Billionaire Boss

by Scarlet West

  I took a seat in the back of the crowded café. While I ate my sandwich, the thought of what Cassidy had said went around and around my head, echoing.

  Don’t worry. That will never happen again.

  That hurt, more than I wanted to acknowledge. I couldn’t believe it. I had just found a woman who made me feel alive, one who didn’t make me want to run at the first sign of deeper feelings, and the very next day I screwed it up. She was so mad at me that she would never look at me again, and I couldn’t take my mind off her.

  I should have been ashamed of myself, but shame was never an emotion I’d dealt with particularly well. Instead, I became surly and pouted like a damn teenager. When I got back, Mrs. Halston was waiting for me.

  “What?” I demanded.

  She gave me a look – one of the ones she kept especially for unpleasant clients and unruly children – but said nothing in reprimand. “You had a call while you were on lunch, sir,” she said coolly. “From Mr. Williams?”

  “Brady?” I felt my eyebrows raise sharply. “What did he want, I wonder?”

  “He asked you to call him back,” she said. I could detect a faint sarcasm there, though her face was carefully blank.

  “Thanks,” I murmured.

  If I didn’t get my shit together sooner rather than later, I was going to risk pissing off my entire staff.

  I shut the door behind me, sat down heavily at my desk, and called Brady.

  “Adam!” he sounded pleased to hear from me – almost too pleased, I thought.

  “Brady, hi,” I said thoughtfully. “What’s happening?”

  “I just wanted to call to ask if Cassidy had let you know? About the project?”

  “Project? What project?” I asked. This was something new.

  “She didn’t say?” he sounded disappointed.

  “No,” I said. “She didn’t.”

  I wondered just how stupid I had just been – how many things I’d messed up. Not only was Cassidy no longer interested in me, she actively hated my guts. And she apparently had a good idea, which she’d probably never share.

  “Should I ask her about it?” I questioned.

  “Don’t worry,” Brady said briskly. “If she hasn’t told you, then it doesn’t matter, does it?”

  “Brady, what’s going on?” I asked. He sounded hurt and offended. What was wrong with everyone, today? “Never mind,” Brady said. All his good humor had vanished. “I’ll see you around.” The line went dead. What the fuck was that?

  I sat there with the phone in my hand, mind reeling. What had possessed everyone today? It must be something to do with whatever this secret emergency was, I decided. I had been super unfair to Cassidy. She was feeling the strain, and that was why she’d been being weird. It had gotten to Brady, too.

  I needed to apologize.

  I coughed, feeling how tight my throat had gotten. Apologizing might not always be easy, but it was essential. I had been a jerk.

  I stood and walked down the hallway to her office.

  “Cassidy?” I called.

  She was on the phone. She looked up at me, then gestured at the handset and shook her head.

  I stepped back from the doorway but stayed where I was.

  “Well, she said to the client, while I waited, “if you are happy to give us a written endorsement, it would be absolutely great. Can I send you a template? Brilliant. I’ll send it now. And you mentioned a representative visit?”

  I waited while she talked to the client – her voice bright and ordinary, sounding the way she had once sounded when she talked to me. She was typing while she talked, clearly mailing something off. When she finished, she looked at me.

  “Can I have a word?” I asked quietly.

  She shook her head, pointing at the phone. “Important,” she mouthed.

  I headed back to my office, feeling like the worst kind of fool.

  I had fucked everything up with my insecurity.

  I leaned on my desk and covered my face in my hands.

  I had been gutted by the threat to my business. I thought, when Synergy had tottered on the edge of a PR emergency, that nothing besides somebody dying could make me more distressed. I had, apparently, been wrong.

  This felt worse – far, far worse.

  I sat up and tried to pull myself together.

  I made myself focus on the report from my CTO. I noticed there was another new e-mail; one from Cassidy – a curt one-line with a document attachment. I knew without looking that it was the report she’d promised – the time on the mail was two-thirty, exactly when she’d said.

  I groaned aloud.

  “Mr. Stern?” Mrs. Halston called out, knocking at the door. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said gruffly. Had I been so voluble in my groans? I flushed. “Is there something you need Mrs. Halston?”

  “You have a call,” she said airily. “From Mr. Newgate.”

  I groaned again, but quieter this time. “Great,” I said nihilistically. “Put him on.”

  I did my best with the conference call, which, mercifully, was about our forecast, not the recent past. Then, at five o’ clock, I decided I was officially through.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Halston,” I called as I walked swiftly past the desk, half afraid something else would happen before I could safely leave the workplace.

  “Good evening, Mr. Stern.”

  “You as well.”

  It’s a great evening, I thought bitterly. I just had a spat with a friend, possibly messed up a project and…

  And what? And Cassidy dumped me?

  It was only when I was behind the wheel of my car, wondering what the hell had gotten into me, that the realization dawned.

  I had fallen for her, fast and hard. That was why I felt so awful.

  Gritting my teeth with pain and irritation at myself, I headed into rush hour.

  15

  Cassidy

  “Come on,” I yelled at the traffic. It was six o’ clock, and we were stuck in a traffic jam that looked like it had no chance of moving. Outside, the sun was just setting, fiery traces painting the skyline over the tall buildings.

