She should’ve told him sooner about Whisper Line if she’d known it would lead to something as beautiful and magical as this, holding onto each other in the bed. Loving each other.
“Cole, wait,” she said breathlessly. “There’s something else you should know.”
“I don’t have to know anything else other than how I feel about you.”
“I want to tell you.” She smiled as he stopped kissing her with no small amount of reluctance. “It’s something you’d appreciate, I think. The day I texted you back, after you—well, your friend—had sent me your picture.”
Cole frowned a little, but relaxed when she rubbed the pad of her finger between his eyebrows to smooth the wrinkle that had formed there. “Jason sent you a picture of me?”
“Yeah, a really nice one. Dress blues.”
“I won’t kick his ass as hard, then,” Cole murmured. “That’s a good picture. Made a good impression, anyway. The day you texted me. I remember. It was one of the best days of my life.”
“I texted you after the time to do so had expired.”
“What does that mean?”
“At Whisper Line, you only have a few minutes to respond before the client gets shuffled to someone else. That means other operators get a chance to make money if I squander it. But since I was studying for my finals, I was ignoring all the texts I was getting. Another hiccup in their time-off request form.”
Cole looked at her. “So you texted me back even though you weren’t going to get paid for it?”
She smiled and nodded. “I texted you back because I thought you were cute.”
He smiled broadly. “Got to love those dress blues.”
“I don’t know. I’m kind of partial to the dress whites.” She trailed her fingers down his taut, washboard abs. “And what’s underneath the uniform, too.”
“How’d I get to be so lucky?” Cole wondered aloud.
Ivy had the same feeling, kissing those lips again, weaving her fingers through his, arching her back as he entered her body, both of them fitting together like they were made for each other. Sex with Cole had always been good. Now, though, it was amazing. They had been connecting on a physical level for weeks, but now that Ivy knew he loved her, and Cole knew she loved him, it took everything to the next level.
It made each of his quiet groans a revelation. Each of his breaths was just for her. It made the rocking motions they could maintain for hours even more intimate. When they were like this, the rest of the world melted away. All of their worries. Everything they were working toward or running away from. When they came together as one, it was the most important thing in their lives.
And as Ivy flew apart at an orgasm that arrived quicker than she thought possible, Cole moving exactly how she liked it, she knew they could continue to do this for the rest of their lives and never get tired of it.
And if they did get tired of it? If they found that they’d done the same old thing a few too many times? Ivy sincerely doubted they’d struggle to reignite the spark.
Because, God bless it, there was always sexting to spice things up.
The End
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Triplets For The Billionaire
Ana Sparks & Layla Valentine
Hungry for more? How about three?
Triplet’s For The Billionaire is up next!
Copyright 2017 by Ana Sparks and Layla Valentine
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.
All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.
Chapter One
Charlotte
The steady clacking of the keyboard is soothing as I sit alone in my apartment, searching for a job to replace the temporary position I was let go from a week ago. The job pool is as sparse as always; finding decent work seems to be harder than ever.
Since being made redundant two years ago—when the company I worked for was taken over by the unstoppable juggernaut that is SharkTEC Financial—it’s been an agonizing and unending search, trying to find a position I can settle into. Jobs for temp agencies have reigned supreme, with small jobs in between that I’m almost always overqualified for, such as cleaning rich assholes’ penthouse apartments.
I worked for years to get my bachelor’s in business and finance, and when I started working for Stratton and Company, I thought I had my whole life figured out. I thought all the hard work had paid off, and I would be set for life.
I realize now how naïve I was, but when Dillon Bradshaw decided to sink his claws into the struggling company, no one expected just how many employees he would actually lay off. Even though I’d worked hard and made a name for myself at Stratton and Company, that didn’t save me from the dreaded ‘restructuring’ that CEO Dillon Bradshaw insisted upon. I was booted just like the rest.
I would be lying if I said I don’t hold some bitterness, but I can’t exactly blame the Stratton family for selling up. With such stiff competition, it was becoming increasingly difficult to find loyal, reliable clients. SharkTEC Financial yanked the few clients we managed to snag right out from under us with the ease of taking candy from a baby.
Ultimately, Bradshaw is to blame. The rich pretty boy is famous in business circles for his ‘talent’—though I’d say he’s just had a lot of dumb luck. He got a pretty big check from his folks when he turned 21, and unlike any normal guy in his early twenties, he decided to stick the cash into some investments.
Now, eleven years later, he’s one of the richest men in the country. As much as I hate to admit it, the guy does have some entrepreneurial skills. He was able to start up and successfully run a multibillion-dollar company before 25, an achievement not many can ever dream of.
