Stingray Billionaire: The Complete Series (An Alpha Billionaire Romance)

by Alexa Davis

  “Nick …”

  “What?” I snap. “This wasn’t a problem until it was made into a problem. The only thing happening now is the satisfaction of a self-fulfilling prophecy the eight of you bled throughout this company.”

  “You can’t run a business like this from a place like that,” Geraldine Peña, my CFO, chimes in.

  “Who cares where the headquarters are?” I ask. “Everyone said we were supposed to set up in Silicon Valley, but I didn’t hear too many complaints when I decided on New York.”

  “That’s not the most troubling matter,” Reeves jumps back in. “You make our investors nervous, Nick. You always have.”

  “I’ve also made our investors filthy, stinking rich,” I answer. “They’re the ones causing our stock to drop. They could turn this whole thing around by coming to their senses and remembering the same thing you should remember.”

  “What’s that, Nick?” Reeves asks.

  “They’re where they are because they trusted me. You’re here because you trusted me,” I answer. “I haven’t always been right, but I’ve always tried to do right. Every step of the way, I had people telling me it couldn’t be done or that I was going to kill the company by making this decision or that. Here I am, twenty-eight years old, still sitting at the head of one of the largest tech companies on the planet. Do you think I tripped and fell into the gig?”

  Mason Handler, my executive vice-president answers, “We know what you’ve done for the company, Nikolai. We just don’t all agree that you’re taking it in the right direction now. That’s what we’re talking about: Now. Maybe we’ll pull out of this, but the numbers keep going down. We’ve been losing since you left for that godforsaken hellhole.”

  “Maybe it’s that I don’t understand, maybe it’s that you're not clear, but I fail to see how your incendiary, though remarkably bland, quotes to the press are doing anything but making it worse,” I accuse. “I read that piece in the Times, Handler. Don’t think I’ll forget about it, either.”

  “You can sit here and try to throw the blame back on us, but the fact of the matter is it’s simply not appropriate to have a CEO more concerned with his personal life than he is with the company he runs,” Reeves says. “Not when a corporation of this size is at stake.”

  “I don’t grant your premise,” I respond. “Since day one when it was just Jacque and me sending code back and forth to each other across our dorm room, I have worked tirelessly for this company and that dedication has only grown as the business has grown.”

  “This ain’t an easy conversation for any of us,” Verne Pollock, our biggest investor and easily the most gutless person in the room, says. “We don’t want to start taking action, but the investors I represent—”

  “Oh, come off it, Verne,” I spit. “The only investor you’ve ever represented was yourself. You’re not loyal to this company any more than you’re loyal to me.”

  “That is outrageous!” Verne roars, rising to his feet. “I will not sit here and be spoken to in this way!”

  “Oh sit down,” I tell him. “You have a stroke and these seven will replace you faster than they’ll replace me.”

  “Yeah, then we can just join each other on the unemployment line, won’t we?” he asks.

  I take a breath. This approach isn’t working, and I don’t know why I ever thought it would.

  “Listen to me,” I say. “We can talk about the specifics of the relocation, but first, we’ve got to remember we’re not all in this thing together. If this company goes under, I’m sure everyone in this room will get a dozen offers before the doors close, but the company I helped build, the foundation of my entire career, is over. If you think I don’t take that seriously, you’re out of your mind.”

  Reeves starts in again, saying, “We understand the personal attachment you have to this company, Nick, but you have to understand where we’re coming from. It isn’t just another dip in stock prices, Nick. You’re Napoleon marching the company straight to Waterloo.”

  “Okay,” I say with a chuckle. “So, what are we talking here? Are you honestly going to try to have me removed?”

  Reeves says, “We don’t want to do that. At this point, the board is prepared to trust your judgment, so long as that judgment is to give up this ridiculous move to Mulholland and get this company back on track.”

  The room is quiet for a minute.

  I take a deep breath. “Give me a month,” I tell them. “If I haven’t convinced you by then this is the right move I’ll drop the whole thing.”

