, but what do I know about the business world?

My heart rate is pounding at the walls of my chest.

The sweat is starting to develop on my brow.

“Come on. Focus. Be brave,” I whisper to myself.

This is my break and I believe in my idea. I have to own this opportunity.

If this succeeds, it will be an incredible leaping point from which to build financial security, garner respect in business, and move on to other things, without so many closed doors stifling my progress.

Without this chance, I’ll end up waitressing for the rest of my life or I’ll admit defeat completely, return to small-town living... and small-town men. If I ever see Martin, my cheating-ex boyfriend again, it’ll be too soon.

After riding the elevator to the top of the building, I walk out to find an incredibly glamorous secretary ready to flash her bright white teeth at me.

“Ms. Abby Levin, hi. I’m a little early,” I introduce myself as I approach the reception area.

“Ah, and they’re running late I’m afraid. Take a seat over there for a while. Can I get you coffee, water?”

“Nope, I’m fine. Thanks, though.”

On the large, cream leather sofa, I recite the pitch in my head, sitting on my hands to prevent myself from biting my nails clean off.

Around twenty-five minutes later, the secretary’s smooth voice drags me from my thoughts. “Ms. Levin?”

“That’s me,” I stand.

A magazine I hadn’t been reading falls to the floor, so I bend to pick it up.

“Leave it, please. Let me.”

“Sorry, guess I’m a little nervous,” I gush, smoothing my skirt. “Are they ready?”

“Yes,” she says with a smile. “So take a deep breath and follow me.” I walk behind her down a corridor. Poking her head through one of two enormous wooden doors, she says, “Mr. Richmond, gentlemen, Ms. Levin is here to see you.”

Oh no, oh no, oh no…

I hear a deep voice come from inside. “Send her in.”

My heart shoots up to the back of my throat--or it could be my intestines. Either way, I’m nauseous with nerves when I need to be confident.

I wait for the secretary to point me to the door before pulling back my shoulders, straightening my spine, and striding past her, through the doorway and to my future.

Time to land this deal.

Chapter 2

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” I say, marching directly to the four bodies in suits and offering them a handshake. “I’m Abby Levin, and you are...?”

The first, who seems like a friendly old guy, says, “Mr. Blake, of Blake Inc.” He smiles encouragingly.

The second and third guys are younger and tell me their names when I shake their hands. But my mind barely registers them at all. I briefly wonder whether shoving my hand into potential investors’ faces is correct etiquette for a first meeting, but I’m too stressed to stop this roll I’m on.

The fourth guy... wow.

Just wow.

My heart skips a beat when my eyes land on him.

He is the gorgeous and youngest one by around ten years is at the head of the table, near to a whiteboard ready for presentations.

His presence stops me in my tracks.

He is the tallest in the room judging by those long legs, but as he’s seated, it’s difficult to be sure.

With wide shoulders, olive skin, and a dark, intense, honey-brown stare, he almost throws me off course.

By the time he speaks, I’ve stopped breathing and cannot hear what he says past the whistle in my ears.

Panicking, I rip my hand from our handshake, praying that I won’t lose my thread or consciousness, and turn to plug my laptop into the whiteboard.

As I play with plugs, his stare penetrates my back. I wonder which of the other three is Mr. Richmond.

Once all the cables are correctly connected, I take a deep breath and turn back to my audience. “Please watch this quick demonstration, gentlemen.”

I’d paid a media student to make a video demo, like a TV advertisement, before I left university.

It’s professional, considering the only payment she required is the use of it for one of her assignments.

As I’d already secured copyright on my app, I agreed.

“It will illustrate to you better than I can how one might use it.”

The dude at the front studies me and leans back in his leather recliner, his legs too wide apart. “You have my full attention, Ms. Levin.”

My knees want to buckle beneath me but once I press play, I’ll get a few minutes to chill out while they learn about my product.

Four faces stare at me, judging my every decision.

These men possess the power to fund my start-up business, to help me begin my new life and make it a success, and to drag me away from my old, limited existence.

