The Billionaire's Final Stand

by Melody Anne

  “It’s also the best place to see the who’s who of racing,” June chimed in. “For example, some Middle Eastern royalty own racing stables. There's a Sheik from some small oil country who's trying to build the next big stable right here in Keeneston. He's not the only royalty. Queen Elizabeth has been known to have a horse or two stabled in the area. She’s also attended the Derby a couple of years ago.”

  Kenna though that this was as good a time as any to ask about one of the reasons she had come to Keeneston , "When I was a kid, one of my Nana’s friend’s family had a horse farm here. This morning I found out the Ashtons are still here. Do you know them?"

  "The Ashtons!" June practically squealed. She clapped her hands lightly together and beamed at Kenna, "Of course we know them. Everyone knows them. After all, they have Spires Landing at stud on their farm here in Keeneston."

  Kenna breathed a sigh of relief and felt a little of the weight lift off her shoulders. Maybe June would know how to get in touch with Will. That would be easier than trying to find the entrance to the farm. She would feel strange just knocking on the door. "So, you think they'll be at the sales?"

  "Of course, although I don't know if Betsy and William will be there. But I'm sure someone from the family will be," June said.

  Will had gotten married. Kenna knew it was wishful thinking or stupidity on her part to think that after all these years he wouldn't be married. After all, he was a couple years older than she, probably around thirty-two by now. She had heard that he had graduated from the University of Kentucky and played in the NFL for a couple of years, so it was definitely stupid to think him still unmarried. Childhood crush aside, she needed help and he was the one she was depending on to give it to her.

  "If you want to go to the sales this afternoon, we'd be happy to take you. Wouldn't we, sugar?" June said, interrupting Kenna's thoughts.

  "Of course we would. You just come along with us if you'd like," Julius responded.

  Kenna looked at her phone calendar and saw that her appointment with the Keeneston District Attorney's office was scheduled for two days from now, so time was a concern. It was best to go track down Will now and beg him to put in a good word with her potential boss. Or see if he knew of any other jobs in town if she didn't get the D.A. job. "That would be great. Thanks, June, Julius."

  After finishing lunch, Kenna went to freshen up before heading out to the sales. She stared at her hair in the mirror and attempted to fluff it, but then it just ended up looking tangled as opposed to that Hollywood, windswept ‘just had great sex’ look. She looked at her clothes hanging in the closet and decided to compensate for not having the ‘just had great sex’ hair with her own Ralph Lauren skin- tight, green cable sweater. Mr. and Mrs. Perky put her in the Ralph Lauren mood. She slipped her small feet into her black Nine West, two- inch heel boots to boost her shortened height up to what she thought of as a normal height. With that, she was ready to go. Wiping sweaty hands on her jeans, she headed downstairs, trying to prepare herself for what would equate to begging and pleading for help finding a job, something she never, never, never did, especially from an old crush she thought as she rolled her eyes, who would probably not even remember her name.

  Kenna found the Kranskis on the wraparound porch and walked with them down the stone path lined with daffodils. She slid into the back seat of their white Mercedes sedan.

  She looked out the window as they headed toward the "big city" of Lexington. She guessed being from New York City, anything under a couple million people seemed small, but she could understand if you're from the surrounding towns of fewer than twenty-five thousand people, that Lexington with its population of three hundred thousand would be a "big city". As she stared out the window, she felt some comfort come over her as she watched the rolling hills of the farmland dotted with corn, tobacco, soy bean, cows, horses and beautiful manor houses pass by. So open and so green… she had never seen so much green.

  Fifteen minutes later they approached Keeneland and turned with a steady stream of traffic into the race track. Kenna observed the beautiful landscaping and how open it seemed while at the same time a huge plane was attempting a landing over the racetrack.

  "The airport is right across the street," Julius explained. "That was probably one of the Sheiks or a Royal from somewhere across the pond coming in for the sales. They'll fly into the small airport and just park the plane for a day or two.”

