Burned: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance (Lords of the City Book 3)

by Alice Ward

  “We have to in a place like this. Everyone is trying to steal our research.” He handed me a tablet with a contract on it. “Sign at the bottom with your name and fingerprint.”

  “What is it?”

  “A non-disclosure agreement. As you’re walking through the halls on your way to the interview, you may see things that the world isn’t ready for. This contract says you agree to keep everything you see confidential, from the toilet paper rolls in the bathroom to the monster robots in the basement.” He laughed, but I wasn’t sure he was joking.

  Quickly, I flicked through the contract. A non-disclosure agreement was pretty common in business, so I didn’t pay much attention to the jargon as I scanned through it. “Anything else?” I asked as I handed the tablet backed to him, signed and sealed.

  “Just hold out your arm and roll up your sleeve.”

  I did, expecting him to wrap some sort of security bracelet on me, but instead he held a pen-like object against my forearm. Before I could protest, my skin was pinched. “What was that?” I demanded, jerking my arm away.

  “A microchip.”

  “What?” I rubbed my arm, irritated. “I didn’t give you permission to microchip me.”

  “You did. In the contract you just signed. Don’t worry, doll. There’s no side effects, and it can easily be removed when you leave the company. Mr. Stafford insists on it. He likes to be in control. He doesn’t like people wandering the halls of his company who can’t be tracked, possibly lurking where they shouldn’t be. It also expedites the security process. With that microchip, you have access to the elevators. They won’t move unless everyone inside has one.”

  I’d read about Mr. Stafford, the man who had founded the company. He was said to be highly efficient, which I took as code for being a tyrant. I didn’t know what he looked like, but I imagined him to be an intolerant devil who made everyone beneath him dance.

  “What happens if someone refuses?”

  “They’re not allowed in.”

  The microchip made me itch with indignation. I wanted to remove it and march out, but I really needed the job, even if it meant becoming one of Mr. Stafford’s lab rats. “Fine. I’ll play. What do I do now? Do you need a DNA sample or something? Maybe a blood sacrifice?”

  Old Ben chuckled. “I like you, doll. You’ve got pluck.” He minimized my information from the screen. “You’re all set. The elevator will take you to the top floor.”

  “What’s on the top floor?”

  “The gatekeeper. You’ll do fine. I’ve only seen a few people leave crying. Just follow procedure, and you’ll be okay.”

  “Sounds like fun,” I muttered and headed for the elevators, still uneasy with the idea of a microchip in my arm.

  There were no buttons in the elevator. For a moment, I felt the same panic my grandma had when I’d handed her a smartphone for the first time, but thankfully a small huddle of scientists slipped in with me. “Fifth floor,” one of them said, causing the elevator to move.

  I waited until they got off before I meekly uttered, “Top floor.”

  Purple lasers suddenly streamed across the elevator and scanned me as if I were a walking barcode. “Access granted,” the voice of the digital assistant called out, and the elevator lurched upward.

  This thing better not have X-ray vision, I thought, distracting myself from the nerves that made my hands shake. Only those in power occupied the top floors of Chicago’s skyscrapers. It was the same in every city, every empire. Whoever this gatekeeper was, they far outranked me.

  When the elevator doors opened, I was startled by a redheaded young man who stood directly in front of me, so close I could count the freckles across his nose. Finely threaded and creaseless, he was dressed in a black tuxedo and fancy white dress shirt.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Clare,” he said, standing with a confidence that surpassed his years. “Welcome to Stafford Scientific. I’m Peter, the butler. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room.”

  “My room?”

  “Where you can prepare for your interview.”

  “Of course,” I responded, trying to sound as if I was accustomed to everything unusual about this place.

  Colossal vault-like doors lined the hall Peter led me down, as if they held giants within. There were no windows in the hall, or people for that matter, but there was wealth, seen in the Italian marble floors and walls. It was stark, like an abandoned hospital, but its minimalism was what made it striking.

