Billionaire's Pursuit Read online

  “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.

  “Terminal One just ahead, Miss Olsen. It looks as if the plane is arriving right now.”

  The driver’s words jarred me back into awareness. My half-empty stomach gurgled as the vehicle began to slow and then, a few moments later, came to a full stop. As the driver got out, I flipped my compact open and took one more look when a final horrifying thought hit me. I felt the slightest twinge of moisture in my armpits.

  Oh my God… No deodorant!

  And so it was, clammy and disheveled, I would meet a billionaire for the first time in my life. Just then, the door cracked open and the driver’s hand passed through as he reached to help me out. At the last instant, I managed to wipe the palm of my hand across my lap, ridding myself of the moisture I was certain it contained.

  “Thank you, Armando,” I said, as I emerged from inside the vehicle.

  Though it was noisy, I found myself caught off guard by the relative calm of the airport. As Mr. Sinclair’s plane approached, I cast my gaze down the rows of private aircraft, which extended as far as I could see. The late afternoon sun reflected hues of blood orange and fire engine red off the multi-million dollar fuselages.

  There was a sense of order to it all.

  Powerful men with expensive toys commanding their slice of the universe, bending it to their will. A smile crept to the corner of my mouth as the largest plane of them all neared our position. Swallowing us with its shadow, the aircraft came to a halt as two men with neon yellow ear protection scampered to brace the plane’s wheels with bulky rubber chocks. Just then, a rogue gust of wind generated by the plane’s final stop blew past my face and sent my hair flying.

  A blessing in disguise. Now at least I have something to blame that rat’s nest on.

  A time period equivalent to forever seemed to pass before there was any noticeable activity from inside the plane. At last, the cabin door slid open with a hiss. Lifting my hand to shield my eyes from the setting sun and get a better view, I half expected a cloud of stage smoke to billow out as well.

  It was quite the spectacle.

  “That’s some plane isn’t it, ma’am?” Armando asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah, sure is.”

  “Have you met him before? Mr. Sinclair?”

  I shook my head and began to reply when I noticed a shadow draw across the open portal. I squinted a bit harder, cutting through as much of the sun’s glare as I could when he appeared.

  The late afternoon sun cast an angular shadow across his square jawline. Easily more than six feet tall, his muscled, lean frame cut a masculine presence at the top of stairs. For a moment I watched as he scanned his surroundings before angling his view down towards us. After turning his head to deliver what I assumed was some last minute instructions to the flight crew, he flicked his arms at the elbow, repositioning his suit coat with precision. Straightening his tie as he descended, Greyson Sinclair sauntered down the stairwell leading from the side of the plane to the ground, mere feet away from the waiting limo and… me.

  As he approached, he gave a curt nod to the driver and then stopped, perhaps no more than a foot from my face. Unsure, and not used to strangers invading my personal space, I stepped back a bit as the hint of smile came to the corner of his mouth.

  “Miss Olsen?” he said, as he once more closed the distance between us.

  I sensed the sun-warmed metal of the car through the sheer backside of my dress as he m
oved me towards it with his approach. Unable to side step his advance, I instead thrust my hand in his direction to stop him in his tracks. He paused for an instant, looked down at my hand, fingers ramrod-straight in defiance. The scent of his cologne, a heady mix of pine and musk, wafted into my nose as his eyes drew upwards to meet mine.

  The peripheral world around me blurred as I found myself transfixed, completely unaccustomed to such a greeting. When his eyes at last locked with mine, I became aware my mouth had dropped open, enough so he’d notice. The dry air of hot runway sent my tongue towards my lips as I swallowed and gathered what little moisture I could from the narrow space between us.

  “Miss… Olsen?” he said once again. Only this time his tone didn’t carry an inquisitive tilt but rather a challenging edge bordering on a demand.

  Sensing the hint of impatience in his voice, I smiled, just as Katy had instructed. I flashed the biggest mouthful of gleaming white I could muster and replied, “Yes, Mr. Sinclair, my name is Madeline Olsen but you can call me Maddie.”

