Sparkling Passion: An Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Bella Forro

  “I’m fairly certain men with fiancées do not find themselves in need of girlfriends.”

  He glowered across the table at me. “Perhaps you’ve missed the latest tabloid trash this week, but Amy and I have called it off. Thank God,” I thought I heard him mutter at the end.

  “That’s unfortunate for you,” I heard myself snap, and even I was surprised by my gusto. After all, this wasn’t just some everyday Joe. This was Mark Pierce. And he was also, indirectly, my boss. “But that’s not my problem. If you need a girlfriend, go out there and get one. I’m sure there are tons of pretty things who would line up to jump in your bed. And if you can’t find one, there’s always an escort.”

  I stood up abruptly. “But, unless you have an actual business proposition for me, I’m pretty sure we’re done here.”

  “Please, Victoria,” he said, standing up as well, reaching across the table to still my hand with his own as I was gathering up my papers once more. He was tipped forward, so close I could see the flecks of color in his dark eyes. “Like I said, I admire your confidence, your strategizing, the way you’ve handled your department here.”

  “And I appreciate that, but none of that makes me a girlfriend for hire.”

  “I am happy to provide an additional bonus to compensate you for the inconvenience.”

  “Christ,” I heard myself mutter. “I’m not a prostitute.”

  He raised his hands, like I was suggesting something inappropriate. “Please, there would be no sexual expectation at all. I’m looking for someone I can hold a conversation with, who I can bring around for my father’s sake. He’s received a terminal diagnosis and is demanding I find a partner before he dies. Now, he’s set on me making amends with Amy, but that’s just not in the cards. A year, tops, more likely a few months, and I will handsomely provide for you in whatever way you see fit.”

  I bit down on my lip. It wasn’t fair to toss a dying parent into the mix. Not to mention, the kind of money he was capable of tossing my way would be hugely beneficial to me. And the networking I would be able to achieve on his arm could open dozens of doors for me.

  Maybe he was right. Maybe this was a business proposition after all.

  “A year is a pretty significant portion of my life, Mr. Pierce. Now, you’ve already acknowledged what I do for your company — running the sales department and paid like an underling. What sort of compensation did you have in mind?”

  Something sparked in his eyes, and he was looking at me like a predator close on the heels of its prey, like he saw that I was moments away from agreeing to his preposterous proposition.

  And I was.

  “Ten thousand.”

  I made myself lean back in my chair, crafted my best detached expression. “Please, now. We both know the net value of your conglomerates. I watch the stock as much as the next person does. Don’t think you can fleece me on this one just because I’m a woman. I do this for a living.”

  He smiled, a genuine smile, and I was almost taken aback by how good looking he was.

  “Feisty. I knew you were the one.”

  I knew he was saying something else entirely, but hearing those words on his lips was enough to get my heart pounding again.

  “It’s not about the money, however. I’ve put years of my life into this place. I’ve helped make it what it is. And I can’t stand the thought of watching all of that disappear. However,” one eyebrow raised up and he gave me the slightest nod. “I concede to your point and raise the proposal. One year of your time. Fifty thousand dollars.”

  Now my heart was pounding for a different reason. That kind of money would put me in the kind of position I wanted to be in. Eat a chunk of student loans. Maybe get me out of an apartment and into a house.

  “Mr. Pierce,” I said, in my most prim voice, “I do believe you have a deal. One year of my time.” I reached out my hand to him and he took mine in his.

  “Wonderful, Ms. Watts.”

  “I suppose you might as well get used to calling me Victoria.”

  “Victoria,” he all but purred, and I tried not to be distracted by his voice, tried not to read sex into it. “I will send you a document with all the pertinent details of our relationship — facts, history…everything that will make our relationship real. I’ll expect you to memorize it all. My father’s health may be failing, but his mind is as sharp as ever, and he will notice any discrepancy between the truth and what you give in response.”

  I stood from the table. “Mr. Pierce-“

  “Mark,” he was quick to correct.

  “For fifty thousand dollars I will memorize anything you throw at me. Front cover to back.

  Chapter 6

  Victoria

  True to his word, I had that file in my inbox by lunch time.

  I was in my little cubicle, and it didn’t escape my notice that he had emailed me at my personal address — not my work address. So much for the anonymity tapiocagrl7 was supposed to provide me with.

  That would be just like a man like Mark Pierce. To go out of his way to prove that he had access to things I hadn’t given him. Asshole.

  Let the year begin.

  I pulled open the file and hit print, grateful for the little printer I had stashed under my desk. No need to expose the whole floor to his life story. And at thirty pages, it was quite the history.

  Thirty pages of facts. And not the kind that were easy to memorize, like where he’d gone to college and what color his eyes were. They were facts about recent acquisitions, which car he’d driven the previous year, which events he’d attended as a guest speaker, which he’d turned down.

  I was already thinking maybe this whole thing had been a mistake. Maybe fifty thousand wasn’t enough for the kind of thing he had in mind.