  She nodded, showing she had been listening to him. Kenna thought it was safe to bet the owner of that plane was going to inject some cash into the thoroughbred industry.

  They drove through fields of green grass, all trimmed and lined with huge old trees, up to a clubhouse. A valet came out and took the keys from Julius and went to park the Mercedes. Julius and June started a constant stream of chatter between themselves and then deftly went through the clubhouse to the paddock area. Pictures of past Derby winners and stakes winners lined the stone walls from the times they had raced at Keeneland. The majesty of the pictures, the feel of the stone building, the sounds of the horses’ hooves, and smelling the scents of cut grass, hay, oats and leather, she could just feel the history of the place and start to understand why horse racing has been such a popular sport for hundreds of years.

  They stepped out of a stone walkway and into the paddock where horses were being led around with a number stuck to their hips. Hundreds of people were milling about, looking at each horse or just talking to one another. Some people where wearing Armani suits

  while some were in worn cowboy boots and faded jeans. She caught the sight of one man in a simple button- up shirt, faded jeans with some tears in it, and boots that looked like they had stepped in nothing but horse crap. Yet he pulled out a state of the art Smartphone and had the keys for an Audi carelessly dangling out of his pocket. She smiled at the strange scene. Who these people were, what they wore, and the type of car they drove was of no importance. Audi driving cowboys chatted with beat- up Ford truck owners over which horse to bid on.

  Taking in another deep breath, Kenna closed her eyes and let the sounds and scents flow over her. Having always been a history buff, she could just see the men and women walking around in 1936 when Keeneland first opened. While she had been daydreaming, the Kranskis had made their way across the paddock and were heading for a string of barns.

  "We're heading over to the Spring Creek Barn to check out a yearling. You see that blue and white flag over the third barn down? That's the Ashton Barn. Just make your way down there and ask for your friend. Whenever you're done, just come find us." And with that, June gave Kenna a finger wave and started to walk toward another barn. Find them? How, could she find them in this massive place?

  She took a deep breath and turned toward the blue and white flag. As she walked towards it, she passed by a couple of barns proudly displaying certain colors she took to be the farm colors, much like a family crest. She slowed as she approached the Ashton Barn and saw that many people walking horses around were all wearing blue and white polo shirts. It must be a way to identify farm personnel. Some were taking horses up to the paddock while others were putting them in stalls. Still others took them out of stalls and walked them to groups of people who seemed to be examining them. Kenna assumed that they were potential buyers. She looked around and didn't see anyone she guessed to be Will. Of course, the last time she had seen him she was twelve and he wasn't quite sixteen. However, she didn't think she would ever forget those dark, chocolate brown eyes. She looked around, scanning the faces around the barn.

  She sighed as she realized she needed help finding him and turned to the closest man in the blue and white uniform, “Excuse me, I'm looking for Mr. Ashton. Is he here today?" she asked the short young man leading a horse from the barn.

  "Si. He over there," the blue and white clad man said in broken but understandable English. He pointed to a little hallway in the middle of the barn. It was lined with more horse stalls, and as she approached, she saw a man rubbing the nose of
one of the horses. He was tall, at least six feet one inch, and his brown hair had a slight amount of gray in it near his temple. He still looked good though, even if he was a little prematurely gray.

  She walked up behind him and stood for a moment staring at his back, trying to figure out how to say, "Hi, I know you haven't seen me in seventeen years, but I was hoping you could help me start a new life here in Kentucky by helping me get a job and maybe find a place to live.”

  Before she could make her presence known, Will turned to her and asked, "You here to look at Miss Thing, hon?"

  Kenna's mouth opened, but nothing came out. She stood momentarily locked in place taking him in. The graying hair, the brown twinkling eyes, the huge smile that showed one dimple on his left cheek, the wrinkles around his eyes, and the hands gave away his

  age. It wasn't Will. She let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, “I'm sorry. I was told Mr. Ashton was in here," Kenna said with a distracted smile on her face. She was fighting off the strange feeling that she knew this man, but couldn't place him.

