by Claire Adams
“Then you get that, too.” I smiled. “You already have me. And you will. Forever.”
We stood on the beach and watched the sun as it got lower and lower. The scenery was beautiful, the rocks broke from the sea, and the sand was lit by the final remnants of the setting sun. In my mind, I thought this would be the ideal location for any loving couple to take state their love for each other or take their vows.
“Kendall, have I ever told you how much you mean to me?” Elijah started to say.
I glanced over my shoulder toward the beach front. I thought I heard a voice that sounded familiar, but, I must have been mistaken. Who would know we had gone on vacation to this part of Greece?
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes locked on me.
“Nothing, I just thought I heard a familiar voice,” I said as I turned back toward the ocean and took a deep breath. The wind and waves were calming, and after all we had been through individually and collective, we needed this. Both of us.
“It must just be the sea,” he said. “It can make you hear things.”
“So, you were saying,” I said as I looked back toward Elijah. His hair blew in the wind, forcing me to reach up and run my fingers through it. The way he watched me left my heart on fire even more for him. It’s like he’d found something precious and wasn’t every going to be willing to give it up.
“I was saying, you mean the world to me and I cannot imagine my life without you being in it, and I was wondering…” he started to add before I cut him short.
“Yes, keep going. I like this!” I replied with a huge grin on my face.
“Well I love you dearly, and I know you feel the same way about me, we make a good team, and I hope it never ends,” he continued to say.
“Go on. There must be more?” Kendall asked as she gazed into my eyes.
“I would love for you to remain in my life and I would love for you to be my wife,” Elijah said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a box.
I stood and looked at the sea, I raised my eyes and looked to Elijah, and placed my hand on the box.
“Elijah, it’s, it’s…” I started to say, but I lost my voice. The air was suddenly so hard to breathe, and I felt a little faint. Was he really going to ask me to be his? Could I really have been that lucky?
I knew what he was asking, and I knew exactly what was in the box, but I had always wished my mom could be with me when my perfect man asked me to marry him. The place was as I had always dreamed and the location was more than ideal. It was as if Elijah had read my mind and put all the pieces together to make it perfect, but there was one thing, and it was this one thing that he couldn’t know.
I had seen the chairs and tables on the sidewalk and had wished it would be that special night, but my mom was missing, and as much as I loved Elijah I couldn’t do it without her. I loved my mom dearly, and the thought of doing this alone didn’t complete the picture I had in my mind.
“Elijah, I would love, too but my mom isn’t here, and that was the one thing I wanted more than anything. I have never asked for anything in my life, but that is the one thing I would…” I explained as I could feel tears building up in my eyes.
I was beyond sad. I wanted to say yes right then and there, but I had to restrain myself. I had to wait until mom was there or I would regret it for the rest of my life. Elijah may not really understand the true feeling and the extent that this would make me eternally happy.
“It’s, okay Kendall, every woman has her dream, and what sort of man would I be if I couldn’t help you to live your dream?” he asked.
“Yes but, it’s not...” I started to say as Elijah cut me short.
“I’ll ask you one more time, Kendall, will you be my wife, and before you answer, turn around,” he whispered into my ear.
I turned around, and I stood in shock, my mom was there with everyone. I could feel the tears as they flooded down my face. Elijah had fulfilled all of my dreams in a way that I could never have imagined. He had somehow picked the ideal location and setting and finally, he had got the one thing that would make me happier than saying “yes.”
Elijah coughed. “Have you forgotten something?”
“Oh, sorry! Yes, yes, yes! I would love to be your wife,” I shouted as I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him. The moment couldn’t have more perfect. To know that he took the time to plan it out for me left me breathless. The man was my forever, the one he was before, the one he was now, and most certainly, the one he would grow to be.
Elijah slowly opened the box and removed the most gorgeous ring I had ever seen. It was made by Tiffany and had handset stones around a central diamond. The design was vintage, and there was no better ring to celebrate a timeless love story, our story.
I turned back to my mom and could see her face was full of tears as she approached us, I gave her a big hug, “Mom, you are here, how did you…?” I said as I had so much to ask.
“Don’t thank me, you just take care of that fine young gentleman over there who has made all your dreams come true,” she said as she wiped the tears from her face.
Mom walked up to Elijah and threw her arms around him. She smiled and looked into his beautiful, genuine eyes.
“I was very wrong about you for a long time, so I just have one thing to say,” she said quietly. “Thank you for making my baby’s dreams come true.”
The perfect ending to a perfect day!
Bo ran up to me with Mandy with Peter and Jefferson too.
“Oh, alright, girl. He’s a keeper,” said Mandy in a white bikini as we smiled at each other.
Oh, my God!
“Bo, we’re getting married!!!”
That’s the end of the Billionaire’s Amnesia. Below I included 4 of my previous books to read as a free bonus.
