Billionaire's Second Chance

by Claire Adams

  “Maybe she doesn't want things to move too fast,” I considered. I guess I didn't, either. The difference, though, was that I wasn’t so sure she wanted things to move at all—while I certainly did. And that was rather disappointing. Almost made me wish I hadn’t even gone to McGinty’s.

  Make no mistake, I'd had a great evening with Lilah and her brother. Meeting Eddie had been awesome on many levels. It brought back all sorts of memories from my teenage years—memories of my rebellious phase before the responsibilities and duties that came with my family name, and the fortune had forced me to grow up all too quickly.

  I was listening to my favorite Razor’s Edge album when I finally pulled off the main road onto the drive that led to my estate. I still thought of my grandfather every time I pulled into the driveway. Grandpa always told me to treat my private life like a treasure, those who are close to you and love you mean more than any money and any publicity your position could bring you.

  I bought the land a year after he died and took his advice to heart when I made sure the house wouldn’t be visible from the road by leaving a considerable amount of forest at the front end of the property. In doing so, the gate protecting the drive was also a few hundred feet from the main road and not visible, but it was there and it was guarded. I waved at Adam, the night guard, as I slowed to a stop and waited for him to open the large, wrought-iron gate.

  Adam was a former Army Ranger. When I hired him, I tried to entice him to be part of my security team that traveled abroad with me, but he’d turned the offer down. He didn’t want to be away from his wife for extended periods of time. I admired that about him and even envied him. Having someone in your life you don’t want to be away from even for a few nights—that’s more enviable than all the power and prestige I could think of. Adam smiled as soon as he recognized my face and returned the hand gesture. The gates slowly began to swing open.

  A deer stepped out of the trees, followed by her fawn, just as I was almost through. I pressed the brake and let them pass in front of my Maserati before I drove in. There were a few gaps in the fence around the estate—gaps I'd specifically requested be left so that wildlife from the neighboring woods could come and go through the grounds as they pleased. Granted, it meant if someone wanted to get in, they could, but they would have to do some serious walking to find the gaps.

  Once I’d parked my car in the underground parking lot where I kept my collection of sports cars, I grabbed my briefcase and laptop and started toward the elevator. I paused as I passed a white Lamborghini from the ’80s—one of my favorites. I glanced at myself in the window.

  “What's going on in your head, Asher?” I asked my reflection.

  I wasn't quite sure of the answer, but I did know that Lilah was spending a good deal of time in there. With a quick shake of my head, I made my way to the elevator and tried to turn my thoughts to other things, like the work I needed to get done before my next meeting with my advisory board.

  I pressed the button for the top floor—my private space consisting of my bedroom, a private living room, a small office where I could work from home if I needed to, and, of course, my bathroom. I wanted to think about work, but I couldn’t. More than anything, I needed to properly relax, to try to get all of the distracting thoughts out of my head so I could get a good night's sleep and be energized for the rest of the week—a week that promised to be relentlessly busy. On top of everything, I had an upcoming business trip to Paris on Friday that I needed to think about.

  I exited the elevator and headed straight to my office to drop off my briefcase and laptop—I'd initially planned to get a bit of work done that evening, but I was neither in the right frame of mind nor in the mood to get any work done.

  On my way out of the office, I stopped to stare at the item displayed in a glass cabinet on the wall: Colonel Tanaka's family sword. I went back over to my desk, got the key to the cabinet, unlocked the case, and took the sword out. It was a beautiful piece of art—if a deadly one—that represented absolute mastery of a craft and tireless commitment to perfection. It was a fitting item of inspiration, considering who I had become and what drove me to succeed.

  I drew the sword from its scabbard and studied the craftsmanship, the intricacies of the detailing on the blade, and the lethal sharpness of its edge. And as I did, I could almost hear the old colonel's voice in my head, reminding me to breathe, to focus, to gather all of my thoughts, and to bind them together.

  Breathe.

  Focus.