  Still refusing to shake my extended palm, he instead lifted his hand towards his chin and pinched it between the thumb and forefinger. Small tufts of his hair threatened to shift out of position as a breeze stirred the stillness between us. He narrowed his gaze on me for an instant, nodded in a deliberate manner and said, “When I ask you a question, I expect an answer. Don't let it happen again.”

  With that, he broke eye contact with me and nodded towards the driver, who hustled to the car and opened the door for Mr. Sinclair to get inside. I watched as he vanished from sight. My hand went limp as my arm fell back to my side.

  Great job Maddie. Really great.

  I puffed my cheeks and blew a deep exhale as I turned to follow him inside the car. As I did, I closed my fingers against the inside of my palm.

  The clamminess had returned.

  GREY

  I watched as the slender fingers of her hand grabbed the inside of the limo door a split second before her leg appeared through a slit in her dress. I could see the muscles in it flex as she made her way inside. Her legs were long, lean, slightly tanned and obviously fit. I don’t suppose I could have hoped for more, especially on such short notice.

  As she took a seat across from me, I allowed my eyes to travel wherever they saw fit. Aside from her tempting legs, she had ample tits, a great ass and a helluva smile. She was a damn beauty, that’s for sure. The picture hardly did her justice. This was going to be a good first night. An unexpected and enjoyable end to an otherwise pain-in-the-ass day.

  “Mr. Sinclair,” she began, as she raised her hand and draped it across her chest. “I’m really sorry about what happened out there a moment ago. Please believe me when I say I didn’t mean to offend you in any way.”

  Just as she finished speaking, the car lurched forward. The tires squeaked on the slick surface of the tarmac and in that same instant, her purse fell from her lap, spilling its contents onto the floor in the process.

  “Oh my God!” she gasped.

  For a split second, I almost reached down to help her, but when I got a look at her cleavage, I thought better of it. While I got an eyeful, she corralled a stack of paper and an assortment of other random knickknacks and jammed them back into her bag.

  Returning to her seat, she flung a handful of her blond hair out of her eyes. It came to rest in an even split along her shoulder, with half of it covering her breast and the other half concealed from my view as it draped down her back. A hint of crimson flushed to her cheeks as I studied her attempt to compose herself. She flashed a closed-lipped grin at me once the fidgeting ceased.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she began. “I’m so sorry about that, Mr. Sinclair, about what happened when you got off the plane, I’m just… sorry. Can we start over?”

  Spreading my legs, I unfolded my hands from their position in my lap and covered my kneecaps with my palms.

  “Sure thing,” I replied. “We can do that.”

  “Oh, thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” As she spoke, she broke eye contact with me just long enough to start fishing around inside of her purse once again. Within a few seconds, she produced a handful of paper, now tattered at the edges from the mishap moments before.

  “What do you have there?” I asked.

  “Oh,” she said, as she jumped in with eagerness. Clutching the half-folded stack in her hand she smiled and said, “Well, I… I’ve compiled a list of activities based on the proposal I sent you. You know, stuff you might be interested in seeing or doing in town when you’re not working.”

  Raising my hand, I motioned for her to pass the information to me. I took the papers from her, spun them around and placed them in my lap for a closer examination.

  “Got a pen?” I asked, as I started to scan the list.

  She cleared her throat, and then I heard the now familiar sound of her rummaging through the loose items in the bottom of her purse. After a few moments, the noise ceased as she located a writing instrument.

  “Here you go,” she said, extending the pen in my direction.

  As I perused the list, it became obvious she’d put a fair bit of time into it. Under ordinary circumstances, I might even enjoy some of the items she’d laid out. Of course, I’d have no interest in doing any of them by myself no matter what. In any case, I decided to have some fun with her about it.

  “Yeah,” I said with an exhale as I pressed my back into the seat. “This list… it’s not gonna work. Not at all.”

  “Oh,” she replied. Her tone sank.

  This would be easier, and far more fun, than I suspected.