I must persuade them all, including GQ dude, that an app for ordering flowers--which also connects the buyer to the nearest flower store--is a brilliant idea. My whole business, and months of work, depends upon landing this funding.

I press play on the presentation and say as much to myself as to my audience, “Let’s get started.”

Chapter 3

The video ends, and my audience are still and silent.

I don’t expect applause or anything, but I hoped for raised eyebrows, a ruffle of excitement, something.

Anything.

But I receive no visible reaction at all.

I guess the rest is left to me.

I unplug my Mac while my investors each accept a coffee from the glamorous secretary, and I place my laptop into my awesome new briefcase.

In a peripheral glance, I see scorching hot investor lean toward me.

“Cute video, but what does your app do that we can’t? I mean, there are apps to find places--Google Earth’s pretty big”--he sniggers--“and the numbers to several international florists are in my cell.” He checks his colleagues for support. “Doesn’t every guy?”

One of them says, “Zane, you spend a fortune in those places.” Winking at me, he adds, “We’re not all so blessed with the company he keeps.”

“Good for you, Zane,” I say, wondering again if Zane the man whore is the notorious Mr. Richmond. The men act as though they’re sharing a private joke; I’m losing them. “If you will allow me to explain...” I say, raising my voice a tad.

Zane’s dark glare returns to penetrate me, linking us, somehow making everyone else in the room evaporate.

“Please do, Ms. Levin.”

He stands, an imposing figure of masculinity.

My stare travels from his handmade shoes all the way to his two-hundred-dollar haircut.

Oh yum…

He leans back on the large conference desk.

“Excuse my interruption. Do go on,” his delicious voice tells me.

“Ahem.” I yank my attention from his fine physique, trying to ignore the mouthwatering waft of his aftershave when it reaches my nose. “Thank you. Right, where was I?” I smooth my skirt, or rather wipe the sweat from my palms, and hope the sweat running down my back isn’t visible through Kylie’s cream silk blouse when I remove her jacket and drape it over the nearest chair. “What this app provides is convenience, choice, and immediate information at the click of a button. No more searching through directories or auto-opting for the big names in floristry because you can’t trust that the independents you pass are any good. All the user needs to do is click on my app and allow the inbuilt GPS to find where in the world they are before revealing the nearest flower shop, with the best ratings based on customer testimonies, all in the same place. It will list the quaint, little independents along with the big guns, so the informed choice is yours. Now, if you prefer to use international florists, you might not care much for this app. But it still tells you where they are in relation to your current location.”

“Um,” Zane says, “I can think of a few times this might be handy, especially if you want to take the time to select your flowers, support the independent shops, and back all that local love the public are into these days.”

He licks his lips but doesn’t smile.

Guy number three gazes out the window and checks his phone.

I’m losing him.

“That’s not all, gentlemen, because it also provides an inbuilt timer.”

Number four returns his attention back at me, and Zane smiles at his colleagues.

“Click the schedule button and it will program up to twelve months ahead, so no more forgetting to send flowers on Mother’s Day, on anniversaries, or on birthdays. No more angry mothers, daughters, wives, or girlfriends.”

The men’s eyebrows raise and their heads bob.

Finally, they’re impressed.

“So, there you have it. Will you fund development of this app? And will you introduce me to the owners of flower stores, big and small, to get them signed up--starting with New York, of course?”

Zane approaches me, one long, delicious leg after another.

He’s at least six foot six so he towers over me even when I’m in heels.

He’s both intimidating and arousing.

“I appreciate your time, Ms. Levin. Would you wait outside while we discuss your little app?”

He said little app--he thinks it’s a stupid idea.

Dammit.

“Yes, sure,” I say, deflated, before I gather my belongings and leave them to laugh at my expense, ’cause I don’t mind waiting for them to call me back for face-to-face mockery.

When I reach the waiting room, Glamorous Secretary offers me a coffee and a sympathetic smile.

I want to simultaneously bawl my eyes out and scream expletives at her.

Thankfully, I tell her, “No thank you.”