Electrifying Chemistry: A Rebel Billionaire Trilogy

by Maggie Twain

  I tell my confidant about how the virus has destroyed the dreams for many students, how scholarships have been pulled, working hours have been cut, rents have gone up, hope has been lost. “Except there are emergency funds for such occurrences. The only problem is they’ve been raided beyond all redemption and now the piggy banks are all but completely empty.” A sly grin escapes me. “Being an upstanding member of Boston’s business community, I figured it was my responsibility to reach out and offer my help to at least one very deserving student.” I flap my palms. “Hey, it was the least I could do, to grant a scholarship of my own, so to speak.” I steeple my fingers. “And now all I have to do is wait for the call.”

  “Wow!” An appreciative exhalation is forced from him. “I’d hate to be in your brother’s shoes.”

  If only I felt as confident as Carey on that score. I know my brother. He’ll be going about this thing in his own ruthless way. “Which reminds me. You need to see to him.”

  “Right,” he nods, grabs his jacket and leaves…

  And then, almost like it was destiny, at the precise moment the door closes after him, my cell vibrates loudly against the table.

  Something tells me this call will be important and I take a deep breath of air before accepting it. “Yeah? … That was quick. You sure she matches the criteria? … Really? Then I’ll need to see this girl for myself. Let’s make the arrangements.” I end the call.

  Because only two days after setting the levers in motion, an innocent has wandered into the Astor sphere.

  I sniff at the air around me.

  If I’m to meet my future wife, the mother of my child and savior of my fortune then I really need to take a shower.

  Chapter Three

  Haley

  I half expected the car not to be there but now, as I stand across the street, I’m definitely looking straight at it. I’d been given the time, location and license plate number, ‘D1TCH,’ but now that I see it, I can’t help but feel apprehensive.

  So much is riding on this.

  “Just your tired brain making you wary as well as weary.” Nothing dodgy about it at all, getting into some strange car that happens to be in the right place at the right time, as expected. What I wasn’t expecting, however, was to be looking at one of those high-brow Bentleys you see important people being driven around in. A cab would have done. “You’re desperate, Hayles, if you don’t throw your caution to the wind, you’ll lose this opportunity, whatever this opportunity actually is, and that means you’ll almost certainly be kicked out of college.” I’m muttering to myself now, which is another sign I’m anxious, as I remain concealed behind a tree. A lady with a dog passes and I give her a smile.

  Bailey hadn’t told me much about the offer for funding, only that a local philanthropist was reaching out to offer help after all the recent turmoil and disruption so many students had suffered. All I had to do was meet the guy, maybe answer a few questions so he could be sure the money was going to someone deserving. That wasn’t necessarily unusual as far as scholarships went. They came in all varieties, shapes and sizes, with an infinite criteria for attaining them. Many were handed out to minorities or to members of organizations, winners of essay competitions or prize draws, they were given if you knew the right people or just happened to be in the right place at the right time. My award, however, was given to me because my test scores were consistently in the top one percentile for the entire state of Wisconsin, a feat I’m terribly proud of, even if it had ultimately been taken away from me through no fault of my own.

  I check the time on my cell. I’m already ten minutes late, again, yet the car’s still waiting. But for how much longer?

  Getting here was a struggle, I’m lethargic as heck, and my shoulders are chafing where my backpack straps are rubbing the raw flesh that’s getting ever closer to bone. “Reality’s catching up with you.” Can I afford not to close the distance, to get in the car and go wherever they mean to take me?

  No, I can’t!

  It’s Friday, which means later I have to face the music with my landlord. He’ll want cash, plus sixty dollars inconvenience fee. I have most of it, not all, so the outcome of that meeting will depend upon his mood, which is hardly a metric I like to rely on, especially when this is the second month running I’ve had problems.

  Suppose he kicks me out?

  It’s a possibility I can’t even begin to contemplate. I have nowhere else to go.

  “Pull yourself together, Hayles, it’s time to move.”

