The Magnate's Manifesto

by Jennifer Hayward

  BILLIONAIRE PLAYBOY IGNITES INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT WITH HIS MANIFESTO ON WOMEN

  Jared Stone: Visionary, rebel, the tech world’s golden boy…and now the most hated man on the planet!

  Bailey St. James: Survivor, powerful female executive, the only woman who refuses to bow down to Jared Stone…and the only woman who can save him?

  When Jared’s manifesto makes him public enemy #1 the only way out is to make Bailey an offer she can’t refuse—a very public promotion to VP! Now, with a major deal on the line and tensions rising, can it be long before Jared and Bailey move from spreadsheets to bed sheets?

  Bailey wanted to say no. She desperately wanted to throw the offer back in his face and walk out of there, dignity intact.

  But two things stopped her. Jared Stone was offering her the one thing she’d sworn she’d never stop working for until she got it. And despite everything that he was—impossible, arrogant and full of himself—he was brilliant. And everyone knew it. If she worked alongside him as his equal, she could write her ticket. Ensure she never went back to the life she’d vowed to leave behind forever.

  Survival was stronger than her pride. It always had been. And men having all the power in her world wasn’t anything unusual. She knew how to play them. How to beat them. And she could beat Jared Stone, too. She knew it.

  She stared at him. At the haughty tilt of his chin. It was almost irresistible to show him how wrong he was. About her. About all women. This would be her gift to the female race….

  “All right. On two conditions.”

  His gaze narrowed.

  “Double my salary and give me the title of CMO.”

  “We don’t have a chief marketing officer.”

  “Now we do.”

  “Fine.” His curt agreement made her eyes widen, brought her swinging back around. “You can have both.”

  She knew then that Jared Stone was in a great deal of trouble. And she was in the driver’s seat. But her euphoria didn’t last long. There was no doubt she’d just made a deal with the devil. And when you did that, you paid for it.

  All about the author…Jennifer Hayward

  JENNIFER HAYWARD has been a fan of romance and adventure since filching her sister’s Harlequin Presents novels to escape her teenage angst.

  Jennifer penned her first romance at nineteen. When it was rejected, she bristled at her mother’s suggestion that she needed more life experience. She went on to complete a journalism degree before settling into a career in public relations. Years of working alongside powerful, charismatic CEOs and traveling the world provided perfect fodder for the arrogant alpha males she loves to write.

  With a suitable amount of life experience under her belt, she sat down and conjured up the sexiest, most delicious Italian wine magnate she could imagine, had him make his biggest mistake, and gave him a wife on the run. That story, The Divorce Party, won her Harlequin’s So You Think You Can Write contest and a book contract. Turns out, Mother knew best.

  A native of Canada’s gorgeous East Coast, Jennifer now lives in Toronto with her Viking husband and their young Viking-in-training. She considers her ten-year-old-strong book club, comprised of some of the most amazing women she’s ever met, a sacrosanct date in her calendar. And someday, they will have their monthly meeting at her fantasy beach house, waves lapping at their feet, wineglasses in hand.

  You can find Jennifer on Facebook and Twitter.

  Other titles by Jennifer Hayward available in ebook:

  CHANGING CONSTANTINOU’S GAME

  THE TRUTH ABOUT DE CAMPO

  AN EXQUISITE CHALLENGE

  THE DIVORCE PARTY

  JENNIFER HAYWARD

  The Magnate’s Manifesto

  A big thanks to Rebecca Avalon of Strip and Grow Rich, the original stripper school, for taking me inside the life and mind of a dancer and helping me bring Bailey to life. I can’t thank you enough!

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EXCERPT

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE DAY THAT Jared Stone’s manifesto sparked an incident of international female outrage happened to be, unfortunately for Stone, a slow news day. By 5:00 a.m. on Thursday, when the sexy Silicon Valley billionaire was reputed to be running the trails of San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park, as he did every morning in his connected-free beginning to the day, his manifesto was dinner conversation in Moscow. In London, as chicly dressed female office workers escaped brick and steel buildings to chase down lunch, his outrageous state of the union on twenty-first-century women was on the tip of every tongue, spoken in hushed, disbelieving tones on elevator trips down to ground level.

  And in America, where the outrage was about to hit hardest, women who had spent their entire careers seeking out the C-suite only to find themselves blocked by a glass ceiling that seemed impossible to penetrate stared in disbelief at their smartphones. Maybe it was a joke, some said. Someone must have hacked into Stone’s email, said others. Doesn’t surprise me at all, interjected a final contingent, many of whom had dated Stone in an elusive quest to pin down the world’s most sought-after bachelor. He’s a cold bastard. I’m only surprised his true stripes didn’t appear sooner.

  * * *

  At her desk at 7:00 a.m. at the Stone Industries building in San Jose, Bailey St. John was oblivious to the firestorm her boss was creating. Intent on hacking her way through her own glass ceiling and armed with a steaming Americano with which to do so, she slid into her chair with as much grace as her pencil skirt would allow, harnessed a morning dose of optimism that today would be different, and flicked on her PC.

