Big Bad Alpha: A Billionaire Romance

by Tia Siren

  “That's the first and last time, Steffi. Never again,” he said as he walked past her desk. “Bloody media. And don't say I told you so.”

  “Well, I did,” Steffi said. “If she hadn't been so good looking, you would never have agreed to the interview.” Typical Ryan, she thought. He was a great businessman but a sucker for a pretty woman. She couldn't remember the number of times she’d had a tearful lady on the phone asking after his whereabouts.

  Ryan slumped into his giant leather desk chair and looked through his e-mails. There was one from Alina telling him she would arrive in LA around eight that evening. She told him she would take a cab to his home and not to bother sending a driver.

  “Steffi,” he shouted. Steffi arrived in his office with a notepad. “Alina's coming this evening. I'll bring her to work in the morning. How long do you think you'll need to hand everything over?”

  “I think I can teach her all she needs to know in a month. After that, she can have my phone number and call me if she needs to know anything.” Steffi looked at Ryan and noticed how tired he looked.

  “You're not overdoing it, are you?” she asked.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You look tired.”

  “I am tired, tired of people who don't keep promises. This morning we had to hold a guy over the edge of a building and threaten to drop him.”

  Steffi laughed. “You have a wild imagination, Mr. Jacobson.”

  If only she knew the real truth, he thought. “I'm going home. If you need me, you know where I am.”

  The black Rolls Royce drove to Beverley Park and pulled into a gateway. The security guard came out of his hut and opened the gate. As Ryan's car passed, he waved and closed the gate.

  Ryan loved his home. At just thirty-five, he was the youngest resident in the area. At an average price of thirty million dollars, the houses in the immediate area were owned by business people and Hollywood stars.

  Getting out of the Rolls, he pulled out his cell. “Party time,” he shouted into in. “Spread the word. Starts at seven. Let's make it a pool party.”

  When he walked into the house, he was greeted by John Frazer, a man he'd hired in London. John was one of the few real butlers the world still possessed. “John, it's pool party time. Starts at seven. Can you organize?”

  John was tempted to roll his eyes in disgust, but Ryan paid him ridiculously well to turn the other cheek. “Of course, sir. Leave it to me.”

  *****

  “Hi, Mom,” Alina said. “Yes...yes...yes. Mom, don't worry. I'm fine. Nothing to worry about. I'll be there soon. Yes, Mom, the flight was great. What? Yes. Of course I've got enough money.”

  “Moms, huh?” the young man sitting next to her on the train said.

  “Yeah. She's worried about me.”

  “First time away from home?”

  “Yes. I suppose it is. I went to college in New York, but I lived at home because it was so close.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “To downtown LA. My first job.”

  “Wow. Such a long way from home too,” he said, looking at her. He really liked what he saw. Her long legs were covered by a pair of faded jeans that showed off her slender thighs. Her white blouse had one button too many open, and he got a glimpse of her lacy bra with its overflowing contents.

  “Yes, it sure is a long way from home, but I'm looking forward to it.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I'm going to be PA to a real estate dealer. I'm so excited. I never dreamed I would get the job.”

  “Was there a lot of competition?”

  “Well, if I tell you the name of the guy, you'll know the answer.”

  “Go on then.”

  “Ryan—”

  “Jacobson,” he said.

  “How did you know?” she said.

  “He's famous. Not for the right reasons either.”

  Alina turned her head to him. He was about her age but dressed older. He was wearing a tweed jacket and a pair of highly polished black shoes. “What do you mean by that?”

  “He's got a reputation for treating tenants poorly.”

  Alina had no idea whether that was true or not. All she knew was that she was terribly excited about the future. It had started with an ad she'd seen in the national press. She'd never heard of Ryan Jacobson or his company, but she wanted a job, and she'd always wanted to work in the warmth of California. When someone told her Ryan was a billionaire businessman, the likes of which America had never seen, she'd consigned her hope of success to the trash can. A week later Steffi had called and told her Ryan would be in New York and wanted to talk to her. He'd interviewed her at the St. Regis, where he was staying in a fifteen-thousand-dollar-a-night suite.