  My body barely responds to the commands sent from my brain but I find myself plodding across the street regardless. The car windows, I see, are tinted, and the reflection that stares back at me is gaunt and malnourished. Maybe it’s just the stupid angle of the glass but it’s worrying all the same. I can’t see who’s inside, though I can almost feel someone staring back from behind the darkness. I swallow and am about to tap the driver’s side glass when the window rolls down.

  “Haley Olson?” It’s a white face mask I’m looking at, which covers most of the man’s face. It’s somewhat overkill considering he’s apparently alone in a car. He’s also wearing brown leather driving gloves but if he’s a chauffeur then I guess this might be normal.

  I cough nervously. “Um, yes.”

  “My name’s Carey,” his head makes a small jerking motion to indicate the back seat, “get in.”

  “I’m loving the cloak and dagger approach.” It’s meant as a joke but his eyes don’t appear to be smiling. My cheeks redden and I do as he says, getting in and closing the door behind me before belting up. The first thing I notice is the strong lavender smell. And the interior’s beyond clean. In fact, the leather upholstery’s still showing moisture marks from a very recent cleaning, the seats are damp and my ass squeaks against the material.

  Carey twists around in his seat.

  I’m extremely quick to jump in with a lame defense, “oh, that wasn’t…” my cheeks are flushing worse than ever and all I want to do is die. Should I run? How badly do I need this money anyway?

  This time there’s the smallest twinkle in his eyes. “There’s a mask in the side pocket,” he’s nice enough to be a gentleman by changing the subject, “you’ll need to wear it now, if you don’t mind, and keep it in place when you’re in the presence of Mister Astor.”

  In the presence of? I try not to laugh but I’m not sure I’m doing a good enough job, still, it’s better than dying. Who the heck am I dealing with here, royalty? I slide the mask out and don the thing. It’s been a while. I don’t miss having to wear them but I understand some people are still particular about it, the elderly especially. I’m guessing this Mister Astor guy must be old, possibly with co-morbidities. Nothing wrong with playing it safe, in that case, because I wouldn’t want to be responsible for killing my new benefactor by breathing too hard in his general direction.

  “Um, where exactly are we going?”

  “Carrington Country Club,” is all he says, like I’m supposed to know where that is. Although I’ve been in Massachusetts for approaching eighteen months, it’s not like I’ve had the time or money to get out and explore much outside of Cambridge.

  As it happens, it’s only ten minutes later and a little over two miles when we’re nearing the destination, over the Longfellow Bridge in Beacon Hill. I’ve been here a few times before, sightseeing mostly, because Beacon Hill’s a piece of historic Boston and it’s beautiful with narrow gaslit streets and cobbled roads. We turn onto what looks like a golf course and I see at least three of those little buggies rolling across the grass as we head towards what has to be the country club.

  Carey moves the Bentley into a space right beside the main entrance, in front of a plaque that states ‘Mister D. I. S. Astor,’ and stops. He exits and holds the door open for me.

  “Thanks,” I say as I clamber out and then stop, rigid, as he appears to be scrutinizing my appearance. I’m a little taller than he is in my flats. “Everything ok?”

  H
e nods. “Please, just make sure your mask remains in situ at all times.”

  I can only nod. Yes, you’ve already told me that.

  What I think is his smile returns. “Please, follow me.”

  He takes me inside the club and if I hadn’t already known from the exterior that the place is patronized by Boston’s elite, then there’s no mistaking that impression when walking through the interior. The ceilings are extremely high and possess elaborate chandeliers hanging beneath hand-painted frescos. The walls are adorned with Renaissance art and I can’t say for certain whether there are a few originals given pride of place. Pretty notes from a piano echo down from one of the halls and when we pass the restaurant, there’s fine crystal on the tables, diners dressed in their best and the food looks like mini masterpieces on plates. My nerves had receded during the drive but now I find them returning as we ascend an exceptionally grand staircase before entering a VIP lounge with an oddly placed solitary treadmill by a window overlooking the grounds. We continue towards a door with a single gold-plated plaque with the engraving ‘Mister D. I. S. Astor.’

