The Billionaire's Wife (A Steamy BWWM Marriage of Convenience Romance Novel)

by Mia Caldwell

  And instead of running damage control, I was here – halfway across the world, held captive by the passive-aggression of a powerful man – a man who controlled my future, and that of all my employees.

  Out of the corner of my eye, the receptionist finally moved. Pressing her hand to her earpiece for a moment, she listened intently to an instruction, nodding once quickly. Quietly whispering something back into the earpiece, she then turned her attention to me.

  “He will see you now.”

  * * *

  Alphonse Robinson Megami greeted me at the door of his magnificent office. He welcomed me inside, and I took the opportunity to admire his office once more. It was a strange place to find an elderly black man like Alphonse, but he had always been a little different.

  Megami’s private office was a long, spacious display of contemporary power. Along the left wall stretched a series of traditional Japanese tapestries, pottery, and decorum, lining recessed shelving and cubicles. Breaking the flow were occasional bookcases, displaying additional pieces of exquisite art and references to the great history of Japan. The right wall, on the other hand, was a series of large, wide floor-to-ceiling panels of glass, separated by strips of wall only as broad as my shoulders. It cast an interesting array of shadows over the room as I graciously followed the man to his sweeping executive desk at the far end.

  Before sitting, we customarily bowed our heads and shoulders to one another, and then took our chairs in opposition.

  “Welcome to Toyko, Mister Andrews,” Alphonse told me. “How was your flight?”

  “Enlightening,” I told him, stroking his ego somewhat. “I took the time to reflect on some things.”

  “Did you find your meditations to be informative?” He asked politely.

  “To an extent, yes.”

  Alphonse, I’ve mentioned before, is a traditional man. This is true in some ways. However, there’s a certain something to be said about a powerful, rich businessman who overcame racial inequality first-hand. Since the civil rights days, he’d become a Shinto religious convert, spending the next four decades in Japan and embracing its culture and history. His success transcended race or country or creed.

  I admired him, I’ll admit.

  For one, he was one of the sincerest men I’d ever met – his religion filled him with reverence for all things living and inanimate, and reinforced improving the current world over preparing for the afterlife. To that extent, he routinely made large donations and invested heavily in the education and wellbeing of Japanese youth.

  Additionally, he had evolved as a person. In his younger days he had been a cutthroat businessman, working his way up the corporate ladder and finally setting out on his own – eventually heading a powerful conglomerate corporation. The Megami Corporation had its tendrils in everything from home appliances to oil interests and mobile phones, and its handful of divisions were headed by powerful, savvy, somewhat unpredictable individual presidents. Each of them, in turn, answered to this single man. To reduce the stress of responsibility, Mr. Megami began dividing the company into these sectors, embracing a calmer, more collected reputation as a deeply reverent and compassionate human being who just happened to rule one of the largest entities in Japan.

  The Fingers of Megami, his rivals called the presidential structure of his subsidiaries. Each one digging into a different pie with various reputations, but each one a highly competent businessman with incredible power. Soon, my company and all the secrets within would help catapult Megami Corp from a Japanese powerhouse to a global phenomenon. I had similar goals once, back before life decided to throw me the ultimate curve-ball. Now, I just wanted to take a walk in the park, happy in the knowledge that I’d created some small mark on the world.

  All that was left to do was convince this man to take the reigns.

  “I am somewhat disappointed,” Alphonse spoke, his face the image of inner peace and reflection, “I had expected to meet this darling wife of yours – Kiona, was it?”

  “Kiona,” I confirmed. “I am afraid that she could not make the flight. There have been some problems at home, small matters that I’ve had to attend to.”

  “Yes, I am aware,” he told me.

  “Nothing of any concern.”

  “Enough concern to forestall our meeting.”

  “No, I was here on time,” I chided.

  “I meant with you and your young bride.”

  “Right,” I realized, shaking my head. “I’m sorry, Alphonse – jet lag. You know how it is.”

  “Tell me, Mister Andrews, why are you here?”

  “Please, call me Cole,” I smiled, although his face remained as nonchalant as ever. “I simply wished to confirm that things were still on schedule.” My answer was spoken confidently – peaceful or not, this was not a man to whom you showed weakness.

  “You could have picked up the phone. Saved yourself a long and tiring flight.”

  “I like to have important conversations in person. It is my reputation, after all, and one that I stand to always uphold.”

  “This conversation does not appear important to me.”

  “I…don’t follow.”

  “You are aware of the arrangement, Mister Andrews,” he began gravely. “Everything is in order to continue the process, the singular snag being that I require you to have taken a wife. An unspoken piece of this, perhaps, is that I meet said wife. Personally, I must see for my own eyes that you legitimately love this woman.”