  She'd worn her best dress and a pair of really chic but extremely uncomfortable heels. She was sure she'd made a fool of herself when she'd shaken his hand, because she’d just stood open mouthed with her hand in his, unable to say anything. It was the moment Alina found out what a powerful aphrodisiac the combination of good looks and wealth could be.

  Her interview went by in a flash, and she knew she hadn't listened to him as well as she should have. His blond hair, bronzed skin, angular jaw, and dazzling blue eyes had prevented her from doing so.

  “Why would he treat tenants poorly?” she asked.

  “He buys buildings and increases rents. Then he kicks people out if they can't pay.”

  Ryan didn't seem like that kind of guy, she thought. He'd been pleasant to her, more like a friend than a potential boss.

  “Well, here's my stop,” he said. “Good luck.”

  Alina began to think about Ryan. Was she perhaps on her way to work for an ogre? Maybe he was rich because he was ruthless. Maybe he even broke the law.

  The taxi stopped outside the gates to Ryan's mansion at ten past eight. The security guard had drifted off to sleep and didn't see the beautiful young lady peering through the railings. There was no bell or intercom, so she waited. After a short time, she picked up a small stone and threw it at the cabin. It hit the window, and to her horror cracked it. The guard woke up with a start and ran out, brandishing a baseball bat.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he shouted. “Look, you've broken the window.”

  “Sorry. I...didn't mean to. I thought maybe...you were...”

  “I'm calling Mr. Jacobson.” He assumed Alina was late to the party. Ryan and his friends often invited beautiful women like her to their parties. “Mr. Frazer, there's a young woman at the gate. She threw a stone at my cabin and broke the window.”

  It wasn't a stone. It was a tiny pebble, she thought. How the hell did the window break? It must have been wafer thin. She hadn’t meant to. Then she imagined Ryan coming down the driveway and telling her off. She'd only been at the house for a couple of minutes, and already she'd caused trouble. Not a good start, young lady, she told herself.

  When she saw Ryan, he was walking down the driveway dressed in a pair of white chinos and a navy blue shirt. From his point of view, she looked like a prisoner behind bars. She was holding the bars of the gate, looking at the huge security guard on the other side. He was standing with one hand on his hip, the other swirling the baseball bat in eager anticipation.

  “Open the gate and let her in,” Ryan shouted. “And put the baseball bat down. What do you think you're going to do with it? Hit a defenseless young woman?”

  The guard reluctantly opened the gate and let Alina in. Ryan shook her hand. “I'm sorry about this,” he said. “Just bear with me a moment.” He turned to the guard. “Why do you think the window is cracked?”

  “Because the lady here threw a stone.”

  “Correct. But why?”

  “Er...” The guard began to think of an excuse.

  “Because you were asleep, asleep on duty. This is not the first time, is it? I pay you good money to look after the place, and all you can do is sleep.”

  “Sir, I'm sorry. It won't happen again
.”

  “Darn right it won't. You're fired. Take your things and leave.”

  Alina gasped. It was all her doing; she certainly hadn't meant to get the poor man fired. “Mr. Jacobson, it was my fault.”

  “No. You did what anybody would have done: try to wake the guy up. No, I've had enough. He's history.”

  Alina wasn't going to argue anymore, but she felt desperately sorry for the security guard. Where she came from it was extremely difficult to get a job. Little did she know that in LA, the man would have another job the next day.

  “Here, let me take you bag,” Ryan said.

  “It's heavy, I'm afraid.”

  “Do I look like a weakling?” he asked. No, he certainly didn't, Alina thought. He looked strong and fit. His shirt was open, and when he picked her bag up, she saw his bronzed chest bulge slightly. “Heavy?” he joked. “Light as a feather.” She looked at him shyly. In the soft evening air, Alina could smell his aftershave. It made her want to put her head to his chest and breathe in the real scent of him. Jesus, stop it. He's your boss. You've only been here a few minutes, she told herself. But it would be fun, wouldn't it? Imagine him, so rich and handsome, on top of you, kissing you. She tried to banish the thoughts she was having, but they kept coming back, each time with Ryan more naked than before.