  “We can’t promise that,” Geraldine says. “If we continue to lose investors—”

  “A month,” I say and stand. “Until then, I don’t want to hear anything more about it.”

  They don’t agree. They don’t disagree. One way or the other, they’re going to keep pushing to remove me. They’ve smelled the blood in the water, and they’re not going to stop until I’m gone, devoured.

  I look over the eight faces that are to decide my fate once more before walking out of the room.

  Fifty-one percent. I still hold a fifty-one percent vote.

  I wish that were the end of the story, but there are ways around it. One of the quickest ways around it is to declare me incompetent, thus evaporating my say in the matter.

  I’d love to argue that an incompetent CEO could never have built something like this, not from the ground up, but that means nothing next to two consecutive quarters of negative growth.

  Even though I know Marly had more than a little to do with all this, I wish she was here to tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do now.

  * * *

  By the time I get home, I just want to give Ellie a kiss, collapse on the couch, and maybe have a long series of high-proof drinks.

  Max greets me at the door, and I give him a light pat on the head before going further into the house.

  “Nick?” Ellie calls. “Is that you?”

  “Yeah,” I holler back. “Where are ya?”

  “I’m in the kitchen,” she says. “Come in here. I want you to taste this.”

  Max accompanies me to the kitchen where I find Ellie stooping over a pot of red sauce.

  “That smells good,” I tell her. “What are you making?”

  She looks over her shoulder at me, saying, “I found a recipe for manicotti I wanted to try. Tell me what you think of the sauce.”

  She gathers a dab of the bubbling red onto the wooden ladle she’s using to stir and holds it in front of her face. Very gently, she blows on it before holding it out for me to sample.

  As she brings the spoon of the ladle closer to my mouth, I can smell the garlic and the oregano. My mouth is watering, and my lips are almost to the ladle when, somewhere behind me in the house, Naomi lets out an ear-splitting, “Woo!”

  I am now wearing Ellie’s sauce as a goatee.

  “Oh!” Ellie says with a chuckle as she reaches behind her for a paper towel.

  “Hi, Naomi,” I groan.

  The Michaels sister I don’t like comes bouncing into the room and laughs heartily as Ellie kindly dabs the sauce from my face. “Didn’t see ya there, Nicky boy,” Naomi says.

  “Eh!” Ellie interjects.

  “Oh,” Naomi says, “sorry about that. I was asking my sister earlier if you had a nickname and that kind of came up.”

  I turn my head to look at Ellie and with about ten times as much irritation in my voice as I intend, I say, “Thanks, Ellie.”

  Ellie’s eyes go wide for a second, but she lets it slide—for now, at least.

  “So, I was wondering if you could help me with something Nicky—” Naomi stops herself. “I’m sorry, it’s like someone telling you not to think of a pink bunny. No matter what you do, it’s the first thing that comes to—”

  “Can I give you a hand with that?” I ask Ellie.

  “Naomi, would you excuse us for a minute?” Ellie asks her sister.

  This isn’t going to be good.

  Naomi says, “Sur
e,” but instead of leaving the room, she just crosses her arms.

  I’m not in the mood, but I don’t want to make things worse, so I keep my quiet.

  “Nan, now,” Ellie commands and Naomi’s eyelids go wide. She leaves the room, leaving Ellie and me alone. Ellie turns back to me, asking, “What was that all about?”

  “I’m sorry,” I respond. “Things at the office are …” I trail off. “It doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “I shouldn’t have snapped at either of you the way I did. I apologize.”

  “Is everything okay?” Ellie asks.

  “I’m fine,” I answer. “I think I just need a drink.”

  Ellie nods, saying, “Yeah, I’d say so.”

  “How about some champagne? Are you in the mood?” I ask.

  “I should probably keep my head clear until I’m done mangling this recipe,” Ellie answers with a soft smile. “You go ahead, though.”