  “I can assure you that I love Kiona.”

  “And yet, where is she?”

  “Home,” I answered tersely.

  “Home in your context, Mister Andrews, is a little too far for my particular tastes…perhaps we can continue this conversation another time, when you have begun to take me a little more seriously.”

  “Alphonse, you know that I’m limited on that.”

  “Limited on time? Yes, Mister Andrews, I am well aware…and deeply, regretfully sorry. But you understand that I am bound by what I believe to be right. Tradition dictates. I am, what you might consider old school.”

  I resisted the urge to wince at the painful use of that term.

  “This was my one chance, Alphonse. I’ve been instructed that this is my last international flight.”

  His face was apathetic now.

  “Then you have failed your one chance.”

  I sighed, glancing out the windowpanes. Tokyo was so beautiful from this height. The skyline sprawled out in the distance, with its staggering skyscrapers and architectural marvels.

  “Will you consider coming to the States?” I asked, allowing a sliver of desperation to enter my voice. “To my knowledge, you’ve never visited New York…I can entertain you there, and you can meet the two of us in our home.”

  Megami leaned backwards in his chair, considering this. “You would go to this extent to win my favor?”

  “This means the world to me,” I answered him truthfully. “And as much as I hate to be insistent of this, it has to be confirmed soon.”

  “Mister Andrews, these negotiations between us can continue independently of you, as I am sure you are aware.”

  I smiled slyly at the old man. “No, they can’t. You’d never work directly with any of them, and we both know it.”

  He returned my grin. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  We sat in silence and studied the skyline together as he collected his thoughts. Never a praying man, I focused every last positive thought into this moment, silently pleading that he would bend with me on this one.

  “…Very well then. When should I appear in the States?”

  I exhaled my relief. “Can you be there in two weeks?”

  “How long?”

  “Long enough. A day, unless you wished to stay longer.”

  Alphonse held up a finger and pressed a button on an intercom on the desk, speaking fluent Japanese to the receptionist. Of course, my business operations had forced me to gain a somewhat solid grasp of Japanese and Mandarin Chin
ese, so it was clear to me what they were saying:

  “Tell me my schedule for early next month.”

  There was a pause from the receptionist.

  “You are busy. Wait. You do not have anything for the first Wednesday and Thursday…”

  “Excellent, thank you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Alphonse switched back to English, but I smiled and interrupted before he could get a word in.

  “Fly in that Wednesday, and leave that Thursday. I will make the arrangements to welcome you properly.”

  He smiled peacefully. “Ah, yes, of course. Forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” I graciously shook my head.

  We rose from our chairs, bowing to each other again.

  “Then it is settled?” I asked. “You will meet Kiona, and we’ll all share some time together. If you like what you see, do I have your word that the buyout will proceed?”

  I knew, as reverent as Alphonse Megami was, that his word was essentially as good as a private signature between us.

  Before he could answer, I bent my head away, covering my face with a pocket square as I fell under a small coughing fit. After a few moments, I cleared my head, shaking it lightly, and turned back to face my host with an apologetic gaze.

  “You have my word,” he agreed.

  “Thank you, Mr. Megami.”

  I turned and began to make my departure. It was a long flight back to the States, and ultimately my trip had been a failure to begin with…but there was chance for a rebound. I could work with this. Well, probably.

  “Tell me, Mister Andrews, before you leave,” Alphonse Megami spoke as he watched me from behind his desk. “How much longer do you have now?”

  I paused, restraining my disappointment.

  If only I had been able to suppress the coughing.

  I turned halfway, smiling sadly towards my host. “The disease is accelerating,” I confirmed for him. “It is no longer responding to the treatments. My best doctors have given me about five weeks…or, until the end of next month. If I’m lucky.”

  Pity crossed Alphonse’s gaze as he gravely closed his eyes, only to open them again after a deep breath.

  “Then, I will pray to the gods and the spirits that a miracle blesses you,” he told me with conviction. “In my many years in this position, you are an anomaly among our kind. You are too young, and you deserve your happily ever after, Mister Andrews…I fervently hope that your doctors are very, very wrong.”

  (Back to Table of Contents)

  Chapter 11

  Kiona

  It had been a week, and I was still out of my element.

  I’m not entirely sure what Cole was expecting at the time, but humiliating me on stage, and then asking for my hand in marriage? It was a curveball that was a little hard to swallow. The rest of the company seemed to feel the same way – the jubilation of the Quarterly Party dissipated on the spot.

