Big Bad Alpha: A Billionaire Romance

by Tia Siren

  He put his arm around her neck and pulled her head back to him. He kissed her neck and cheeks as he continued to hammer her.

  “Oh my God,” she gasped as his onslaught continued. She loved the way he was dominating her. The only role she had to play was one of complete surrender.

  He looked down and watched as his penis disappeared into her. She reached back underneath them and tried to cup his manhood, but he shoved her hand back to the wall. “I'll tell you what to do. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she moaned.

  In one unexpected movement, he turned her around and pushed her over the arm of the nearby sofa. He put his hand on her back and forced her down until he was able to penetrate her more deeply. Again he thrust hard against her. She felt herself coming and began to paw at the material underneath her. He was everything she wanted in a man, handsome, rich, and dominant. She was so close now. She pushed back against him, willing him to take her over the top, and when he did, it was wonderful. She couldn't stop shaking. Her legs turned to jelly, but he held her upright and continued to thrust just as hard as he had before. He made her come time and again. There was no end to his stamina, and she was insatiable for it.

  Eventually, he laid her on her back and took her missionary. “I want to see your pretty face when I come,” he said. She was eager to feel his desire flooding into her. She put her legs around him and pulled him to her. Moments later, he came. She felt a warm wetness fill her, and it was the most wonderful sexual experience she'd ever had.

  *****

  Olivia didn't go to London the next day. When she woke up next to Daniel, she was already so in love. She felt unable to leave. She asked herself if she was being stupid, falling for a man so soon after meeting him. She knew nothing about him at all, yet she felt so close to him. She wasn't able to explain it. It was just a feeling, a hunch.

  She was brought severely back down to earth when he woke up, showered, and told her it had been nice, but she had to go home because he was going to London. She'd wanted to hang around with him, have breakfast, talk some more. Surely his trip could have waited. Or maybe all he'd wanted in the first place was a one-night stand. That was a thought she certainly didn't want to contemplate.

  When she said good-bye to him, her dreams were shattered completely. He didn't kiss her, not even a peck on the cheek. He patted her on the back when her taxi arrived and thanked her for a nice time. A nice time, not a wonderful time, a fantastic time, or even a pleasant time. Just a nice time. That was all she had been, a nice fuck.

  When she got home, she went to bed and tried to figure out why she felt this way. She was an adult and perfectly sensible most of the time. But now she'd opened herself up to a world of hurt, and she hated herself for it. The next few days she checked her phone constantly, just in case he texted her. But he didn't. She stared at her cell, willing it to happen. Just once, please, she thought. But nothing.

  Days later she felt awful. He hadn't been in touch, and she realized all she'd been was another notch on his belt of conquests. Her energy spent after days of heartache, she neither had the will nor the inclination to go to London.

  “Hi, Olivia,” George said. “I thought you'd gone to England.”

  Olivia sat down at the bar and ordered a cappuccino. “No. Changed my mind.” She was so vulnerable, she was sure if George asked her on a date she would say yes. She may even go to bed with him. To her relief, he didn't ask. Beaten into submission after years of refusal, he'd managed to move on. He was now dating Anna, a pretty German who gave him more than she took.

  “You don't look well. Are you okay?” he asked. She didn't want to cry, but the urge to do so was so overwhelming. She couldn't stop the sudden torrent of tears that rolled over her face. “Don't cry. Talk to me,” George said.

  “I've fallen hopelessly in love with a man I hardly know, a man who doesn't care about me,” she sobbed. George, all too aware that women didn’t need to be given solutions, just an understanding ear, waited until she spoke again. “I've been so dumb. I hate feeling like this; I wish I could press a button and turn my feelings off.”

  “Is he a nice guy?”

  “No, he isn't. He's handsome, assertive, and very rich, but I wouldn't say he's nice.”

  George got up and began to make her some coffee. “If he isn't nice, why do you love him?”