  “Yeah, for example. You’ve got daytime activities in here, like visits to the museum.” I paused mid-sentence and began to cross items off the list one at a time. As I wrote, the sound of her sinking into the seat across from me filled the air. “You see, I’m working all day when I’m here, so this kind of thing is out.”

  She remained silent as I laid waste to her list with the angry tip of my red ballpoint.

  “Okay, then here, at night. You’ve scheduled trips to the opera and at least what… two, three, four art shows?” I stopped and glared at her to drive home the point. “You really think I want to go to four art shows in five days?”

  Her shoulders drew up towards her ears in doubt.

  Elevating my voice I said, “And to make matters worse, for tonight, you have me going to dinner in my hotel. Honestly?”

  I lifted my gaze up from the wrinkled pages again to see her pink twinge had deepened in color and spread down to her chest. Before continuing, I gave her a chance to offer up a defense, which she wasted little time in mounting.

  “Ugh, Mr. Sinclair. I’m so sorry,” she began. She made a gesture for me to pass the pages back to her. Continuing, she said, “I’ll figure something out. I promise.”

  With a flick of my wrist, I pinched the stack of pages between my thumb and forefinger and held them up halfway between us.

  “I should hope so,” I replied.

  Taking them from me with a ginger tug, she reached up and pulled two long strands of hair behind her ears as she placed the pages flat in her lap. Without looking up, I watched as she traced my markings with her eyes.

  “Okay, well,” she stammered. “Let’s start with tonight. You don’t want to have dinner in the hotel so um…”

  “Not alone,” I interrupted.

  She lifted her eyes from the page. I watched as she swallowed an anxious lump down before she continued.

  “Oh, okay,” she began. “Right, of course. Um, I can um, make some calls. I’m sure I can arrange a dinner companion for you.”

  “What do you mean, arrange one?” I said. I angled my head down at her, feigning displeasure. “What kind of professional concierge are you? Does Katy know about all these plans of yours and how almost zero of them are of any interest to me?”

  “No,” she said. “This isn’t Katy's business, sir. It’s mine
. Now, with all due respect, I’ve apologized to you for how things have gone so far, but I would ask that you please don’t mention any of this to her. Please, I can make this right if you’ll just give me a chance.”

  This was almost too easy.

  Slapping my hands on my knees once again, I narrowed my eyes at her as I leaned back into the car seat.

  “Since you haven’t had the foresight to arrange for suitable escort for me this evening, I’ll have to insist that you accompany me instead.”

  And then, almost as quickly as she’d flushed moments earlier, the process reversed itself before my eyes. Within seconds a much paler Maddie Olsen locked eyes with me.

  “You want me to be your escort?”

  I nodded but didn’t speak.

  Her eyes darted back and forth for a moment as I assumed she searched for some reason not to do it. Her hand floated up and she started to twirl a strand of her blond hair around her index finger for several seconds. Finally she released it and her hand fell back into her lap.

  “This is strictly business, isn’t it?” she asked. “I mean, I just want to know what your expectations are here.”

  Just then, the limousine pulled up to the entrance of the hotel. Maddie glanced towards the bellman as he approached the car to open the door. As he tugged on the handle, the door creaked open and the din of the city evening invaded the intimacy of our exchange.

  “It’s simple, Miss Olsen,” I replied. “I expect you to do what I want. That is your job after all.”

  MADDIE

  Half an hour after I dropped Mr. Sinclair at his hotel, I arrived back at my apartment complex. As the limo pulled into the parking lot, I noticed Katy’s car.

  I am going to kill her. Who the hell did she get me mixed up with?

  Exiting the limousine, I informed Armando he’d need to come back and get me not later than seven thirty if I was to make it back to the hotel bar and meet Mr. Sinclair in time to have dinner. With a nod of understanding, he told me it wouldn’t be a problem and proceeded to drive away. That done, I cast a scowl towards the building and headed inside to get ready and tell Katy how much I appreciated the ‘opportunity’ she’d given me with Greyson Sinclair.