  I sheathed the sword and put it back in its cabinet, knowing what I would do for the rest of the evening. I would spend some time in my steam room. That would allow me to both focus my thoughts and sweat out the toxins from drinking. After that and a long soak in the hot tub, I would no doubt be ready for a good night's sleep—and the 5:00 a.m. wakeup that was waiting before a long day ahead.

  I walked over to the intercom on my desk and buzzed my butler.

  “Sir?” he answered.

  “Please get the steam room and hot tub ready. I'm going to be making use of them tonight.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  I took one last look at Colonel Tanaka's sword before I headed to the steam room to put what he’d taught me into practice . . . if I could just get Lilah off my mind.

  ***

  I glanced at my wrist—again. It was the third time I'd checked my watch in 15 minutes, anticipating my lunch break. I didn’t want to miss my window of opportunity, so I headed out of the office a few minutes before noon.

  “Please don't order any lunch for me today, thanks,” I said to my assistant as I passed her desk. “I'm going out to get something.”

  “Will do, boss,” she replied. “See you in an hour.”

  I made my way to the area by the elevators and waited. Surely, she had to come by sometime. My game plan was to ask her if she wanted to go to the little café around the corner she’d mentioned had amazing bagels. I was sure she'd say yes after she gushed about the place. I mean, why wouldn't she?

  A couple of my team members came past and asked if I wanted to join them for lunch. I politely declined. Finally, after what had seemed like an hour of waiting—though it was only ten minutes—Lilah came around the corner followed by two of the younger female members of the team.

  “Lilah! Hi,” I said, beaming a smile at her. In hindsight, I probably looked like I had been waiting for her when my intention was to make it seem like a chance encounter at the elevator. “I’m heading to lunch at that café you like so much around the corner. Would you like to join me for a bite to eat?”

  Strangely, she glanced over her shoulder at the other two before responding. “I appreciate the invitation, Mr. Sinclair, but we're going to the Italian spot a couple of blocks down to eat.”

  “You are more than welcome to join us if you'd like,” the blonde woman closest to her added with a smile.

  “Uh, no thanks,” I replied. “It’s kind of you to offer, but I'm pretty set on the café. Dying for one of their cappuccinos, you know.”

  “They do have amazing cappuccinos,” the other woman admitted.

  “We'll see you after lunch then,” Lilah declared. And just like that, the three women disappeared into a waiting elevator.

  “What was that all about?” I mumbled to myself. “It's Mr. Sinclair now? What the hell?”

  I shook my head and headed downstairs alone.

  ***

  The rest of the week had been more of what seemed like Lilah trying to avoid me. So, come Friday morning, I saved her the trouble. My private jet began its descent into Paris at 6:45 in the evening—just in time to catch the sun setting over the city. It had been a while since I'd been in France and, while I was only there for 48 hours, I intended to make the most of my trip.

  After I'd made it through customs, I found my French business associate Anton Leveque waiting for me in the arrivals lounge. Anton, a devilishly handsome middle-aged Frenchman, radiated a smile my way, strode over, and embraced me, p
lanting a kiss on each of my cheeks as a greeting.

  “Asher, my friend! It is good to see you! Come, come, there is a limousine waiting outside! Here, let my assistant take your bags for you.”

  He barked out a few orders in French to a thin, timid-looking young man in a suit, who complied without replying and quietly took my suitcases from me. We then started talking as we headed out of the terminal toward the waiting limousine.

  “It has been a long time since you were in Paris, no?”

  “Nearly two years, I think. How have you been, Anton?”

  “Splendid, just splendid! Well, you know about the business—we've been emailing about that. We are desperately in need of an innovative PR campaign which will, how do you Americans say? Light a fire under people's asses?”

  I laughed. “I suppose we might say that, yes. Well, you’ve come to the right place, Anton. Don't you worry, the Sinclair Agency has a few ideas for marketing and branding your new perfumes. And, we're meeting with the top translation firm in Paris tomorrow to ensure that nothing is lost in translation.”

