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

by Alexa Davis

  “We’ve got to go,” I tell her.

  Ellie leans back, saying, “Where are we going?”

  “How drunk are you?” I ask.

  “I only had a couple of drinks, but ever since I got in this hot tub, woo!” she says, wiping her brow.

  Thirty people echo, “Woo!”

  “Come on,” I tell her. “It’s thinning your blood and making you loopy.”

  “I know,” she says. “It’s kind of fun.”

  “No,” I tell her. “I’m not going to stand here and argue with you.”

  “Why do you think I told everyone to come back in the pool?” she asks.

  Ever since she came back, I don’t know if it was Amelie, or exactly what it was, but Ellie’s starting to lose herself the same way nearly everyone I’ve ever met who came into this lifestyle has. I can’t let that happen.

  I’m not getting through to her this way, though, and I need to make sure I can get everyone out of here without flipping my lid. Without a word, I start back around toward the back door and inside the house.

  Making my way through the party toward the kitchen, I’m bombarded by three separate senators, each a little too inebriated for distinguished conversation. I politely, then impolitely, push my way past.

  As usual, nobody’s in the kitchen, because nobody wants to risk having to clean anything, but when I hold my hand above the stove, I can feel the heat rising from it. There’s a bottle of Sambuca on the counter and I ever so clumsily tip it over onto the still-hot burners.

  By the time I’m on my way out and back to dodging politicians, smoke is starting to creep out of the kitchen. It’s not long before someone yells, “Fire!” and everyone’s running for the doors, though not in every case the nearest ones.

  As I come onto the deck, the people outside start to catch word. Before I’m to the side, everyone but Ellie, nude or not, is running in some crooked direction away from the house. Finally rounding the corner I see Ellie putting her clothes on.

  “What’s going on?” she asks. “I heard something about a fire?”

  “There’s a jet that drops flame-retardant on the stove whenever the alarm in the kitchen goes off, and it extinguishes everything,” he says. “We were going to release it next year, but we never quite got the cleanup part right.”

  “What?” she asks.

  I bend down and hand Ellie her shirt. I tell her, “We need to talk.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mulholland

  Ellie

  It’s been three days since I’ve been back home. By home, I mean home, home.

  After that party, Nick and I had a talk. I dare say it didn’t go quite the way either of us wanted it to. He says I’m changing, that I need some time away from all the distractions of New York.

  He says he’s going to join me here when he can, but we’ll see if that ever happens.

  I know I should be at the store right now, trying to hock what I have for next month’s rent, but I don’t feel much like going anywhere.

  I’ve hardly left my room, except to take care of Max and Sammie. Naomi left them with a friend of hers who does that sort of thing for a living. She takes excellent care of animals and all, but the woman can’t get it through her mind that not every animal needs a poodle cut.

  Sammie has little puffs of straight, short fur sticking up in the oddest directions while Max looks like a canine social deviant. The way Bernice lets them run around her fenced-in three-acre lot with other animals, though, the two couldn’t care less about the bad groom job.

  They’re happy, so I’ve learned to live with the occasional look from people on the street when I take Max out for a walk. Problem is, Max’s walks are the only time I’ve left the apartment since I’ve been back.

  Nick says I’m changing, that I’m losing that thing about me that he fell in love with oh, so very long ago. The thing is I know I’m starting to change. I’m getting sick of people walking over me all the time.

  How much money I have or what I do doesn’t matter. I sat down with a lot of people who will be talked about for generations, and small-town as I am, we got along just fine.

  My door opens and Naomi walks into the room.

  I sit up in bed, saying, “Where have you been?”

  “You’re not going to believe this,” she says. “When everyone ran out of the party because you were stripping or whatever—”

  “That did not happen,” I interrupt. “Along with everyone else, I removed my clothes in a very mature, even ladylike way. Besides, everyone left because of the smoke coming out of the kitchen.”

  “Whatever,” Naomi says. “Anyway, so I was looking online because I found Nick’s secret liquor cabinet. By that, I mean, it’s like bigger than this whole apartment and there’s booze—booze everywhere!”

  “What’d you steal?” I ask, lying back in bed and covering my face with my blanket.

  A moment later, Naomi’s on top of me, pulling the cover back off, saying, “I didn’t steal anything.”

  “Okay, what’d you try to steal?” I ask.

  “A bottle of Jose Davolos Cognac,” she says. “If that maid lady wanted a big payout, instead of spreading your tits all over the world, she should have just snagged a bottle of that and sold it on eBay.”

  “You tried to steal a two-million dollar bottle of cognac?” I ask.

  “Calm down, I put it back right after I took it off the shelf,” she says.

  I lean up on my elbows and ask, “And why did you do that?”

  She looks away a moment, saying, “There may have been an alarm.”

  “Okay, so why aren’t you in prison?” I ask. “You know when you’re out on bail you’re not supposed to leave the state, right?”

  “Oh stop that,” she says, slapping my arm. “Nobody’s arresting anybody. I did have to play some shadow games with that one maid, though. I think her name is Fern or something old-fashiony like that.”

  “Her name is literally Jane Doe,” I respond.