  She stared sleepily at the screen as her computer booted up. Took a sip of the strong, acrid brew that inevitably kicked her brain into working order as she clicked on her mail program. Her girlfriend Aria’s email, titled “OMG,” made her lift a recently plucked and perfected brow.

  She clicked it open. The hot sip of coffee she’d just taken lodged somewhere in her windpipe. Billionaire Playboy Ignites International Incident With His Manifesto on Women, blared the headline of the variety news site everyone in Silicon Valley frequented. Leaked Tongue-in-Cheek Manifesto to His Fellow Mates Makes Stone’s Views on Women in the Boardroom and Bedroom Blatantly Clear.

  Bailey put down her coffee with a jerky movement and clicked through to the manifesto that had already generated two million views. The Truth About Women, which apparently had never been meant for anyone other than Jared Stone’s inner circle, was now the salacious entertainment of the entire male population. As she started reading what was unmistakably her boss’s bold, eloquent tone, she nearly fell off her chair.

  Having dated and worked with a cross-section of women from around the globe, and having reached the age where I feel I can make a definitive opinion on the subject matter, I have come to a conclusion. Women lie.

  * * *

  They say they want to be equals in the boardroom, when in reality nothing has changed over the past fifty years. Despite all their pleas to the contrary, despite their outrage at the limits the “so-called” glass ceiling puts on them, they don’t really want to be hammering out a deal, and they don’t want to be orchestrating a merger. They want to be home in the house we provide, living the lifestyle to which they’ve become accustomed. They want a man who will take care of them, who gives them a hot night between the sheets and diamond jewelry at appropriate
intervals. Who will prevent them from drifting aimlessly through life without a compass…

  Drifting aimlessly through life without a compass? Bailey’s cheeks flamed. If there was any way in which her life couldn’t be described, it was that. She’d spent the last twelve years putting as much mileage between her and her depressing low-income roots as she could, doing the impossible and obtaining an MBA before working herself up the corporate ladder. First at a smaller Silicon Valley start-up, then for the last three years at Jared Stone’s industry darling of a consumer electronics company.

  And that was where her rapid progression had stopped. As director of North American sales for Stone Industries, she’d spent the last eighteen months chasing a vice president position Stone seemed determined not to give her. She’d worked harder and more impressively than any of her male colleagues, and it was generally acknowledged the VP job should have been hers. Except Jared Stone didn’t seem to think so—he’d given the job to someone else. And that hurt coming from the man she’d been dying to work for—the resident genius of Silicon Valley.

  Why didn’t he respect her as everyone else did?

  Her blood heated to a furious level; bubbled and boiled and threatened to spill over into an expression of uncontrolled rage. Now she knew why. Because Jared Stone was a male chauvinist pig. The worst of a Silicon Valley breed.

  He was…horrific.

  She forced a sip of the excessively strong java into her mouth before she lost it completely and slammed the cup back down on her desk. Flicked her gaze back to her computer screen and the “rules” on women Jared had also gifted the male population with.

  Rule Number 1—All women are crazy. And by that I mean they think in a completely foreign way from us that might as well come from another planet. You need to find the least crazy one you can live with. If you elect to settle down, which I’m not advocating, mind you.

  Rule Number 2—Every woman wants a ring on her finger and the white picket fence. No matter what she says. Not a bad thing for the state of the nuclear family or for you if you’re already on that trajectory. But for God’s sake know what you’re getting yourself into.

  Rule Number 3—Every woman wants a lion in the bedroom. She wants to be dominated. She wants you to be in complete control. She doesn’t want you to listen to her “needs.” So stop making that mistake. Be a man.

  Rule Number 4—Every woman starts the day with an agenda. A cause, an item to strike off her list, the inescapable conclusion of a campaign she’s been running. It could be a diamond ring, more of your time, your acknowledgment that you will indeed agree to meet her mother… Whatever it is, take it from me, just say yes or say goodbye. And know that saying goodbye might be a whole hell of a lot cheaper in the long run.

  Bailey stopped reading for the sake of her blood pressure. Here she’d been worrying that the personality conflict she and Jared shared, which admittedly was intense, was the problem. The thing that had been holding her back. Their desire to rip each other apart every time they stepped foot in a boardroom together was legendary within the company, but that hadn’t been it. No—in actual fact, he disrespected the entire female race.

  She’d never even had a chance.

  Three years, she fumed, scowling at her computer screen as she pulled up a blank document. Three years she’d worked for that egocentric jerk, racking up domestic sales of his wildly popular cell phones and computers… For what? It had all been a complete waste of time in a career in which the clock was ticking. A CEO by thirty-five, she’d vowed. Although that vision seemed to be fading fast….

  She pressed her lips together and started typing. To whom it may concern: I can no longer work in an organization with that pig at the helm. It goes against every guiding principle I’ve ever had. She kept going, wrote the letter without holding back, until her blood had cooled and her rage was spent. Then she did a second version she could hand in to HR.

  She wasn’t working for Jared Stone. For that beautiful, arrogant piece of work. Not one minute longer. No matter how brilliant he was.