  “That's the point: I don't know. It's irrational, one of those things I can't explain.”

  He poured the hot milk into a mug, added the coffee, and stirred. “Here. You'll feel better after one of my world-famous cappuccinos.”

  “Thanks. You're a good man, George. I'm sorry I have been such a bitch to you over the years.”

  He chuckled. “You haven't. You're like a sister to me. I've realized that now. If you really want this guy, as far as I can see, you have two options. Either you do cold turkey and forget him, or you make him fall in love with you,” he said, unable to resist the urge to solve her situation.

  “I guess. I don't think I'm strong enough to forget him. He's so...” She couldn't find the right word.

  “Fucking hot?” George said in an attempt to assist her.

  “Yes, but more than that. Shit, I can't put my finger on it, but there's something about him that drives me wild.”

  “Then make him fall for you. Go for it.”

  “And how do you expect me to do that?”

  That part of the solution was more difficult, and he didn't have an answer. “I'm sure you'll think of something.”

  *****

  “So, Olivia, thank you for coming to see us today. I must say we are very impressed with your college grades and the trial piece you wrote for us. What makes you think you are the best person for the job?” Gretta Starr asked.

  Olivia had wondered if the name Gretta Starr was a real name or a name she used professionally as an editor for New York Street Scene. When she'd seen the job ad for a junior journalist, Olivia had sent an application immediately. It was just the kind of job she wanted. What could be better than writing about up-and-coming New York musicians?

  Gretta was somewhere toward the end of her thirties, and she looked the part. Olivia would have guessed she was in publishing just by looking at her. It was her short dark hair and the designer glasses that gave it away. She was thin, and Olivia would have wagered all she had on her being a feminist.

  “That's a difficult question to answer,” Olivia started. “I am confident that my application is the best because my grades at college were the best the Boston School of Journalism has ever had. I am a curious person by nature. All I ever want to do is get to the bottom of a story. I like in-depth reporting, which seems to be the kind of journalism your magazine covets.”

  “Thank you, Olivia. Mark, do you have any questions?” Gretta asked. Mark Goldsmith looked up from his notepad and nodded.

  “Olivia, I would like to ask you what you would do if one of the musicians we reported on asked you on a date.”

  Why he'd asked that question, she had no idea. What should she answer? “I'd say no, because I have a high standard of professionalism,” she replied.

  “Great. That's just what I wanted to hear. If we give you the job, you'll get hit on all the time. I can see you're a very attractive woman. Bear in mind that most of our interviewees are young and horny. You'll get hit on by both sexes, just so you're aware of that.”

  “Wow. I had no idea. Thanks for telling me,” Olivia said. Her mind conjured up an image of the lead singer in a lesbian punk band trying to seduce her.

  “Olivia, I will be he honest with you. We want you on board. You are by far the best candidate. What do you say?” Gretta asked.

  “I'd love to work with you. Thank you. When do I start?”

  “How about Monday?”

  On the flight back to Boston, Olivia wondered how she was going to find a place in New York and move her stuff into it in six days. When she got off the plane, she rang an agent and put her house up for rent. She asked the sam
e agent to find her a place in New York.

  Olivia spent a few days sorting through her things. When the postman knocked on her door, he handed her a package from Amazon. It was what she'd been waiting for. She opened it and eagerly sat down to read How to Make a Man Love You by Ralph Penworthy. She finished the book in an afternoon and threw it in the garbage, regretting the five dollars it had cost her.

  *****

  “Welcome to your first day, Olivia,” Gretta said when they were sitting in her office. “I've asked Mark to take you under his wing for the first few days. He'll show you the ropes and make sure you get off to a good start. I've prepared you a little welcome pack. There's some information about our company in there. Do you have any questions?”

  “Not yet, but I'm sure I will,” Olivia said.