  “How old are you?” I asked Peter, whose red hair was like a flame against the white. His face had the roundness of a boy still in high school, but he carried himself with a prestige I had never achieved.

  “Eighteen,” he answered. “I graduated last year.”

  “What high school?”

  He slowed his pace so that we walked side-by-side. “Not high school. College. I’m in grad school now, working on a PhD.”

  I was impressed. “So you’re like a boy genius. Are you the gatekeeper? Will you be interviewing me?” I didn’t mind working for someone so young. He was obviously well connected if he was eighteen and working on the top floor.

  “You flatter me. No, I won’t be interviewing you. I’m just an intern. My job is to greet people, not hire them.”

  “Why?” I probed. “You’re obviously a smart kid. Shouldn’t you be in a position worthier of your education? Not playing butler.”

  He stopped outside a door and ran his arm across a scanner, unlocking it. How he distinguished it from the other doors was a mystery. They were all identical. No inscriptions set one door apart from another.

  “At Stafford Scientific, everyone starts at the bottom,” Peter explained. “Mr. Stafford believes it builds loyalty.” He ushered me through the door. “Please, wait here. You can help yourself to whatever you need.”

  I stood in a suite with a view of the lake. In the kitchenette, a basket full of peanuts and fruit sat on a counter over the mini-fridge, but I wasn’t hungry. My stomach ached with apprehension. Digital assistants, butlers, and personal suites — it was all over my head, making me long for the simplicity of Thailand, especially the peace of the sea.

  “Thank you,” I said to Peter. “Good thing I’m not afraid of heights,” I joked, pointing towards the window. “I don’t think the birds even fly this high.”

  “You’re perfectly safe,” he assured me before closing the door.

  The screen on the wall in front of the leather couch came to life. “Miss Clare,” the digital assistant said. “During your interview with Mr. Stafford, there are procedures you must follow. The proper way to address him is ‘sir’…”

  “Hang on a minute,” I interrupted, my heart pounding. “I’m being interviewed by Mr. Stafford? He’s the gatekeeper?”

  “Yes. Mr. Stafford will be interviewing you today. I do not understand your gatekeeper reference, but this is his company, so he has the ultimate say on who is allowed to work here. When you stand before him, please address him as ‘sir.’ Are you wearing perfume?”

  “No,” I answered distantly. My hands were sweaty, and my mind raced. I hadn’t prepared for this. I thought I’d be meeting someone from Human Resources, not the lord of the castle. It didn’t make sense.

  “That is fortunate. He does not like perfume. If you are wearing any, I kindly ask that you use the toiletries in the bathroom to wash it off.” She continued to list how I was to behave around Mr. Stafford, but I barely listened. Instead, I was thinking of how I could present my qualifications without sounding like a newbie scientist, inexperienced and naïve.

  “Miss Clare,” Peter said from the door, joining me once again. “You okay?”

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Would you like me to call the medic?” He seemed genuinely concerned.

  “No. It’s just nerves.”

  “I understand. Mr. Stafford is intense. And strict. But he’s not cruel. There’s nothing to worry about. The interview will be quick. Mine was, at
least.”

  “You interviewed with him too?”

  “Everyone does. He has the final word on every new hire and every new promotion, no matter how small or big the position is.”

  It made me feel better. I was still nervous, but I was no longer in danger of a heart attack.

  “Mr. Stafford is ready,” the digital assistant informed us. “Good luck, Miss Clare. And please, mind the procedures.”

  “I don’t remember half of what she said,” I admitted to Peter as we left the suite and continued down the hall, closer to the devil himself.

  “The main thing is to call him ‘sir.’ You’ll learn the rest along the way.”

  “If I’m hired,” I stipulated.

  We stopped at a door at the end of the hall that differed from the rest, breaking the austerity of the floor. It was sheathed in what I was certain was solid gold, giving it superiority over the rest.