  Coppersmith, however, seemed to suddenly be having the time of his life. And why wouldn’t he have been? If the insightful billionaire had bothered to even check with the executive staff, someone would have undoubtedly tipped him off to the changing dynamic.

  When I came in late that following Monday afternoon to pick up my things from my desk, a few of my marketing coworkers cautiously updated me on office politics.

  Larry went ahead and took that lunch, but it didn’t go too well. The relevant executives kept Cole’s little speech in mind, and they ensured that he shared in my humiliation by failing to catch my duplicity. The resulting shouting match could be heard from outside the Corporate Corridor, tipping a few passersby off to the arrangement in the first place – and now the rumor mill was churning.

  On top of his perceived lack of judgment, he didn’t have a replacement successor in mind, and was therefore at a loss for how Marketing would function with him in the oversight role. After all, other departments would fall under his jurisdiction – such as Business Development, and the Programming staff. The hierarchy couldn’t be sustained now, and thus nothing would change.

  Coppersmith was still in. In fact, his position was pretty much cemented for the foreseeable future, despite his failure to spot my deceit. He was able to shift the blame back down to Larry, stating something about “expectations of quality control with subordinates in supervisory roles” or something. Even if he didn’t technically have a point, there would be a total collapse in productivity of the marketing department if Larry moved up to take his spot. That wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

  Kylie suffered as well. It hadn’t been common knowledge that she was involved with my interviews, and the fact that she not only had been, but also as a stand-in for Cole himself, called her competence into question. Requests she would make without Cole’s direct influence would go ignored; she was occasionally ridiculed behind her back, and had already taken to disappearing into her office. It was even rumored that she was barely eating, and she made no attempt to contact me while I was here.

  The second walk of shame came when I had to lug the box of my supplies back across the offices. It had been my hope that I’d miss mostly everyone, including Larry, but unfortunately there had been a large meeting. To prevent the total shutdown of operations, several of the executive staff had decided to lecture the entire company on accountability, and split everyone into one of two groups – one to be shouted at before lunch, and one afterwards. The latter group was delayed due to something coming down the pipeline from a major client. That meant the main passage flooded with thirty-something furious and exhausted people while I was strolling to the elevator.

  I was confronted with a lot of disgusted, angry looks – but the one that really stood out to me was Larry. He paused angrily, ready to heatedly say something to me, but shook his head and perished the very thought. Nobody would say a word, of course. You don’t openly criticize the owner of the corporation’s new fiancée.

  It still hurt. Larry wanted so little to do with me that he couldn’t fathom the thought of pulling me aside and demanding my side of the story. Not that I would have given it to him even if he had.

  I rode the elevator back down to the street level, wandered towards the underground station, waited for the subway, and forty minutes later I dropped the box onto my table and collapsed into bed.

  Goddammit all, I thought to myself.

  My cell phone buzzed again, for the tenth time since Friday night. I knew that it was Cole, desperate for my attention. His stupid little plan and his little buyout idea was probably on the rocks. I hadn’t heard anything about when the marriage was going to happen, but that was my fault. I’d made myself incredibly scarce all weekend to punish the headstrong billionaire for his actions.

  Of course, all good things come to and end. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t avoid the jackass for long.

  * * *

  The second Sunday after the Quarterly Party – just over a week later, I guess – there was a knock at my door. Curled up with the last of my ice cream, I had been deep in the throes of a Netflix marathon.

  “Yeah? Who is it?” I called out, halfway expecting to hear Aiswarya. She was probably wondering where I was.

  “Let me in, Kiona,” the familiar cold voice called out.

  Dammit, should have stayed quiet.

  “What do you want?”

  “We have an arrangement that you’ve been breaking. Come and open this door.”

  “Yeah, that’s…not going to happen.”

  “That’s no way to speak to your fiancé, Key.”

  Furiously, I muted my television and climbed out from under my blanket on the couch. Aware of how awful I probably looked in my slovenly pajamas, I ripped the door open and glared at my former boss.

  Cole Andrews was as handsome as ever, standing in a crisp, three-piece suit outside my ramshackle apartment. His high cheekbones, thick brunette hair, and piercing blue eyes were delicious at one point – but now they mocked me, filling my veins with icy cold hate.r />
  “Aren’t you going to invite me inside?” He asked politely.

  “Hell no,” I told him, jutting a finger into his chest. “You made a complete mockery of me in front of my staff. You screwed your own employees over. I know I’m going to be fine, but do you have even the slightest idea of how colossally you’ve fucked up? Have you ever taken a minute to think through the long term repercussions of your actions?”