  Okay, you're horny, she told herself. It's not surprising, is it? When was the last time you had a guy? She tried to remember. More than a year ago, she concluded. A guy named Jeff. She'd gone to high school with him, and he'd called her out of the blue. He'd told her he'd always liked her and that at school he'd never had the courage to ask her on a date. She'd found his excuse charming. He told her it was because he thought she was way out of his league.

  “I'd have gone on a date with you, Jeff,” she'd told him. She remembered it was she who'd taken the initiative after the movie. In the car on the way home, she'd reached across for his zipper and slowly pulled it down. He'd almost crashed the car. Both of them knew the area well and decided to drive down to the creek, where they got out and made love in the cool evening air. But you didn't come, she reminded herself. He was so quick, you didn't get any pleasure out of it. Hell, even more reason to feel horny. When was the last time you came? To her shame, Alina couldn't remember.

  “There, what do you think of the place?” Ryan asked, snapping her out of her train of thought.

  They had just rounded a bend in the driveway, the place where the house suddenly came into view. It was the point where most visitors looked on in awe at the mansion. It was unlike anything Alina had ever seen. Sure, she'd seen such houses in magazines and on TV programs, but never with her own eyes. It was beautiful, but she also found it imposing. The great front door, guarded by two stone lions, wasn't welcoming. If she were his wife, she would take the lions away and replace them with stone troughs full of flowers. What she did like were the window shutters. They gave the place a European feel.

  “Wow, it's beautiful,” she told Ryan. “It's so nice of you to put me up. I could have stayed in a hotel for a few nights until I got sorted out.”

  “The place has twelve bedrooms. You could live here for years and we'd never meet,” he said. “Besides, I get lonely sometimes.” She looked at him in disbelief. A billionaire like him, lonely. How? It was quite an admission for a man of his type to make, she thought.

  She caught another wave of Ryan's aftershave, and the thoughts she'd had before all came flooding back. “Come in,” he said, putting his weight against the giant oak door. “This is John. If you want anything while you are here, just let him know. You won't understand what he says though.” Alina gave Ryan a puzzled look. “He's Scottish,” he said, clearing the mystery.

  “Ah. Nice to meet you, John.” She went to shake his hand.

  “No. He's a butler, and apparently they don't shake hands,” Ryan said, still amused by John's standoffish nature.

  “No, sir, we do not. It's not our place.”

  Alina almost burst out laughing. Was he being serious? What kind of world did he live in?

  “Okay, I'll let John show you to your room. I'm sure you'll want to freshen up.” After the long journey, the thought of a hot bath or shower was too much to turn down. She nodded gratefully. “When you're ready, come back down. We're having a party around the pool.”

  “Sure.” Alina wondered what form one of his parties took. She didn't imagine he was the type to sit around the dinner table, drinking wine and talking politics. No, she was sure the type of party he enjoyed involved much more than that.

  The room John showed her too was so beautiful, she stood in the middle of it and held her breath. So this was how the other half lived. Her room was bigger than the whole upper floor of her parents’ home. How did people get so rich? She hoped to find out in the coming weeks.

  She allowed herself to fall back onto the king-sized bed and almost disappeared into the softness of it. Don't close your eyes or you'll fall asleep, she told herself. Get a shower and go to the party.

  Although she was only twenty, she wasn't much of a party animal. She preferred sitting around a table with friends and talking. She heaved herself off the bed and walked to a door, behind which she assumed there was a bathroom. She was right, only it wasn't a bathroom as she knew them. This bathroom was more like a Roman bath house. There was black granite on all surfaces, a huge bath on lions’ feet, and a shower behind glass. It was the most enormous shower she'd ever seen. She was torn. Bath or shower? Shower. She'd fall asleep in a bath.