  “Yes, yes, do not worry, my friend. I have no doubt that you can make things a great success for my new line. This year, you know, the competition has been so strong. We really need a competitive edge—that's why we had to go to the best.”

  “And, we will not fail you, Anton. I guarantee it.”

  “Well, anyway, this a concern for tomorrow. We French do not like to mix business and pleasure. And tonight, we are not doing business. Tonight, we are celebrating your return to the city of love, of passion! Tonight we will drink and be merry, my friend.”

  I laughed and clapped him on the back before climbing into the limousine. “That sounds excellent, Anton. Let’s get that celebration underway! The night is young.”

  “That it is, my friend. That it is!”

  ***

  “One more glass, my friend, come on! It is the finest 40-year-old whiskey around! Surely, you cannot say no?”

  I drank the last sip of whiskey in my glass, the thumping bass from the music outside rumbling my insides with its volume. At least here, in the VIP room, it wasn't as deafening as it was in the rest of the nightclub.

  “I don't know, Anton. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow morning, and I'd like to visit a few museums, as well. Doing all of that with a hangover maybe would not, uh, be such a great idea, ya know?”

  Anton frowned as he drank the last of his whiskey. “My friend, when were you last in Paris? It was two years, no? Come on, it would be a sin to end the night this early. You cannot go back to your hotel now. Besides, there is someone I want you to meet.” He pulled out his cellphone and saw a message waiting for him. He read it and then looked up at me with a cheeky smile. “And she has just arrived here with her friends. It would be very rude to leave now, my friend, very rude, no?”

  I sighed. “All right, but seriously, just one more. That's all, one more.”

  Anton raised his hand and snapped his fingers and the resident VIP room waiter hurried over to our table. He ordered two more whiskeys in French, which the waiter hurried off to get. At that moment, the door to the VIP room opened, and a bouncer let in a bevy of stunning, young, French women. One of them caught sight of Anton and sent a sparkling smile our way. He leaned over and whispered in my ear.

  “This is the girl I want to introduce you to. She is a model for lingerie. She was very, very eager to meet the young American CEO I have been telling her about. Look at her friends, too, Asher! Are they not sexy? All of them are models—and they are all very, how do you say, liberated in their attitudes about men and women, if you know what I mean.”

  “Aren’t all the French?” I joked.

  Anton grinned and clapped a hand on my shoulder as he broke into laughter.

  The woman who had smiled at Anton came over to us while her friends headed to the bar. She was drop dead gorgeous; she wouldn’t have looked out of place on any magazine cover. The revealing, white cocktail dress she wore left no doubt why she was a lingerie model. Long, silky, chestnut hair cascaded around her shoulders. She locked her stunning brown eyes on mine and smiled flirtatiously as she approached.

  “Anton, is this your American friend?”

  “This is him, Marie. Marie Thenaud, may I introduce you to Asher Sinclair.”

  She turned to me and took my hand in hers. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Asher,” she purred, her voice heavy with a French accent, but her English was flawless. “My friend, Anton, told me you were handsome—but you are, in truth, even more handsome than I could have imagined. May I sit with you and have a drink?”

  I was a bit taken aback with how brazen she was. It wasn’t what she said as much as her body language and tone of voice. Granted, in my experience, French women rarely had any apprehensions with being forward and, despite how interested she seemed in me and how incredibly attractive she was, I looked at her sitting across from me and I simply wasn’t interested.

  I smiled as it dawned on me: there was only one woman I was interested in and she was back in California hell bent on giving me the cold shoulder.

  I didn’t want to be rude to Marie or Anton by telling her to go elsewhere, so I shifted over on the plush sofa and made space for her. Plenty of space.

  “Please, sit down, Marie,” I offered. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Oh, the pleasure is all mine,” she said with a wink and a smile.