  Disaster, is all I can think and try not to chuckle. Get a grip, Hayles, this is important. I stop before the door and wait for Carey. He knocks and it’s around ten seconds later when finally, I hear the muffled “enter.”

  Carey pushes through, holds the door open and when his body moves out the way, I’m immediately struck by the man seated behind a large desk.

  Because he’s beautiful.

  I place him in his mid-thirties, he has a strong jawline covered by light stubble, giving him a deliciously rugged appearance, along with a prominent nose and deep blue eyes set beneath wavy blond hair that’s swept back over his head. I’m drawn to the movement of his extraordinarily long fingers that link together when he leans slowly back in his seat as he appears to absorb me, my presence in his office.

  I’d been expecting an old man with wispy white hair, glasses and some deep wrinkles, not this, no, definitely not this, and the surprise has given me a brain freeze. He must think me rude and I’m quick to shake off the cobwebs before striding straight across the room in the direction of his desk with an outstretched hand. “Hello, I’m Haley,” I think I hear a gasp coming from Carey, though I can’t be sure, “thanks for the…”

  There’s the creak of his seat as the wheels shoot back and suddenly he’s rolling away into the space behind his desk.

  I freeze on the spot, deer caught in headlights, and then Carey’s at my side, a hand grasping my elbow. “I’m sorry, did I…” I squeak the words and can’t think how I’m supposed to finish whatever sentence I’m meant to utter. What in the heck just happened?

  Mister Astor’s jaw is clenching but after a few seconds it eases and then he comes to a stand, so he’s tall as well, and built, but what’s going on? He sweeps both hands outwards in a gesture of apology. “I am sorry … one moment,” he opens a drawer from behind his desk before delving inside and then there’s a pair of leather gloves flying across the room.

  Carey catches them and holds them out to me. “Best you wear these.”

  “And could you possibly pull your mask a little lower down over your mouth.” His voice is deep and masculine, and although the actual words are coming from a man suffering from what I’m guessing might be obsessive compulsive disorder, or something similar, there’s a friendly warmth in his tone. Or maybe I’m wrong about everything. At this stage, it’s much too early to make a judgment about anything because let’s face it, I have absolutely no clue what’s going on right now.

  I do as he says and pull the mask down over my chin because it must have hitched up at some point during my panicking. “Better?”

  He transfers his weight onto the other foot. “Maybe just a little further. And the gloves too.” He’s not wearing gloves, I note, or even a mask for that matter, which peeves me off just a tad, but then I guess he’s the rich man in the big office at the country club so the same rules obviously don’t apply to him.

  I do as he says, donning the left followed by the right, because it’s a small price to pay for the many thousands of dollars I might just end up leaving with. By this point, if I don’t, I’ll be mighty annoyed.

  Carey leans close to my ear, causing me to jump. “You may now proceed to shake Mister Astor’s hand.”

  I snort, I couldn’t help it, and it doesn’t escape my attention when Mister Astor’s head snaps back in what’s almost certainly an offense taken. I’d forgotten I had even made the attempt but I tootle sheepishly forwards and meet my paw with his.

  “Please, Haley, call me Decker.” Now that we’re in contact, he doesn’t seem to want to let go, and I find myself not wanting him to let go either, as his piercing blue eyes bore into my own. His hand has swallowed mine up completely and it’s a thrill even though our skin’s not actually making contact, which I find a great pity but probably for the best under the circumstances.

  “Decker?” I hum. It’s an interesting name. “OK, I will.”

  Our hands part and he looks beyond me to Carey. “A seat for Haley, perhaps?”

  I glance behind and that’s when I notice there are no other seats, or very much furniture in the room at all, in fact, in stark contrast to the rest of the club, the owner’s office is incredibly plain.

  “I find that a decluttered office helps me to think,” he says, having read my mind, though it’s probably obvious what I was thinking, “and for every less vase, table or bookshelf, that’s one less item that needs dusting.”

  I bob once on my toes. “Who likes dust, right?”