  * * *

  Jared Stone was in a whistling kind of mood as he parked in the Stone Industries lot, collected his briefcase and made his way through the sparkling glass doors. A five-mile run through the park, a long hot shower, a power shake and a relatively smooth commute could do that for a man.

  He hummed a bad version of a song he’d just heard on the radio as he strode toward the bank of elevators that ran up the center of the elegant, architecturally brilliant building. When life was this good, when he was on top of his game, about to land the contract that would silence all his critics, cement his control of his company, he felt impermeable, impenetrable, unbeatable, as if he could leap tall buildings in a single bound, solve all the world’s problems, bring about world peace even, if given the material to work with.

  A gilded ray of brilliance for all to follow.

  He stuck his hand between the closing elevator doors and gained himself admittance on a half-filled car. Greeted the half dozen employees inside with the megawatt smile the press loved to capture and made a mental note of who was putting in the extra effort coming in early. Gerald from finance flashed him a swaggering grin as if they shared an inside joke. Jennifer Thomas, PA to one of the vice presidents, who was normally a sucker for his charm, did a double take at his friendly “good morning” and muttered something unintelligible back. The woman from legal, what was her name, turned her back on him.

  Strange.

  The weird vibe only got worse as the doors opened on the executive floors and he made his way through the still-quiet space to his office. Another PA gave him the oddest look. He looked down. Did he have power shake on the front of his shirt? Toothpaste on his face?

  Power shake stains ruled out, he frowned at his fifty-something PA, Mary, as she handed him his messages. “What is wrong with everyone today? The sun is shining, sales are up…”

  Mary blinked. “You haven’t been online, have you?”

  “You know my theory on that,” he returned patiently. “I spend the first couple hours of my day finding my center. Seven-thirty is soon enough to discover what craziness has befallen the world.”

  “Right,” she muttered. “Well, you might want to leave your Buddhist sojourn by the wayside and plug in quickly before Sam Walters arrives. He’ll be here at eleven.”

  Jared brought his brows together at the mention of the chairman of the Stone Industries board. “I have nothing scheduled with him.”

  “You do now,” she said. “Jared—I—” She set down her pen and gave him a direct look. “Your document, your manifesto, was leaked on the internet last night.”

  He felt the blood drain from his face. He’d only ever written two manifestos in his life. One when he’d started Stone Industries and put down his vision for the company, and the second, the private joke he’d shared with his closest friends last night after a particularly amusing guys’ night out on the town.

  It had not been intended for public consumption.

  From the look on Mary’s face, she was not talking about the Stone Industries manifesto.

  “What do you mean leaked?” he asked slowly.

  She cleared her throat. “The document…the whole document is all over the Net. My mother emailed it to me this morning. She asked what I was doing working for you.”

  The thought crossed his mind that this was all impossible because his buddies would never do that to him. Not over a joke intended for their eyes only…. Had someone hacked into his email?

  He looked down at the wad of messages in his hand, his chest tightening. “How bad is it?”

  Her lips pursed. “It’s everywhere.”

  Thinking he might finally have taken his penchant for stirring things up too far, he knew it for the truth when his mentor and adviser Sam Walters walked into his office three hours later, Jared’s legal and PR teams behind him. The sixty-five-year-old financial genius did not look amused.

  Jared waved them
into chairs and attempted a preemptive strike. “Sam, this is all a huge misunderstanding. We’ll put out a statement that it was a joke and it’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

  His vice president of PR, Julie Walcott, lifted a brow. “We’re at two million hits and climbing, Jared. Women are threatening to boycott our products. This is not going away.”

  He leaned back against his desk, the abdomen he’d worked to the breaking point this morning contracting at his appalling lack of judgment in ever putting those words on paper. But one thing he never did was show weakness. Particularly not now when the world wanted to eat him alive. “What do you suggest I do?” he drawled, with his usual swagger. “Beg women for their forgiveness? Get down on my knees and swear I didn’t mean it?”

  “Yes.”

  He gave her a disbelieving look. “It was a joke between friends. Addressing it gives it credence.”

  “It’s now a joke between you and the entire planet,” Julie said matter-of-factly. “Addressing it is the only thing that’s going to save you right about now.”

  The sick feeling in his stomach intensified. Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “This has legal implications, Jared. Human rights implications… And furthermore, as I don’t need to remind you, Davide Gagnon’s daughter is a charter member of a woman’s organization. She will not be amused.”

  Jared’s hands tightened around the wooden lip of his desk. He was well aware of Micheline Gagnon’s board memberships. The daughter of the CEO of Europe’s largest consumer electronics retailer, Maison Electronique—with whom Stone Industries was pursuing a groundbreaking five-year deal to expand its global presence—was an active social commentator. She would not be amused. But really…it had been a joke.

  He let out a long breath. “Tell me what we need to do.”

  “We need to issue an apology,” Julie said. “Position it as a private joke that was in bad taste. Say that it has nothing to do with your real view of women, which is actually one of the utmost respect.”