  “I have Miss Clare for you,” Peter announced, speaking into a device tied around his wrist like a watch.

  “Only Mr. Stafford can open the door,” he explained to me. “When he does, go on in. I’ll wait for you out here.”

  Slowly, the door slid open, and I walked in, ready to bear the whip.

  Mr. Stafford’s office was warmer than the hall. The floors were comprised of the same marble that decorated most of the building, but the furnishings were made of a rich walnut wood that was cordial and welcoming. There was no desk, just couches and a wall full of screens. It was impressive but not as impressive as the man who stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows that oversaw the city and the ports that bordered the lake.

  Dressed in a sharp suit tailored to hug the firm lines of his tall, ripped body, Mr. Stafford faced away from me, but the richness of his sandy blond hair and the bulk of his tanned neck was familiar. When he turned around, confronting me with his bright green eyes, green like the jungle, I managed to keep my composure.

  “Corey?” I asked uncertainly.

  No, not Corey. The man was identical to Corey in appearance, but not in the way he carried himself. Corey was reckless. There was nothing reckless about Mr. Stafford. If Corey was a wildfire, Mr. Stafford was the frost that tamed the flame. He was ice. Completely calm. Completely calculating. Completely in charge.

  TO BE CONTINUED...

  I hope you enjoyed your sneak peek of Torn (Lords of the City). Torn (Lords of the City) is now LIVE on Amazon and you can read the full standalone novel HERE!

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  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Thank you for reading Burned (Lords of the City). I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, may I ask you to please write a review HERE? It would mean the world to me. Reviews are very important and allow me to keep writing the books that you love to read!

  In fact, if you liked this book you can also check out all of my other books HERE.

  I’d also like to invite you to connect with me on all my social media channels. I love hearing from my readers and sharing my thoughts and writing progress.

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  Thank you for allowing me to keep doing what I love!

  Alice Ward

  MORE BY ALICE WARD

  Standalone Novels

  Blitzed by the Billionaire

  Recipe for Lust

  Unbridled Love

  Complete Box Sets

  Bad Boys: A 16 Book Collection of Sexy Badasses, Broken Billionaires, and Hot Alphas

  Love All Out - The Complete Series

  Reckless The Complete Series

  Sexy Bastards: A Collection of Hot Alpha, Stepbrother & Billionaire Romance Stories

  Stagestruck The Complete Series

  Taming the Billionaire The Complete Series

  The Billionaire Prisoner The Complete Series

  The Bluegrass Billionaire Trilogy

  Unraveling the Billionaire The Complete Series

  Beasts of Baseball Series

  Rookie Mistake (The Beasts of Baseball - Book One)

  Ace's Wild (The Beasts of Baseball - Book Two)

  Lords of the City Series

  Torn (Lords of the City)

  Secrets (Lords of the City)

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Alice Ward is the bestselling author of dozens of hot and steamy contemporary romances. She’s an amazingly prolific writer, releasing a new book almost every single month. Her books are widely read, especially by women and any other lovers of the romance genre. My Stepbrother, My Lover, was her first smash hit.

  Alice has been in love with love since she was a little girl. She had quite the collection of Barbie dolls growing up and spent much of her playtime crafting the perfect Barbie wedding day (and when she wasn’t doing that, she was working on attempting the perfect cartwheel).

  When Alice outgrew Barbie dolls, she began to write her thoughts down in her diary. This was how she discovered that she had a knack for telling romantic stories. Her first fans were her close girlfriends, and her stories were a hit among them. They, along with her family, enthusiastically encouraged her love for writing.

  Alice now lives in Miami with her wonderful, hunky husband. The beach is her all-time favorite place to relax with her laptop and write. When she needs a break from writing (and when no one's looking) she loves thumbing through celebrity gossip magazines. It’s her guilty pleasure. She also might or might not have a thing for Gerard Butler (it’s the accent).

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  COPYRIGHT AND DISCLAIMER

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 Alice Ward

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.