  “Whatever,” Naomi says. “The point is, she does not stop looking. After a while, I started to get hungry, though, so I was eating some crackers and drinking some water—”

  “What were you really having?” I interrupt.

  “Okay, the crackers were imported and I may have slathered them with caviar, but the water was just water,” she says.

  “You’re a sterling example of knowing proper boundaries,” I respond.

  “I know right,” she says. It takes her this long before she’s looking down at me, saying, “Are you all right?”

  “I think it’s over,” I tell her. “That party—I don’t even know if that’s what did it. Ever since I got back there, I just feel like I can’t do anything right.”

  “It’s not over,” she says. With a laugh, she adds, “You were pretty wasted, though. I almost took some pictures to show you, but I thought that might be a bad idea after the other thing.”

  “How bad was I?” I ask.

  Naomi returns, “You don’t remember?”

  “I think I remember most everything,” I answer. “Honest opinion: was I or was I not the most embarrassing person you’ve ever seen at a party.”

  “No,” she says. “But I’ve been to a lot more parties than you.”

  She always has to have the upper hand somewhere.

  “It’s not on the news or anything, is it?” I ask. “I haven’t exactly been watching a lot of television the last while.”

  “You’re fine. Nobody snitched,” Naomi says. “I kind of do think more people could have seen your naked belly flop into the hot tub, though. That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.” She starts laughing and she grabs herself between the legs with both hands, saying, “Ow, my vag!”

  I was hoping it hadn’t been that noticeable. At the time, everyone was kind enough to pretend it hadn’t happened. I guess I got into a false comfort zone.

  “You’re not telling me something,” I say. “I said it was probably over, you
said it’s not. What don’t I know?”

  Naomi giggles, “Well, for one thing, you kind of need to turn your hips before you hit the water, otherwise you’re going to get smacked right in the—”

  “Not what I’m talking about,” I interrupt.

  “Oh yeah, right,” she says. “So, I was going through some of Nick’s stuff for perfectly valid purposes and I came across something.”

  “Did you want to tell me what it was, or …”

  “He’s not breaking up with you,” she says.

  “Then why would he send me home?” I ask. “If he’s so gaga over me, why am I lying in my apartment in Mulholland while my annoying kleptomaniac sister keeps clutching herself randomly, mouthing that stupid word.”

  “You’re the one that said it,” she says.

  I snap back, “Well, it hurt.”

  Finally, I’m able to let out at least a little laugh.

  Naomi climbs on top of me and starts tapping my forehead. “You’re not listening to me,” she says. I’d try to fight her off, but she’s already kneeling on my arms.

  “Okay,” I say, thrashing my head and trying to avoid those bony fingers. “What were you going to tell me?”

  “I can’t tell you now,” she says. “The moment’s passed. It was supposed to be this glorious thing and now you’ve ruined it by making me discipline you.”

  “Just get off of me!” I grunt as I manage to roll my bodyweight enough that Naomi loses her balance and falls onto the bed next to me.

  “Now what?” I ask.

  “Oh, poor Max,” she says. “He kind of looks like a posh lion, don’t you think?”

  I reach over and twist Naomi’s ear, saying, “What was it you wanted to tell me so bad?”

  “Ow!” she says, swatting at my hand, but only succeeding in making it worse. “Okay, okay,” she says. “Let go and I’ll tell you.”

  “I fell for that too many times when I was six,” I tell her. She’s so focused on protecting that ear, she leaves the other one wide open, so with my free hand, I latch onto that one.

  “Fine!” she shouts. “It’s a ring!”

  I release my sister from my kung-fu grip. “What?”

  “Ellie,” she says, rubbing both her ears, “he bought you a ring.”

  “Oh shut up,” I say and smack one of her hands covering an ear.

  She pulls the hand away from her ear sharply and she’s moving her jaw around, saying, “That was horrible. Don’t do that to anyone ever.”

  “Maybe he had thoughts, but you weren’t there for the last conversation,” I tell her.

  “Well, then tell me about it,” she says. “Enlighten me.”

  I wince. “I kind of only remember bits and pieces,” I admit. “That hot tub after the liquor was a bad idea.”

  “Hey, at least you didn’t pee in there,” she says.

  “That’s true,” I agree. “What I do remember, though, it wasn’t the kind of conversation you have when you’re about to pop the question.”

  “Say whatever you want,” she says, resting her head on her hand. “He got you a ring.”

  “Are you doing that thing where you lie to me just to see if I can tell?” I ask. “This really isn’t the time or the topic—”

  “Yeah,” she says, “gotta level with you. I would have taken that course and everything, but then I realized I didn’t want to after all, so I just watched a few episodes of the show they made about it.”

  “So you’re an admitted liar telling me to trust you?” I ask.

  She jabs me in the ribs just to show me she can and says, “Don’t believe me then. The thing was freaking huge, though. You should have seen it.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Reality

  Nick

  The board room is empty, but it won’t be for long. I’ve called a meeting and we’re going to discuss the terms of my resignation as CEO of Stingray.