  “You sure?” I ask. “I’ve got a bottle of Dom Perignon we could—”

  “Was it the Rose Vintage?” Ellie interrupts, wincing.

  “Yeah,” I answer, looking at Ellie out of the corner of my eye. “Tell me she didn’t.”

  Ellie winces again.

  “I thought you were going to talk to her about that,” I say. “Since she’s been here, she's drunk all my expensive booze, used more than three ounces of caviar as a beauty mask, and she’s claimed the north end of the house as her own.”

  “I know,” Ellie says. “Come here. She steps closer and puts her arms around me. “I know she can be a pain sometimes, but she’s my sister,” Ellie says. “I’ll talk to her, okay?”

  “I think I have a bullhorn around here somewhere. From what I’ve seen, you’re going to need it to get through that thick head of hers,” I say.

  Oh, I was close. I was so very, very close.

  “Excuse me?” Ellie says. “I get that you had a bad day at work, and Naomi’s been a pill, but that is no reason for talking about her like that. I know she doesn’t listen, and I know that bugs the crap out of you, but could you keep the snotty comments to yourself?”

  My mouth is open to apologize, but that’s when I notice the smell.

  I say, “I’m not trying to get out of anything here, but—”

  “But what?” Ellie interrupts.

  I answer, “I think your sauce is burning.”

  Chapter Eleven

  All that Cool Air

  Ellie

  Things have been a little tense around the beach house. Nick’s behaved himself since that night in the kitchen, but Naomi’s not making it easy.

  I know she’s a lot to deal with, but Naomi’s going to be in my life for quite a while. I just hope the two of them can come to some understanding.

  As for now, Naomi’s out swimming in the surf, and I’m getting some sun on the deck. I’ve found it easier to keep the peace if I keep an eye on her.

  My phone rings and I reach over and pick it up, answering, “Hello?”

  “Hi, is this Ellie Michaels from Rory’s Treasures?” a woman’s voice returns.

  “Yes, who’s this?” I ask.

  “It’s Helen,” she says, “Helen Kramer.”

  “Oh, Helen,” I respond. “How are you doing? How’s that no-good husband of yours? Is he ready for me to come back to work yet?”

  Helen, Troy’s wife, is a lovely woman who married a terrible affliction. I feel sorry for anyone who has to encounter Troy on a regular basis, but she’s stuck with him.

  “Helen?” I ask.

  When I hear her voice again, it comes in the form of a sob. “He’s gone!” she cries. “Troy’s gone!”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “What happened?”

  She sniffs. “After you had sold everything in the store, he took off for Tahiti,” she says. “He didn’t even let me know he’d left until he called me from the plane.”

  “He just left you there?” I ask. “What a jerk!”

  “No,” she says. “No, he’s not. Ellie, Troy’s dead.”

  I sit up, my mouth open.

  “Oh my god, Helen, I’m sorry,” I say. “What happened?”

  “All I know is what I heard from the embassy,” Helen says. “He was in a small village, you know, in Tahiti, and I guess he started gambling and lost money to the wrong people. When he said he couldn’t pay them, they threw him to the pigs!”

  I don’t know if that’s a euphemism or not, but it sounds horrible, whatever happened.

  “Helen,” I start, “I don’t know what to say. I’m in shock.”

  “I’m just calling to tell you Troy left you the store,” she says. “I don’t want anything to do with that place.”

  “I don’t know why he would leave me the store and not you,” I tell her. “You said you don’t want anything to do with it, but if I were to—”

  “I don’t care what you do with it,” she says. “Sell it, run it—I don’t care. Go to the courthouse and they’ll take care of … whatever. I’m sorry,” she says, “I have to go.”

  Click.

  What the hell just happened?

  I’ve fantasized about something bad happening to Troy for a long time, but I never actually wanted him to get hurt. I can’t believe he’s gone.

  There’s no reasonable explanation I can offer for dialing Troy’s number and hitting send, but I do it regardless. When a man answers in a foreign language, I end the call.

  I’m shaking so much I drop the phone.