  She got undressed and stood under the powerful jet of warm water. She took the shampoo and began to wash her hair. If Alina had known that at school she'd been most boys’ masturbation fantasy, she wouldn't have been quite so dissatisfied with her body. She liked her legs and thighs but hated her stomach. To her, it sagged and bulged in all the wrong places, and her breasts were too large. She was sick and tired of men staring at her chest when they should be looking at her face. She was reasonably satisfied with her behind, although she often looked at it in the mirror, searching for the tiniest evidence of cellulite. There was none, and her dissatisfaction with her stomach was ill-founded. Any boy who had ever seen it, and not many had, thought it was soft and seductively feminine.

  Her room had everything. She'd brought her own hair dryer, but when she switched on the one in the room, she was almost blown away. It fanned her dark hair and dried it in no time. She had long hair. It swept down to the center of her back, in long shiny waves. She didn't wear much makeup. She didn't need much. Her skin was unblemished and fresh. She applied a little eye shadow and lip gloss.

  Hell, it's all creased, she thought as she fished around in her bag for something to wear. The only thing that had escaped the baggage handler’s wrath was a tiny black circle skirt. She wondered if she dared appear in it. She had no choice, though. She added a black silk top with spaghetti straps and stood in front of the mirror. She was pleased she had; her nipples protruded through the material, making her look like a cheap hooker. She gave a whoop of frustration. Then it came to her: all the Regency British movies she'd seen, the butler with an iron in his hand. John was very obliging and in no time returned to her room with her knee-length skirt and a navy blouse, both impeccably pressed.

  Feeling more comfortable in her conservative clothes, she went downstairs. Ryan had pointed to a door when he'd mentioned the party. She could hear music and decided to follow the sound. The door took her from the entrance hall into a huge living room. Although the house probably had been built in the 1920s, the room was contemporary in decoration. When she looked out the window, she found herself looking at the backyard. There was a large, well-manicured lawn with the kind of stripes her father always tried to get on his lawn but never did. At each side of the lawn were flower beds with a dazzling array of colorful foliage.

  The French doors were open, and Alina stepped outside. It was then that she noticed the music was coming from a separate building across the lawn. When she was halfway across th
e turf, she heard the sound of water and screams.

  “Hi. Welcome to one of my famous parties,” Ryan said. His white pants were gone, and he was wearing a pair of tight-fitting swimming shorts and no shirt. Obviously just out of the pool, his body was covered in tiny drops of water. Keep your eyes up, she told herself, painfully aware of the considerable bulge down below.

  “Come on, let's get you a drink,” he said. The pool was large, as big as most municipal pools. It was housed in a building with an arched roof and glass doors that opened to the lawn.

  “Are they...?” she exclaimed.

  Ryan followed Alina's eyes. He laughed. “Yes, looks like it.” In one corner there were a number of sun beds covered in red leather mattresses. A couple was making love on one, both totally naked and in full view of everybody. The strange thing to Alina was that nobody seemed to care, or for that matter even looked. She, on the other hand, couldn't take her eyes away. The man, on top, was a so good looking, she instantly wanted to swap with the women whose moans were getting louder by the second.

  She hurriedly turned away and looked at the pool. It was full of topless women and a few men, who she assumed were Ryan's friends. She counted five guys and sixteen girls. The guys looked so happy; it made Alina wonder if any of them would ever settle down with just one woman. Most of them looked to be in their thirties, and she was sure they'd spent the last ten years fooling around with dozens of women at parties like this. She'd have to be careful to not get involved with a man like that. There was no way she was ever going to share her husband with anybody. She closed her eyes in embarrassment as the woman in the corner reached her climax.

  Ryan handed her a drink, a long crystal glass full of real champagne. She took a sip and then another. “That's nice.”

  “First time you've ever had real champagne?” he asked.

  “I think so. Everyone calls sparkling wine champagne, but it isn't, is it?”

  “No. Champagne comes from an area in France of the same name. Most of the stuff people think is champagne is just white wine with a few bubbles.”