  Olivia had been allocated a desk in a large, open-plan office alongside a few other more senior journalists. Mark introduced her to everyone and sat down with her to talk through what they would be doing over the next few days. After he'd briefed her, he told her she should spend the rest of the day reading the information Gretta had given her and familiarizing herself with company policy.

  She got a coffee from a seedy looking vending machine and sat at her desk with a thick folder in front of her that read, “DR PUBLISHING - COMPANY INFORMATION.” She turned over the first page and began to read.

  “Fuck me. You're joking,” she cried. Everyone looked at her quizzically.

  “Are you okay?” her neighbor, a handsome young man, asked.

  “Yes. I've just had a bit of a shock. That's all,” she replied. She thought for a moment. “What do you know about Daniel Raleigh?” she asked.

  “He's the owner of DR Publishing, our parent company. I think in all, his company owns sixty other publications. He's a billionaire, well up in the Forbes rankings.”

  “What kind of man is he?”

  “I don't know him personally. I'm just a little fish way down at the bottom of his pond. I hear he's a generous man but that he can be ruthless if needed. Do you know him?”

  “No. I just wondered is all,” she lied.

  What an irony. She was working for the man she'd had sex with a few weeks earlier. A man she'd stupidly fallen for and who had never bothered to call her. All the feelings she'd tried to suppress over the last few days came rushing back to the fore. She'd thought she was over it, but just the sight of his name had torn her heart open once more.

  She spent the next few days on the road with Mark, doing interviews. Their main story for the weekly magazine was an interview with a Somalian rock star who'd fled his war-torn country and landed in New York to great acclaim and instant stardom. He'd filled Madison Square Garden five nights in a row. He was a phenomenon the likes of which the States had never seen before. Why Americans had fallen in love with a Somalian rocker, nobody had a clue, but they had. Mark had made an appointment with him and was excited about being the only music journalist Haybee had agreed to speak to.

  “What?” Mark shouted into his phone when they were standing outside the hotel they'd agreed to meet in. “You’re kidding, right? Well tell him we're here now.” When the conversation was over, Mark was so angry he threw his phone against the building.

  “What?” Olivia asked, surprised by his sudden outburst.

  “He's gone and canceled on us.”

  “Who? Haybee?”

  “Yes, Haybee. What an asshole. That's gonna leave us with a major space to fill in this week’s edition. These people never think. They just treat us like dirt.”

  She could see the disappointment on his face. She too was disappointed not to get to meet the great man.

  “He did what?” Gretta shouted at the top of her voice when they got back to the office. “That leaves us with a real headache. What the hell are we going to fill three full pages with at such short notice?” she added.

  Olivia looked at the distraught faces and excused herself. She took a cab back to the Lavender Hotel and went inside. The young woman at reception wasn't at all helpful.

  “You and thousands of others,” she said when Olivia asked to see Haybee.

  “I need to see him. Tell him it's an urgent family matter,” Olivia said. The woman looked at her suspiciously but picked up the phone.

  “A lady here wants to speak to Haybee. She says it's a family matter.” When the answer came, the woman scowled and pointed to the elevator. “Sixth floor. Someone will meet you.”

  The elevator walls were mirrors, and Olivia looked at herself. She straightened her hair and pressed her lips together. The woman waiting on the sixth floor was a pretty Somali woman.

  “What family business?” she asked.

  “Sorry. I think the receptionist must have been confused. I'm here for the interview.”

  “That has been canceled,” the woman said abruptly.

  “Has it? Nobody told me. Shoot. And I made all this effort,” Olivia said, trying to make her lies as convincing as possible. “Why has it been canceled?”

  “Because Haybee has discovered that your magazine isn't a small underground publication as he was led to believe, but rather part of a huge corporate conglomerate owned by a billionaire businessman.”

  “Why does that make a difference?”

  “You haven't done any research into Haybee's beliefs, have you?”

  “Of course I have,” Olivia protested.

  The woman looked down at her sandals and shuffled from one foot to the other. “Haybee is a socialist. He hates the corporate world. There's no way he'll talk to you, especially since what's his name lied to him.”