  He nods and then his gaze appears to run down my body and back up to my face, at least the part that’s visible. “You’re very beautiful,” he tells me and I feel my eyes widen of their own accord. Nobody has said that to me in a long time, not since dark circles began appearing beneath my eyes and I, apparently, started to become bony.

  “Thank you, it’s not often my eyes and forehead receive such compliments.”

  He grins at that and his lips pucker in appreciation of my jest as he continues surveying what’s visible of my head, neck and body.

  I’m blushing and manage to stop myself just in time before I ask if being beautiful is criteria for the grant. Instead, I’m just barely competent enough to think up some lame small talk regarding the club. “This is a really lovely place you have. It’s like a peaceful refuge in the middle of the busy city.”

  He nods and there appears to be sadness behind his eyes. “Thank you, I’m very proud of what I’ve built here.”

  Carey returns with a seat, leather-upholstered, and he’s just about to apply what I’m guessing to be a disinfectant soaked damp cloth when I recall the car incident and I’m quick to wave it away.

  “Oh, don’t worry, I think it’s fine as it is.” We can’t be having that happening again, certainly not in front of Mister Astor, um, Decker, and I plant myself down before there can be any arguments, from either of them.

  Thankfully, Decker doesn’t seem to mind, but I note how the chair’s been positioned a long way from his desk and I feel isolated with such a large gap between us. I want to close the distance, however, I’m not about to do anything so stupid as to actually scoot forwards. No, I think I’ve learned my lesson.

  “I think you can leave us,” he says to Carey, whose eyebrows rise in surprise. He hesitates then walks to the door and leaves so that now I’m alone with Decker. “Is there anything I can get you?”

  Now, this is dodgy territory, so I play it safe and say, “no, I’m good, thanks.”

  He’s squinting at me, concentrating, his shrewd eyes coming to conclusions, though I’m not sure what he can possibly know of me from my half-concealed appearance alone. “You’re very well spoken.” He says matter of fact, another nice compliment. “You’ve been well raised, I can tell.”

  Is it a statement or a question? I decide to answer anyway. “I have two wonderful parents,” I figure this is an opportune moment to divulge a little abou
t my situation, “unfortunately, their business went under not long ago, which is why I now find myself in a bit of a hole.”

  His eyes are distracted. “I’m sorry, could you maybe pull your mask down a little lower over your mouth.”

  I’m irked by this because I can swear the thing hasn’t moved so much as an inch but I do as he says. “Better?”

  He ignores my attempt at gaining confirmation as to the suitability of my mask because he’s staring down at a notepad. “Your parents had a waffle house, correct?”

  How does he know this? My body wants to jerk back but I manage to suppress my instincts. “Oh, somebody’s done their homework,” I say cheerfully instead.

  “We’re very thorough here. We like to know we’re supporting the right person. Scholarships, particularly in this climate, are like gold.”

  I sigh. “You can say that again.” I want to ask if he’s been a party to any money laundering schemes but decide that might not be very polite, but if he tells me to readjust my mask one more time…

  “Do either of your parents, or your brother,” wow, he knows, “suffer from any hereditary conditions?” This again?

  I shuffle against the seat and thankfully it doesn’t squeak. “My father had an operation to remove cataracts and my brother’s a jerk, but I’m not sure that’s hereditary.”

  The laugh escapes him and he has a lovely, warm smile. It’s just a shame he’s rather odd. “Believe me, both my brothers are jerks too and if our father’s anything to go by then it’s almost certainly hereditary. Our grandfather too.” His hand reaches forward across the desk but, almost like he realizes what he’s doing, he retracts it before it gets too far away from him and now suddenly his tone becomes serious. “You had a tough break with that Haddad character. He was relatively well known in our circles, a bit of a ladies man … too much of a ladies man, in fact,” he rolls his eyes, “people were beginning to question when ever he made time to earn his money. As it turned out, his criminal enterprise allowed for much leisure time.” He leans forward and links his long fingers together. “It’s been speculated that doling out a dozen scholarships per year only to female students was just another way for him to add to his notch count.” His stare hardens and I can already see where this is leading. “Tell me, Haley, how did you attain your scholarship?”