  When Nick comes home two hours later, I’m still sitting on the deck.

  “Hey,” he says as he comes out the French doors.

  “Hey,” I murmur.

  He comes around into my field of vision, saying, “Are you all right?”

  I give him a quick breakdown of the phone call, and I’m just staring into space. When I get to the part about the store, Nick jumps in, saying, “If you want, I can help you sell it.” He says, “I don’t know anyone in Mulholland proper, but I have a couple of friends in real estate that owe me a favor, and I bet we could get it turned around in no time.”

  “What?” I ask, looking up at Nick.

  He starts again, saying, “I was just saying—”

  “No,” I tell him. “I think I have to take it.”

  Nick takes in a deep breath of air and blows it back out again. “I know that store’s an important part of your life, but—”

  “It’s not that,” I interrupt. “I mean, it’s a little that, but maybe it’d be a good thing—not just for me, but for both of us.”

  “How so?” he asks.

  “Would you mind if we go inside?” I ask. “I think I’m starting to burn out here.”

  “Sure,” he says and helps me to my feet.

  “I don’t know,” I say as we enter the house. “I feel like you and I will be on a lot better footing if I have my own thing.”

  “You said you hated it there,” he says.

  “She doesn’t hate it there. She loves it there,” Naomi butts in from around the hall corner. “She just didn’t like the way her boss treated her.”

  “Thanks, Naomi, but I think I’ve got it covered!” I bark.

  She’s probably still there, but at least she has the sense to be quiet now.

  “You don’t have to work,” Nick tells me. “I’ll take care of you.”

  “I appreciate that,” I say and manage a smile. “I do, but all I can think is that if I just hang around here all the time while you’re off working, we’re both going to start resenting each other. I don’t want that.”

  “I don’t want that either,” Nick says, “but it doesn’t have to be that way. The only thing tying you to Mulholland was that store, and now you have a chance to go wherever you want.”

  “What about Naomi?” I ask.

  “She’s not in Mulholland, either,” he says.

  I tighten my lips. “At first, I would have agreed with you, that selling it would be the best option,” I tell him. “The more I thought about it, though, the more it bec
ame apparent that if I don’t do something, we’re never going to be on a very firm footing.”

  Come on, jackass. Notice that I’m working my life around you and just be happy I’m doing it.

  “The store’s empty, though,” he says. “I mean, I’m glad to help you out any way you need, but—”

  “You’re sweet,” I tell him, “but no. I need to do this on my own.”

  Nick sighs and then goes quiet for what feels like a long time.

  “What are you thinking about?” I ask.

  “Okay,” he says. “If this is what you need to do, I’ll support your decision. I just don’t like the idea of being away from you now that we’ve found each other a—”

  “It’ll be better in the long run,” I tell him. “I promise. Yeah, I’m going to miss you, but this doesn’t have to change our relationship.”

  “When are you going to go?” he asks.

  “I think I should probably go soon,” I tell him. “If not tonight, then definitely tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” he says. “Let me know what you want to do and we’ll get it worked out for you.”

  “Thanks, Nick,” I say, putting my arms around him and hugging him close. “I can’t tell you how much it means to have your support in this.”

  “What about …” he trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish the sentence.

  “I’m fine here,” Naomi calls from around the corner she apparently never left. “I’ll hold down the fort!”

  Nick has an expression on his face like he just dove headfirst into a vat of rotten eggs, but bless him, he doesn’t say anything.

  “Yeah, I don’t think the two of you under the same roof alone is such a good idea,” I whisper to Nick.

  “Hey, I’ve been good,” he says.

  “It’s not you I’m worried about,” I say. “We should probably schedule the flight for tonight. If we give my sister any time to plan at all, she’s going to ensconce herself in this place like an annoying caterpillar trying to become an annoying butterfly.”

  Nick smirks. “I’ll book the flight, but you’re going to have to be the one to break the news to your sister. I’m not getting anywhere near that one.”