  There just isn’t a point anymore. I’ve tried to change directions, tried announcing one of the more notable things we were saving for next spring—a cellphone that builds up a small backup charge with every step a person takes, rewarding them with extra off-the-charger time for physical activity—but everyone hailed it for exactly what it was: the last desperate attempt of a man who can’t let go.

  Even if I could keep my job, the company’s not pulling out of this nosedive without something drastic. Maybe this will be seen as just another desperate attempt, maybe not. All I know is I’m not willing to see what feels like the only thing I have left go up because I’m not willing to give up control of it.

  I’m going to be one of those guys all the late night guys talk about for a while, but lately, what else is new?

  The door opens and the board starts filing in, one by one. I knew they were expecting this meeting sooner or later, but they could have done a better job hiding the fact.

  “Come in and have a seat,” I tell them. “There’s only one item on the agenda, and I think we all know what it is.”

  “We’ve done some new math,” Reeves says. “I think we can nearly double your legacy fee if you’re willing to step down now.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I say, raising a hand. “We’re doing bad enough without me grabbing a huge payout on my way out the door. I want two things and two things only,” I say.

  “All right,” Reeves says. “We’re listening.”

  “First,” I start, “I’ll transfer my stock in the company over to whomever replaces me, but I keep all my private holdings. I won’t screw the workers the way you’re going to, but I’m not going to be left humiliated and destitute.”

  “What else?” Reeves asks, scratching his red chin in anticipation.

  “Second, I know I can’t convince you not to move the company,” I say, “but we’re going to do right by all our employees. Everyone gets a fair severance and a recommendation.”

  “Define ‘fair,’” Reeves says.

  “They keep their benefits for one year after they’re laid off or until they find another job, and they get no less than sixty-percent of what they would have made over the same period,” I answer.

  “That’s going to cost a lot of money we frankly can’t throw around right now,” Reeves says. “I don’t know if we can do that and keep the company afloat. After the expense of that building in Mulholland that’s never going to get used. You left us with a state-of-the-art office building in a place nobody wants to go.”

  “You have my terms,” I say. “Take it or leave it, but I’m warning you: You leave it, and you’re going to spend the last days of this company trying to pry me out of my office because I will not leave my people with nothing. And make no mistake, they are my people. Either you meet my terms, or I’ll make sure each one of you goes down just as hard as I do.”

  “Well,” Reeves says, almost tripping over himself sitting down, “I’m sure we can figure out something, but we’ll need to look into the numbers.”

  “I had accounting look into it,” I tell him. “Malcolm will make sure you all get a copy of the full report. You’re right, Reeves, it is going to be expensive, but if we’re going to get through this with any sort of marketability—screw that,” I say. “It’s the right thing to do, and you all know it.”

  “And will you be bankrolling any of this personally?” Verne, the smug do-nothing asks.

  “We’ll talk about it if it comes to that,” I say, “but I’ve seen the numbers and it is doable.”

  Reeves starts, “Are you saying you’re okay with the company moving to—”

  “I’m not okay with it and I never will be,” I say. “But I’m not a fool. For a while, it looked like the company was going to rebound, but I’ve learned enough to know when something’s not working.”

  The board talks amongst themselves and I just zone out. It’s a yes or no proposition, but they’re going to say yes. I’m giving them more than they wanted.

  In a minute, one of them is going to figure out they can pay the worker
’s pensions from the legacy money I won’t be taking and they’re going to run out of reasons to debate.

  I had Marly and Malcolm both look into it. These eight who’ve been bemoaning the relatively insignificant cost of the headquarters in Mulholland were going to send me away with more money than I could ever spend—and I’ve developed some expensive tastes. A few years ago, I even had a satellite put into orbit so I’d have something interesting to look at when I’m in the bathroom.

  Why? Because I could.

  The board finally comes around to the right conclusion and Reeves tells me, “We’ll have to do some more checking, but what you’re proposing should be doable.”

  “Great,” I say. “I already have the paperwork prepared.” I press the intercom button just below the table.

  “Yes, Mr. Scipio?” Rochelle, the closest assistant I have to the board room, responds through the speaker.

  I say, “Would you send Marly in, please?”

  “Um, she says she wants to talk to you before she takes anything anywhere,” Rochelle says.

  “I’m on my way,” I say and stand. “Well, gentleman, it looks like I’ll be bringing in the contract myself, just as soon as I fire someone. I’d make your move on CEO pretty quick and make it good,” I tell the board. “You pick the wrong kind of evil to replace me and you’ll lose investors than you would with me still at the helm.”

  I walk down the hall to Rochelle’s office. Marly is waiting outside and she’s reading through the papers.

  “You’re fired,” I tell her.

  “Yeah,” she says, “you tell me that so often, I just stopped believing it. Have you read these?”

  “I wrote them,” I say. “Well, I had Malcolm help with the legalese, but yes, I’ve read them.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” she asks. “You’re just going to give up after all this? Tell me this doesn’t have anything to do with that woman.”

  “It has to do with the fact that I can’t save this company any more than I can save my own job,” I tell her. “They’re going to take it from me one way or another. At least this way, I get a chance to soften the blow a little.”