  And then I caught his little note at the bottom. Not only was he expecting me to meet him for dinner on Saturday night — not the Sunday brunch he’d mentioned earlier — but I was also expected to provide him with a similar document. A document, apparently that was going to encapsulate my entire life story.

  I couldn’t stop myself from shooting an email right back to him.

  Mark,

  This doesn’t appear as discussed. I believed we were to meet Sunday only for brunch with your father. I am not sure I can accommodate my schedule for a Saturday appointment with you as well.

  I believe you have access to my dossier — should you need any pertinent information in addition to my personal email account, you may find it there.

  Victoria

  He wasted no time in responding to me, and within a few moments, the little chime of a new arrival sounded.

  Victoria,

  Per our discussion, I have you on retainer for one year at the flat rate we agreed upon. Please consider this Saturday evening appointment a working dinner — we will both need to go over the provided information so we are better prepared for Sunday’s brunch. It is better to be safe than sorry.

  If you feel this additional meeting is outside of the realm of expected attendance, please let me know and we will work out a compensation plan that works for you.

  Mark

  I had some choice words for him and none of them were flattering. Instead I wrote back

  Mark,

  It is certainly outside the realm of expected attendance. While I was aware public appearances and ongoing appearances with your father would be required, we did not discuss personal dates.

  Victoria

  I knew it would be best to pick up the phone and have a civilized conversation like normal people, but I was also concerned I might say something I would regret.

  Victoria,

  I promise this is not a date. Working dinner only. Strictly business. I do tend to prefer my women interested in seeing me, after all. Sorry to disappoint.

  Mark

  Very funny. Making me out to be the delusional one here, like everything about this was completely normal from his perspective.

  Fine.

  I snipped, but
I was okay with that. I’d promised him a year of my time, not a year of my best behavior.

  Where should we meet? What time?

  V.

  I waited, impatiently, for his response, but once again he was quick to respond.

  And I realized suddenly he must be sitting there, staring at his computer screen, just like I was staring at mine, waiting for that next new piece of mail to arrive.

  V.,

  Sebastian’s. Seven p.m.

  M.

  I almost had to stand up from my desk and walk away. Sebastian’s was the kind of place you almost exclusively took dates. Hell, I think a huge percentage of the couples eating there were actually getting engaged there.

  That definitely sounds like a date.

  This time I didn’t even bother pretending I cared with a signature.

  It most definitely is not a date.

  He returned, and I noticed he skipped the formalities as well.

  I will plan on meeting you there. Would you prefer if I deducted the cost of your meal from your wage?

  I seethed. So now he was inviting me to eat with him at a restaurant I would never waste my hard earned money at, and then suggesting I have the desire to pay for it myself — unbelievable.

  I most certainly would not.

  It was only a moment before I got his reply.

  I will see you there at seven then; we’ll consider it a business expense.

  I guess that meant the conversation was done. I scooped up the printed file he’d made for me, slid it into a binder, and started leafing through it. After all, there was no time like the present to learn the ins and outs of his entire life.

  I spent entirely too long picking out what I would wear to my non-date.

  After all, even though it was supposed to be business only, we were going to one of New York City’s hottest hot spots — a place to see and be seen and I wanted to be as prepared as possible to see my own picture on the cover of a tabloid, maybe under the headline: New Mystery Woman Sweeps Mark Pierce off His Feet.

  Or whatever catchy headline they would come up with. There was a reason I was in sales and not marketing, after all.

  In the end, I settled on a black sheath dress I hoped gave the impression that I wasn’t trying and a pair of simple black heels. I usually wore my hair up because I don’t have the time or energy to invest in it, but this time I spent some quality time with my curling iron.

  A little bit of mascara and some blush and I was ready to go.

  Usually I would have taken the subway. Public transit has always been just fine for me, but I knew it wouldn’t do to show up at Sebastian’s hoofing it from the subway station, so I hailed a cab like any good New Yorker would do, and slid into the back.

  “Sebastian’s, please,” I said, and the cabbie didn’t need more of an address. He was on his way, the meter ticking, and I was watching whatever was playing on the little television screen in the back, trying not to think about the upcoming dinner.

  I’d spent the better part of the last two days reading, rereading, and analyzing the document he’d sent me. I was as ready as I was going to get.

  The cabbie pulled up outside of the restaurant, the understated sign and cafe lights setting the scene for the most romantic date ever.

  Not that this was a date, I reminded myself. Even though Mark had suggested it, and even if he was incredibly good looking, and even if just being with him had me thinking about how much and for how long I’d been neglecting my own social life.

  I paid the cabbie, tipping him nicely, and wondered if I needed to start keeping an expense report. I guess I’d know more after this meeting. A valet pulled the door open for me and the Maître D’ met me at the reception desk.

  “I’m here with Mark Pierce,” I murmured, already wishing I could crawl under a rock.

  He gave me an appraisal. “Yes, of course. Ms. Victoria, yes? Let me show you to his table.”

  I followed along behind him to a table tucked in the back of the room. I tried not to notice the candles on the table or how handsome Mark looked in his custom suit and silk tie.