  "Well, then you found him. William Ashton. Nice to meet you, ma'am." Mr. Ashton stepped forward with his hand outstretched. Kenna stared for a second and then reached her hand out to grasp his. He gently, yet firmly shook her hand and gave her an approving nod when she returned the firm handshake.

  Maid for the Billionaire

  New York Times bestselling author, Ruth Cardello

  Sexy, alpha billionaires and the strong women who tame them.

  (Sample chapters below.)

  Chapter One

  By dying now, his father had won again. That old bastard.

  Dominic Corisi slammed the door of his black Bugatti Veyron and stepped onto the sun baked Boston sidewalk without giving the million dollar vehicle a backwards glance. The joy of owning it was dead along with his desire to answer the incessant ring of the cell phone he’d ignored since yesterday. Rather than turning it off, he’d muffled the noise by burying the device deep within a coat pocket; maintaining the connection to his life like a distant beacon.

  Despite the oppressive heat, he paused at the bottom stair of his old brownstone. There was nothing spectacular about it, outside of its location near the upbeat Newbury Street. If he remembered correctly, its rooms were small and the main staircase had a creak that he never did get around to fixing. It was nothing like the sprawling mansions he now owned in various countries around the world.

  But it was the closest thing he had to a home.

  His phone rang with a tone he couldn’t ignore. Jake. His second in command would simply call again, killing whatever chance Dominic had of finding a moment of peace inside those brick walls. “Corisi,” he barked into the phone.

  “Dominic, glad I caught you,” Jake Walton said smoothly, as if he hadn't unsuccessfully rung twenty times in the last two days. That was Jake, calm and professional, even in the storm of hostile takeovers. Nothing fazed the man.

  Normally, Dominic appreciated his even temper, but today it grated. Maybe the forty or so hours without sleep were beginning to catch up with him. He fought an impulse to toss his phone over the metal railing. The world wasn't the orderly, rational place Jake liked to organize it into. It was messy. It was ugly. And, most recently, it lacked justice.

  “How is Boston?”

  The inane question almost sent Dominic over the edge. “How do you think?”

  It was probably too much to hope that Jake’s uncharacteristic silence signaled an end to a conversation Dominic wished he had avoided.

  “We need to discuss the China contract. The Minister of Commerce is expecting to meet with you tomorrow to cement the details. This is your dream, Dominic. By next week, Corisi Enterprises will be a major global player. What do you want me to tell the Minister?”

  “I don't know,” Dominic said wearily.

  Jake made a sound somewhere between a choke and a cough, then was speechless – a revealing response for a man who handled irate international diplomats without missing a step. He was the fixer and navigated the unexpected with ease. Until now.

  Poor Jake. Nothing in their shared history had prepared either of them for Dominic's sudden desire to withdraw from the world. The creators of financial empires didn't take sudden vacations and they most certainly didn't hide, especially not after having laid the groundwork for the single greatest business venture of the century. Bill Gates himself had called last week to discuss the ramifications of the negotiations.

  “Jake, I need to drop off the radar for about a week. Why don't you take over the China contract?”

  “O-o-o-k.” Jake said awkwardly. In another situation, Jake's loss of composure would have been amusing.

  “Can you handle it or not?” Dominic challenged. He could barely think past the throbbing of his headache.

  Maybe coming to Boston was a mistake. It had been here, at seventeen, that he’d walked away from his inheritance and waited tables to fund the search for his mother. Here, in this very brownstone, that he’d cultivated a hatred for a father who had denied both involvement and interest in the disappearance of his wife.

  Jake’s voice slammed Dominic back into the present. “No problem. I've followed the progress you've made with the Chinese Investment Promotion Agency. They’re eager. I'll clear my schedule and cover yours. Duhamel will forward all of your calls to me until further notice.”