  Her companions then showed up, carrying a number of cocktails, one of which they handed to Marie. Our waiter arrived, as well, bearing fresh tumblers of whiskey on the rocks for myself and Anton. The women sat down, one on either side of Anton, and he draped an arm over each of their barely-covered shoulders.

  “Now the party is about to get started!” he said with a wicked grin.

  He raised his glass, and the ladies all did the same. Reluctantly, I followed suit.

  “To Asher Sinclair, my good friend and business associate!” he roared. Then, in one gulp, he drained his glass.

  “Whoa, thanks, Anton, but that's not how a fine whiskey should be enjoyed! You know that as much as I do,” I declared.

  “I don't care!” he shouted. “Let's get drunk! Party! Have some fun!”

  The women next to him giggled and sipped at their cocktails.

  “Come on, Asher,” he said, “why are you drinking so slowly? Are you a man or a boy?”

  “Anton, remember what we said? I don't want to have a hangover—”

  “I said, are you a man, or are you a boy?”

  I shook my head and downed my whiskey—damned peer pressure. There didn't seem to be any point in resisting. Anton snapped his fingers and called the waiter over again. He shot off a rapid-fire order in French, and the waiter hurried off once more. In the meantime, Marie tried to make small talk with me while Anton flirted brazenly with the other two women.

  After a few minutes, the waiter returned carrying a tray with two fresh whiskeys and an array of shots.

  “Oh no, Anton. Come on, I did not agree to this.”

  “It is too late, Asher, my friend!” he said with a laugh. “Come now! The ladies are going to drink their shots, yes, ladies?”

  They all voiced their approval and giggled.

  “You see, Asher! It is only you who is being, what is the word? Ah, yes, boring! Come, it is Friday night in Paris! Have some fun, my friend, have some fun!”

  “All right, all right,” I sighed. The more I drank, the harder it was to resist.

  We downed the shots, and before long, I was starting to feel light-headed.

  “I want to dance,” Marie announced. “Come, let's go to the dancefloor!”

  The other ladies also seemed eager to dance, as did Anton. He stood and beckoned to me.

  “Come on, Asher! We cannot let the ladies down. It would be very rude!”

  I heaved myself up off the sofa, feeling weary and decidedly unenthusiastic. Marie, however, looped her arm through mine and all but dragged me onto the dancefloo
r. My vision was starting to swim, and I was losing my ability to maneuver and maintain control—a feeling I did not like at all.

  On the dancefloor, Marie didn't waste any time in making her intentions clear. She started dancing suggestively, putting her hands all over me and grinding heavily against my body, moving sensually to the music.

  I couldn't deny that I was starting to feel aroused and part of me was starting to really get into it. But, at the same time, despite the drunkenness and the gorgeous, scantily-clad lingerie model grinding her body against mine, I couldn't get the thoughts of Lilah out of my head.

  We weren't together. I didn’t owe her anything. Hell, we’d only shared one kiss that she had made rather clear was a poor judgment call—but even so, something inside me felt as if I was cheating on her. And that was something I would not do.

  I stepped away from Marie.

  “I really have to go to the bathroom, all right?”

  “Shall I come with you?” she asked, smiling suggestively.

  “No, no,” I replied with a nervous laugh. “I'll be back soon. You wait here.”

  I hurried off the dancefloor to the back of the club where the bathrooms were—but just before I got to them, I veered off to the right, and headed through to the storage area. I pushed through a door that said “Staff Only” in French—I could understand that much, at least—and hurried through the storeroom, surprising a waiter, who started babbling at me in French.

  “Exit?” I said in English, but he seemed to not understand me.

  I ignored him, and he ran off, presumably to fetch a bouncer or manager. I found a door at the end of the storeroom which led through a narrow passage, and then there, at the end of it, I managed to find an exit that led out into an alley.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as I stepped into the dark alley and paused to inhale a few deep breaths of the cool night air before heading through the alley to the main street where I hailed a cab. I told him the name of my hotel, and we took off into the night.