Of course, that doesn’t mean I have to like the man. He’s number one on America’s Top Ten Hottest and Richest Bachelors, meaning thousands of women fawn over him, but I’m not exactly considering throwing myself at the man who ruined my life—absurdly good-looking as he may be. He doesn’t even know I exist, but his large presence in the world of finance continues to haunt me, even to this day.
Realizing I’m a month late on my rent, my search for a job is admittedly growing a bit desperate. I scour the local job boards every day, longing to find someplace I can settle in, at least for more than a few weeks. Someone with my resume shouldn’t be struggling this much; the unfairness of it all makes me want to scream.
Realizing I’ve spent far too much time dwelling on the past, as well as that bastard Dillon Bradshaw, I refocus my attention on the screen in front of me. I’ve entered several key phrases to narrow down the already lacking job selection. In spite of myself, and the feeling that I deserve better, I decide to click off all the filters and check sections that had previously gone ignored.
One listing catches my attention almost immediately, having been posted half an hour ago. A click to the link takes me to a short and succinct job description.
Apparently, whoever posted the ad is looking for a ‘discreet’ maid. I’m not quite sure what they mean by that, but the payout on offer is enough to put that thought on the back-burner. No real details or clues give me an idea of who posed this ad—even the email address given was clearly made specifically for this listing. I scan the requirements briefly, humming under my breath as I read them.
Truthfully, it seems a little bit on the sketchy side. I like to think of myself as a tenacious and well-rounded woman, though, and in the worst case scenario, I�
��m sure I could defend myself. Best case scenario, this job could end up being long-term, or at least tide me over until I can find something a bit more professional.
It’s not like this stranger is asking for a hooker; all they seem to want is someone to clean their house. In all likelihood, it’s just some guy with more money than sense. You can’t expect everyone to know how to make a good listing.
Filling in my information, I attach a photo of myself to the email as the post specified. Another bit of information that seems a little odd, but as I hit send, I’m past the point of return. From here, I can only fill in a few additional applications before going about my day as best as I am able. I skipped breakfast, and my stomach isn’t letting me forget it’s almost lunchtime.
Though I have very little cash left in the bank, I hope it’s enough to grab a chicken sandwich from the fast food chain down the road; I’m not often one to indulge in fast food offerings, but you get a lot more bang for your buck from a burger joint than any of the health-conscious cafés in the city.
Perhaps the calories will do me a bit of good. I’ve been skipping meals more than ever, lately. When you’re not even positive you’ll have a home at the week’s end, things like eating regularly seem less important, and anxiety has been making it all the more difficult to stomach three meals a day.
Closing my laptop with a sigh, I grab my phone and purse before heading out. As I walk outside, I muse that it might seem an altogether pleasant day in other circumstances. I’ve been reluctant to acknowledge good days, as of late. Nothing seems particularly good when you’re struggling to get by.
Unable to afford gas most of the time, my mode of transportation around Chicago has mostly become my own two feet. Faced with the choice between gas for my car and internet—with which I could more easily search for a job—there really wasn’t much of a choice at all. At the very least, the walk to the burger place is a good excuse to get out of my apartment for a while and enjoy the sunshine.
About midway through my walk I feel my phone begin vibrating in my pocket. I fumble around for a moment, grabbing it with a bit more force than necessary and considering the number that is calling. It’s an unfamiliar one, but considering the job applications I’ve been putting in all day, I can’t risk missing a possible lead. I swipe the screen to answer, bringing the phone up to my ear.
“Hello, this is Charlotte Law speaking,” I answer, as professionally as I can manage.
There’s a sound of papers shuffling on the other end of the line, and I step off the sidewalk somewhat to allow others to pass me.
“Yes, Miss Law. This call is regarding your application for job ID 4536, or as listed on the board, a ‘discreet’ maid,” a friendly-sounding woman says. “I know it must seem a rather odd request, but we appreciate your compliance with our requests for a photo and brief description of yourself. From what we can tell, you seem to be a perfect fit for the job.”
I feel my lips curling into an eager smile as I pump my fist victoriously in the air. I don’t even care how I look, standing just off the sidewalk and doing a mini victory dance. I’m happy, dammit!
“That’s great. There wasn’t much information on the post regarding who I would be working for. Am I supposed to meet someone for a more in-depth interview, and if so, where should I start heading towards?” I inquire, turning my gaze skyward and considering the fluffy white clouds in the sky. Perhaps this is turning out to be a better day than I could have ever expected. As a matter of fact, I can’t think of anything that would ruin this moment for me.
“We’re going to need you to report to the headquarters of SharkTEC Financial, just to get the contract finalized and the finer details worked out,” the woman continues, and for a moment, I swear the sky goes dark. The thought of returning to SharkTEC Financial isn’t a pleasant one, and I’m certainly not looking to do Dillon Bradshaw any favors. My instinctive reaction is to tell the woman on the line that I will be unable to make the interview.