  Business meeting attire, I suppose.

  “Victoria,” he greeted, giving me a smile, and I was thankful he didn’t stand and press a kiss to my cheek, or lean across the table and take my hand awkwardly in greeting.

  “Mark,” I returned, allowing the Maître D’ to scoot the chair closer to the table before I took my seat.

  I could see he was studying me, and I tried not to let it distract me.

  “You look lovely this evening. As usual, I’m sure.”

  I gave him my own little smile and leaned forward to him, like I was going to return his compliment with a little flirty banter of my own. “You’ll recall this is strictly a business engagement,” I reminded him, instead.

  I was rewarded with a full smile. “Of course, of course,” he said. “Please forget I mentioned your undeniable beauty and instead said, let’s get straight to business.”

  “Perfect,” I said, smoothing the cloth napkin over my lap.

  “How did you find the document I sent?”

  “I found it to be quite thorough.”

  “Well, yes. Trust me when I say it needs to be that thorough. You haven’t met my father yet, but there’s a reason he’s had such a wildly successful career in a place that’s filled with extremely capable people.”

  “And did you find everything you needed in my file?” I asked in return.

  “I did. I learned quite a bit about you.”

  There was something in the way he said it that made me blush, that had me thinking maybe I would have been better off providing him with the information instead of leaving him to his own devices to procure it.

  He was revisiting my childhood pets when the waiter came by to take our order, and by the time he returned with the wine, Mark was relating a story about a college dorm party that had ended poorly for me.

  Oh, yes. He had been quite thorough with his research.

  The wine was crisp and dry and the chicken fontina was delicious. By the time the main course was over, I was having to remind myself this was a business meeting, and not a date at all.

  But that was getting harder and harder. Nothing about this dinner seemed like a business engagement.

  I turned down the prospect of dessert and let Mark pay for the meal. I was talking to him about our most recent acquisition and he was telling me about the growth plan for the upcoming fiscal year, and I realized we’d been sitting at the table just talking for nearly an hour.

  The staff was happy to have us linger.

  “Well, Victoria, I suspect we should probably get going if we want to be on our best game for brunch tomorrow.”

  I checked the time. Certainly it couldn’t have been almost ten already.

  “Oh, my,” I breathed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Please,” he said as he stood. “Let me give you a ride home. My driver is just outside.”

  I knew I should say no. I knew I shouldn’t fall into this trap of letting him close our non date with an incredibly date-like gesture.

  Especially because I was watching his mouth, that flash of white teeth when he smiled, the hard angle of his jaw, and thinking how kissable he looked in the soft light of the restaurant.

  “Oh, thank you for the offer,” I finally forced myself to say. “But I can see myself home.”

  “Please, it’s the least I can do. Since you were so willing to accommodate me for this additional meeting.”

  I could see in Mark’s wry expression that he was teasing me, that he was remembering how I had balked at the dinner plans.

  I suppose I did owe him something for that.

  “Alright,” I said, and stepped in front of him when he gestured for me to go ahead of him.

  Outside, the night was deliciously cool, the air tickling my skin, and like Mark had said, his car was outside waiting for him.

  And it wasn’t the kind of car I had ever anticipate
d riding in.

  But somehow, it didn’t surprise me that it was his regular ride.

  The driver pulled open my door first, and I slid in to the leather interior, Mark appearing from the other side.

  I didn’t have to give Mark my address. I suppose that was something else he’d already memorized.

  “So,” he began as we pulled away from the curb. “Tomorrow I will pick you up at 9:30. That will give us plenty of time to get to the Trattoria and settled before my father gets there, and if by some fluke, he arrives first, he will see us come in together.”

  “I’ll be ready,” I said.

  He reached out to put a hand on my knee, and I would have reminded him that wasn’t in our business arrangement if I hadn’t been distracted by the little thrill of pleasure that slipped through me. “You’re going to do just fine tomorrow. I have total faith in you.”

  I tried to command my heartbeat to slow down, I tried to not think about how his hand felt on my skin.

  And I was failing miserably at both.

  Before I knew it, we had arrived outside of my apartment building and the car was pulling to a stop.

  And this time instead of the driver opening my door, it was Mark who held out his hand for me to take.

  I slipped mine into his and stepped down out of the car, and he pushed the door closed behind me, walking me up the front steps of my building until we were standing on the stoop, the light above throwing shadows over us.

  “Thank you, again,” he said, leaning in toward me, and I knew that kiss I’d been dreading in the restaurant was coming.

  Only this time, I wasn’t dreading it.

  His lips pressed against my cheek and I could smell his aftershave, could feel the scrape of his shaven skin against mine.

  I inhaled deeply, and didn’t mind when he lingered there, when his hand slipped up the length of my arm, drew me closer to him.

  “Of course,” I whispered. “Thank you for dinner.”

  “Of course,” he repeated, so close to me I could see the heat in his eyes, could feel the desire burning there I was so intent on denying.