  “Mark?”

  “Yes, Mark. He should have known better than to lie.”

  “Let me just see if I understand correctly. Haybee won't talk to the mainstream media.”

  “You've got it.”

  “May I ask who you are?” Olivia said.

  “His wife, Afraxo.”

  “I understand. I'm sorry Mark lied to you. I'm just a junior journalist, and it's my first day at work today.”

  A door to her left opened, and a tall, dark man came into the foyer. “What's your name?” he asked.

  “Olivia Halfpenny, Mr. Haybee,” Olivia answered.

  “You are a liar, and the rag you work for is a cheap, gossip-laden pile of shit.”

  Olivia's heart rate picked up. “Er...I'm sorry you feel like that...”

  “So you should be. I'm going to call your bosses and have you fired. You lied to us to get up here, didn't you? Don't think I was born yesterday. Do you know how low it is to pretend you are delivering family news when all you really want is an interview? Now leave before I call the cops.”

  When Olivia stepped back into the office, Gretta shouted at her, “Get yourself in here now.” Olivia entered her office and Gretta closed the door. “Your first day and I'm already getting calls complaining about your behavior. Why did you do it?”

  Olivia looked at Gretta's face. It was red with rage. “Sorry. I just thought I could make him change his mind and do an interview.”

  “Oh you did, did you? What makes you so special? Why did you think he would talk to you?”

  “I don't know. I was only trying to help.”

  “But you won't help if all you do is antagonize people.”

  “But Haybee's philosophy is all wrong. He won't talk to the press. He calls us part of the dangerous corporate world. What he doesn't know is that all those people who buy his records are part of that world as well.”

  Gretta lowered her spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose. It had been a long day, and she was worried about what she was going to fill her magazine with.

  “Okay. If you feel there is an argument against his stance, write it. If it's good, I'll publish it.”

  “Really?” Olivia said.

  “Yes. You're right. He needs to be taught a lesson. He should realize he can't treat us like this. Write it.”

  *****

  “Maureen, come here a moment please.” Maur
een tottered into Daniel's office on incredibly high heels and waited. “Who is Jenny Jones?”

  “Er...I have no idea.”

  “Have you read this article?” he asked. Maureen walked around his desk and looked at the copy of New York Street Scene that lay in front of him.

  “No.”

  “It is the most wonderfully written piece I have read in a long time. This woman, whoever she is, is a genius. It's a stinging criticism of Haybee and his double standards. And the best bit,” he said, pointing a finger to a long paragraph, “she says I'm an inspiration to the youth of America.”

  Maureen looked at him and wondered when it was going to be her turn. She so wanted him to make love to her. He'd had Tracy and Emma; surely she would be next. “That's great,” she offered.

  “Get hold of Gretta at NYSS and ask her to get Jenny Jones to Skype me.”

  Maureen disappeared for a while. Daniel swiveled his leather chair to the left and looked out of window and across the Boston skyline.

  “She refuses to talk to you,” Maureen said.

  “What?”

  “Gretta asked her to Skype you, but she refused. I don't know why.”

  “Does she know who I am?”

  “I think she does but, she won't do it.”

  “Who the hell does she think she is? I'm her boss. Tell her to Skype me or I'll fire her.”

  Maureen left and came back a few minutes later with a wide grin on her face. “Mr. Raleigh, she says you can stick your job up your...er...ass if you so want. She's not going to speak to you.”

  “When am I next in New York?”

  Maureen looked it up on the schedule. “On Tuesday, next week.”

  *****

  “Gretta, lovely to see you. How are things?” Daniel asked.

  “Okay. We're doing fine. Sales are steadily increasing and advertising revenue is up, so I can't complain. I'm very happy with the newspaper's performance.”

  “Where's Jenny Jones?”

  “Who?”

  “Jenny Jones. I want to talk to her.”