  Scents of diesel and petrol flowed in from somewhere, even though the windows were shut. My head started to throb. Somebody honked behind me. Somebody else answered, a cascade of horns – pointless, all of them, because there was no way of any of us getting out of here now.

  I gripped my steering wheel and shouted aloud. It was one of the few good things about having my own car, wreck though it might be. At least it was a place I could shout without disturbing neighbors.

  I sniffed. My eyes were wet with tears, and I blinked. I was mad at myself for crying. It wasn’t the jam that upset me, or the noise, or even my brother. It was Adam. Which was dumb.

  “He doesn’t mean anything to you.”

  I repeated it to myself, over and again. He’s nothing. Just your brother’s annoying best friend. Why do you care what he says?

  But I did care. I always had cared. This last thought frightened me.

  How long had I cared what Adam Stern thought of me?

  “Face it. You loved him, Cassidy. You always did.” I had heard that love and hate were two sides of the same coin and it proved to be true.

  I had fancied him, certainly. From the first day Brady had him over, I had watched him with sidelong glances, sitting at the dining table while we all had milk and cookies at four p.m. That was the first time he visited our house. It must have been twenty years ago, but it felt like yesterday. I tried to recall when it was that those sideways glances, those hopeful pauses when I waited for him to see me, had turned somehow more meaningful.

  I remembered a day when I was twelve, and Adam eighteen. He was in the yard, stripped to the waist, practicing football passes with Brady. My brother was never much of an athlete, I recalled wryly, and the two of them had been laughing, joking with each other.

  “You can’t catch a ball for shit, Brady,” Adam taunted, those blue eyes cr
inkling, good-naturedly.

  “You throw like a girl,” Brady shot back, grinning.

  Adam had turned and looked at me. His blue eyes softened, and I realized that how hurt I was feeling must have showed up. He shook his head.

  “I might,” he said. “That wouldn’t be too bad, huh?”

  I stared at him, gaping, and he winked at me.

  The special glance – the way his eyes had held mine – had warmed me up from inside and the feeling stayed with me for days. I still remembered how he’d approached me afterwards, with his shirt on again, just about to leave. My brother was inside already, called in to discuss something with Mom and Dad. It was cloudy and dark out, and Adam and I had been standing by the gate. I could smell grass and rain.

  “He shouldn’t have said that,” he said. “The thing about girls, I mean. Besides, it’s not an insult.” He’d laughed and I’d looked at my socks.

  “He meant it as one,” I mumbled.

  “Cassidy,” he said. “Look at me.”

  I looked up, and found his eyes on mine again, gentle and tender.

  “Never be ashamed of being a girl,” he said. “Girls can do whatever boys can do, and more besides.”

  “They can?” I was interested. I thought he had spoken just to comfort me, but this was something interesting.

  “Sure,” he grinned. “Just wait until you’re a few years older. Then you’ll realize how dumb boys can be.”

  I’d laughed, and he’d laughed too. We’d stood together in the sudden quiet of the garden, after our laughter. I felt his eyes touch mine, like a hug.

  “I should go,” he said, stepping away from the fence, where he and I had been leaning. “Dad wants me to mow the lawn before dinner.”

  He stood in front of me, all gangling grace and downturned mouth.

  “That’s not fun,” I sympathized. “Will it take long?” I added. Desperately, for some reason I barely understood for myself, I wanted him to be there just a bit longer. I didn’t want him to go yet.

  “It sure will,” he grinned. “So, I have to go now. I’m starving, and I won’t eat dinner till it’s cut.”

  He lingered a bit longer at the gate, as if he was as reluctant to leave as I was for him to go. Then he stepped through, limbs loose, into the evening.

  I had stayed where I was, leaning on the fence, feeling as if something big had just moved, grating and grinding, in my chest.

  It felt like I had changed, or the world had changed. And nothing would be the same.

  It was, of course. I recalled how Brady and Adam had been normal the next day. They’d been laughing and teasing, disparaging each other, and me, and everyone in general like usual. I had barely seen Adam glance at me.

  The memory of that day had gotten buried, the general banter and insults traded between us covering it. But now, it took on a new light.

  “Damn it,” I whispered, sitting in rush-hour traffic, almost twenty years on. “I love him.”

  The realization was like a blow. “Shit.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling tears run down my cheeks. I had spent the night with Adam and, having done so, I had felt a wonder I would never have expected. I had loved every second of our time together.

  I swore, pressing alternately on the gas and the brake as we eased forward, inching through the traffic, which had started moving. It had meant something to me and that asshole had thrown it in my face because I wouldn’t tell him where I’d been the day before. I felt my sorrow harden into hurt. Hurt, soon, took that metamorphosis it often does, turning into rage.

  He could fuck right off for all I cared. I hoped his company tanked hard. I hoped he lost every contract he had and had to go crawling back to the old neighborhood like the failed hero he was. The depth of my anger shocked even me as the cruel thoughts spun through my brain. The truth of it was, even as angry and hurt as I felt, I couldn’t wish financial ruin on Adam. And more to that point, even if it wasn’t for him, if he had nothing, he couldn’t help Brady.