Saying that, I really need the job, and though it would require sacrificing my pride, the salary sways my decision. There’s just something deeply wrong with sacrificing my morals just for a well-paying job working under some rich asshole who put me in this position to begin with.
“Ma’am, are you still there?” the woman inquires gently, and I exhale wearily, caught between a rock and a hard place. It almost feels like I’d be rewarding Dillon Bradshaw by agreeing to work for his company. There’s a nagging thought at the back of my mind, however, and it’s a thought that’s difficult to lay to rest.
This could work out in my favor, truly. Getting a job at SharkTEC would put me closer to my sworn enemy than I would like, but there are both pros and cons to that scenario. He likely doesn’t even remember my face, let alone my name. He wouldn’t suspect the cleaning girl of coming into his workplace and wreaking a bit of havoc.
It’s entirely unprofessional, but I almost have myself convinced that I could do it on the down low. I could ruin a good number of his days before he ever even found out that I was behind the shenanigans.
Assuming it worked out in my favor, I’d definitely be more stable—both monetarily and emotionally—for taking the job and throwing a wrench in things. Once I made enough to get by for a while, I could simply walk out and say that I wasn’t a good fit for the job.
“Ma’am, are you there? I’ll have to call the next applicant if you’re not available,” the woman on the phone says, and I hear her rummaging through her stack of papers again.
The smile that had faltered from my face curls my lips once more, and I turn in the direction of the SharkTEC Financial building.
“I’m on my way to your office, if that’s acceptable. I’d like to get introductions out of the way and get started as swiftly as possible. You and your company will find that I’m something of a go-getter when I really put my mind to it,” I croon.
“Oh, I’m very glad to hear that, Miss Law. I’m sure Mr. Bradshaw will be thrilled to meet you and discuss the terms of your employment,” she titters.
I smile a bit wickedly, nodding my head though she can’t see it. At the very least, I hope my troublemaking won’t backfire on her. She sounds like a genuinely nice person, and I can’t imagine it’s too thrilling to work for an asshole like Dillon Bradshaw.
“All right. I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Obviously, I don’t expect Mr. Bradshaw to take time out of his busy schedule just to meet with me, but perhaps you and I can work out the details?” I say as I mentally map out the path to the SharkTEC building. It’s a long walk, but I’m at the point where I would rather continue the trip on foot instead of turning around to get my car. I barely have enough gas to make it to the nearest station for a refill, anyway.
“We’ll work something out, one way or another. I look forward to meeting you, Miss Law. See you soon,” the woman says, bidding me a pleasant goodbye before hanging up.
I end the call, a chuckle bubbling up in my chest. As I shove my phone into my pocket, the chuckle begins to grow into nearly uproarious laughter. I can’t believe I’m going to do this. I’m going to get a job at SharkTEC Financial, and if I have my way, I plan to cause as much damage to Dillon’s reputation as I’m able to in the process.
He ruined my life. Now, it’s time for him to get a taste of his own medicine. He’ll regret not remembering my face, but more than anything, I’ll make sure he regrets ruining the lives of not just myself, but hundreds—if not thousands—of others.
Picking up the pace, I walk with a bit of a skip in my step. I’m thrilled, but also a little bit afraid. Perhaps I’m giving myself too much credit. Subterfuge has never been a strong point of mine, and it’s entirely feasible that Dillon and his employees will catch on to my little act sooner than I anticipate.
Unwilling to let that happen without a fight, I force a pleasant smile on my face as I make my way downtown. At least the work can’t be too difficult; after all, I’ve been doing small cleaning jobs for the past few years,
now. I imagine the scale will be much larger in such a massive office building, but it gives me all the more excuse to thoroughly explore the area and look for some blackmail evidence that might do the job of knocking King Bradshaw off of his pedestal.
A short time later, I find myself approaching the entrance of the SharkTEC building. Allowing all the fear to seep out of my system, I brush a hand through my dark hair and make my expression as confident and pleasant as possible.
When I’m through with him, Dillon Bradshaw won’t even know what hit him.
Chapter Two
Dillon
Feet propped up on my desk, I lean back in my office chair, idly listening to one of my business associates ramble down the phone. The issue is a minor one, a matter of whether said business partner, Mark, should fire his human resources officer.
While I scarcely have time to consider the matters of other businesses, I like to think that I’m around for my partners when they need me. While they’re not exactly friends, I suppose they’re the next best thing, in a way. In the business world, it’s rare that one is able to find time to dilly dally with friends.
I spent much of my youth carefully strategizing my investments, and as a result, there aren’t many individuals I’ve kept in touch with over the years. Truthfully, I have more enemies than friends. I’m sure any number of the men and women who have lost their jobs because of me would sooner tie an anchor to my feet than pull me from a raging river.
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