  “Good.”

  “Dom-” Jake hesitated. “It's normal to need time to grieve. You just lost your father.”

  A harsh laugh escaped Dominic. “Trust me; I'm not grieving his loss.” He leaned a hip on the metal railing and looked up at the building he had instinctively returned to, searching for the man he’d once been and hoping to find something there that would shake off the immobilizing apathy he felt for all he had done since; high expectations for brick and antique wallpaper.

  Jake said, “That's what worries me. No matter what your plans were or what he once did to you, he's gone now. You've got to let it go.”

  Jake was asking the impossible. Of course the past mattered. Sometimes it was the only thing that did. “Just do your job, Jake. If you can't handle it, tell me and I'll promote Priestly to help you.”

  For the second time since they had met at Harvard, Jake lost his temper. “That's bullshit, Dom. You want to send Priestly to China? Send him. You're absolutely right -- you've made me a very rich man. I don't need this. But heed my warning; you won't be a billionaire for long if we both step away from the helm. A lot is riding on this contract. The lawsuits alone will freeze your assets if you screw this up. You invested too much of your own and you're playing with the big boys now. Governments are not very forgiving when it comes to last minute walk outs.”

  The speech should have shaken Dominic, but it barely breached the numbness that had settled in since he'd received the phone call from his father's lawyer. What did all the money matter anyway? He'd wasted fifteen years amassing an empire that would allow him to throw down a forced buyout contract on his father’s enormous mahogany desk. Dominic should have taken action years ago, but no level of prior success had felt like enough. He’d choreographed the day from both sides, building his company while undermining his father’s; always working toward that one absolute win. Dominic had counted on his father’s desperation finally forcing him to confess what had actually happened to his mother.

  It was that loss that he mourned today.

  In its place was a carefully orchestrated set of instructions from his father’s lawyer. No, it wasn’t enough to simply disinherit his only son; Antonio Corisi had also included provisions in his will to ensure that Dominic had to attend the reading. He’d used Dominic’s one weakness, his one regret, to reaffirm his control, even from the grave.

  Jake coughed, reminding Dominic that a response was required. What could he say? As usual, Jake was correct in his assessment of the situation. Dominic had used his own wealth as well as that of investors to back this venture. The risk had seemed
worth it. The government contract would crack China's software market wide open for them and their global influence would double exponentially. It was a daring move that if carefully implemented could put Corisi Enterprises on a stratosphere of power few companies ever acquired; a goal that a week ago had seemed imperative.

  Jake could handle the negotiations. Dominic had always been the one to charge forward, shaking the situation up and clearing the way. This time would be no different. Jake could merely take over a few documents earlier this time. Priestly was good at the local level, but he was no Jake.

  “One week, Jake.” It was the closest to an apology Dominic was able to get out. He hoped it was enough.

  Sounding more like an older brother, than a business associate, Jake said, “Take two weeks if you need it. Just get your head together. I can wrap up the China contract, but it'll need your final signature and your presence. I’ll do a press release today and ask the media to respect your need to mourn in private; that should give you at least a few days before they descend.”

  “Call Murdock.” The man owes me a few favors.

  “Do you mean the Murdock? I thought he’d retired.”

  Ah, there is the real difference between us. By not fighting in the trenches of financial warfare, Jake’s business associations had remained above reproach, but he lacked the back door connections to those seemingly innocuous individuals who wielded real international influence. Dominic casually gave Jake a number that many would have paid a small fortune to dial just once. “Men like Murdock don’t retire, they delegate from warmer climates. Tell him that I don’t even want a good spin on this. It’s non-news. He’ll understand.”

  Jake whistled softly in appreciation. “Is there anyone you don’t know?”

  “Yes, you if you call me again today.”

  Jake laughed, but they both knew it hadn’t been a joke. “Do yourself a favor, Dom...” Jake continued in an unusually authoritative tone.