  But would Brady’s idea actually work? “It’s a stupid idea,” I said to myself.

  That was one thing I was sure of. No, there was only one way to handle the situation; we had to trust the police.

  I found myself turning toward Brady’s apartment block.

  When I got in, he was even more wired than when I’d seen him the night before.

  “I saw them,” he said.

  “What?” I gaped.

  “There was a car,” he gulped. “In the street. It was watching this place. I swear.”

  “Easy, Brady,” I soothed. “You can’t know that for sure. The stress is getting to you and your imagination is running wild.”

  “I do know!” he said, voice taut like wire. “You didn’t see them! They were there for an hour, a few!”

  “You don’t know they were watching you,” I said, feeling worried about him. The tension was getting to him and making him lose his grip on reality. “They could have been visiting someone.”

  “Maybe,” he allowed, making me feel better. “But still. They were there a heck of a long time. And I did see someone sitting in there,” he added, making my blood run cold. “I might be stressed, but I’m not going mad.”

  “I know,” I said gently, trying to soothe him. “I just think I don’t want to believe it’s happening,” I sighed.

  “I know, sis.” He rested a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve dragged you into this.”

  “Don’t be,” I said. “Brady?”

  “Yes?”

  “I was thinking about your plan.”

  “You talked to him?” he said quickly. “You managed to suggest it to Adam?”

  “I didn’t,” I said gently. “Because I don’t think it’s safe. Listen, Brady. It’s time to tell someone who can actually help us. We have to call the police.”

  “No,” he shook his head. He’d been leaning on the wall opposite me, but now he twisted away, starting to pace. He rounded on me, and I could see the tension in his eyes, about to snap. “Listen, sis. I know these people. I know them too well for comfort. And believe me, I know they have spies everywhere.”

  “Brady,” I was really worried now. “How did this happen?”

  “Oh for fuck sake,” he spat. Then he must have seen my face crumple because he stood opposite me, hands on my biceps, his eyes welling up.

  “Cassidy?” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I just…” he sniffed, and I could see he was crying in earnest. He hid his face in his hands, trying to hide it. A fine shudder ran through his body, the only sign of the tears I knew he was crying.

  “Easy, bro,” I said gently. “It’s okay. I know, whatever it was, you didn’t mean for it to happen.”

  He chuckled. “No,” he admitted. He sniffed. “I’m sorry, Cass. I guess I’m just embarrassed. It’s stupid.” He sniffed and gave a shaky attempt at a laugh.

  “It’s not stupid,” I said gently. “Nothing that’s happened is stupid. But if you tell me, maybe we’ll be able to spot something you missed. Some easier way out of this mess.”

  “There isn’t one, trust me,” he sighed. But he told me anyway.

  “I’ve always liked to gamble. You know that. From when I was a kid, I’ve been betting on when the mailman would visit, which car would drive faster, who would win the football games.” He chuckled. “And, well, it’s something I got into at casinos, with money involved. I started out just taking ten, twenty dollars in with me. Doing the small stuff. Then,” he shook his head. “I started getting carried away.”

  He told me how he’d gotten into debt – first on his credit card, then to banks and friends, who’d loaned him cash. He had got into more debt, until there didn’t seem any way of paying it. Then, suddenly out of the blue, he’d got talking with a guy. The guy had promised him a ridiculous amount of money if he’d do one thing for them.

  “He knew I was an investor. So he asked me to get actual clients to invest in a scheme – somet
hing about a casino. Then a hotel. There would be real money made back by the investors from somewhere, so I did it. He paid me. It was more than I made in a month – way more. I needed the money, so I took it.”

  He stopped talking, taking a deep breath. I paused, waiting for him to say more.

  “You must be pretty ashamed of me, huh?” he asked, sounding sad.

  “I’m not,” I said gently. “But why didn’t you tell me?”

  He smiled, sheepishly. “I guess I didn’t want to worry you. You had things in your own life to worry about. Besides, how could I tell you that your big brother was a gambling addict?”

  “I wish you’d told me,” I said softly. “We could have figured something out before it got this far.” I didn’t know what, exactly, but maybe we could have. “I never had anything more important than you are going on in my life.”

  “Really?” he looked at me, his eyes hopeful.

  “Really,” I said.

  He smiled. I closed my eyes, feeling guilty. How many times had I blown up at Brady about tiny things? How many times had I said I didn’t have time to listen to his problems?

  How drastic does something have to get, before we remember that nothing is more important than someone we love?

  I swallowed hard. “Next time, for the record, know that I love you,” I said softly. My throat was too tight for words. It hurt.

  He looked at me and his eyes, which had been dry, welled with tears again.

  “Cassidy,” he said softly. “I love you, too.”

  We embraced.

  After a moment, we pulled apart, grinning. I ruffled his hair. He playfully jostled me.

  “Next time, we’ll both remember,” I said firmly. “But now, let’s put our heads together and figure out what we’re doing to get you out of this situation.”

  We sat, side by side, on the floor. The day had turned to evening, the blinds still down in the sitting room. It was dark and quiet. I could hear my brother’s breath.