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SLEEPING WITH MY BOSS
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Asher
I glanced at myself in the mirror to see the image of a young man dressed in a subdued business suit reflecting back at me. He sat in silence on the sofa in the seating area, studying the artwork hanging on the wall next to the mirror.
It was a large piece, perhaps five feet across and four feet high. It consisted of a small red square in the top left hand corner against a white background. Countering the geometric, ordered simplicity were splashes of bold color sprayed across the entire right hand side in a chaos of strokes. It was as though all of the artist's pent-up rage and frustration had been poured out onto that canvas. It was a work of genius, really. In a way, that red square represented everyone trying to play their roles and keep the madness, and chaos, contained and controlled.
A young man approached and looked up at the artwork. He looked at the painting for a few seconds, shrugged, and then turned his attention to me.
“Hi,” he said, somewhat nervously. “Do you mind?” He motioned to the empty seat next to me on the sofa. “I have a meeting in this boardroom in a few minutes,” he added as he nodded toward the closed door to our left.
“Don’t mind at all,” I said, smiling warmly as I shifted to make more space for the newcomer. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks,” the young man replied, looking a bit flustered. His ill-fitting suit appeared to be uncomfortable, which only added to the somewhat flustered air he exuded. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his forehead and the sides of his neck.
“I'm Jason, by the way,” he said to me as
he put down his briefcase and took a seat.
“Nice to meet you, Jason,” I said, extending a hand to the man. “I'm A—, er, Andrew . . . Andrew,” I replied as we shook hands. I caught myself before I could reveal too much. “I'm with the Sinclair Agency,” I added.
“Nice to meet ya, Andrew.”
“Are you with Winston?”
“No. I'm also with Sinclair. You been at the agency long?” Jason questioned.
I smiled strangely and nodded. “You could say that.”
“It's my first month here,” Jason said. “I was just assigned to the PR project for the Harry Winston Watch Company like three days ago. Now, here I am presenting at a brainstorming meeting. I’m a bit of a nervous wreck. Word is the CEO of the agency, Asher Sinclair, isn't too happy about the performance of the latest line of athletic watches in the first quarter of the year.”
I nodded. “I heard the same. Say, what's the word on Mr. Sinclair these days? What does the marketing department think about him?”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “Uh, don't you already know a bunch about Asher Sinclair? I mean, you did say you've been working here a while. What department did you say you were with again? I didn't catch it the first time.”
“I'm with finance. We don't chat too much about the boss. I think there are too many people who have to answer to him directly.”
“Oh. Well, this might help. Check this out,” Jason said as he opened his briefcase and took out the latest issue of Forbes magazine. “There's a feature piece on Asher Sinclair in here.”
“Is there, now?”
“Oh, yeah. I've read it like three times already. The guy's like, man, I dunno, Bruce Wayne or something. I can't help wondering if he's got a Bat Cave and a Bat suit up in some old family mansion in the hills.”
I chuckled. “Maybe he does have a Bat suit.”
“He's an odd dude. It’s a little strange that almost nobody knows what he looks like. There aren't even any photos of him on social media or anything like that. I don’t know how he keeps such a low profile. But, I guess I would, too, if I were in his shoes. It couldn’t have been easy for him, the way he grew up.”
“And, how was that?”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “You really don't know? Are you sure you've been at this firm for a while, man?”
“I just like to cross reference the stories I hear. It’s interesting how different they can be. So, what is it that you think you know about how Asher Sinclair grew up?”
“Well, rumor has it that his family situation was, you know, kind of troubled. I mean, being a millionaire by 18 cannot make for an average childhood or normal teenage years. And then the big kicker: when his grandfather, founder of the Sinclair Agency, passed away, he left the majority shares and control of the company to Asher instead of Asher's father. Now come on, how many 20-year-olds do you know who not only get to become sudden billionaires, but also the head of one of the most powerful PR firms in North America? That sort of stuff has got to mess with your head a little.”
“It might, I suppose. Although, for someone with the right resolve, the right constitution, with an insatiable urge to achieve and succeed, it could be the perfect trial by fire.”
Jason nodded. “Yeah, you could be right. And by all accounts, the kid pulled through that fiery trial like a beast. According to everything I’ve heard or read, everyone was expecting the corporation to crash and burn after being thrust like that into the hands of a kid. And, I’m sure you know, but shares did initially plummet.
“Man, I don’t know what's in Asher Sinclair's blood, but there must be something superhuman mixed in. After all, here it is 12 years after he became CEO and those shares are worth three times what they were before. Three freakin' times, man! The guy's a bona fide genius. Someone even told me he's got his own personal racetrack and Formula One car!”
I grinned. “I've heard he's a decent driver, but doesn't race formally because it would put him in the spotlight, and you already said he keeps a low profile. A genius, huh? Maybe he was just lucky and made a few really good decisions at just the right time.”
“Or maybe he really is a genius.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Jason checked his watch and dabbed at his forehead again with his handkerchief, looking decidedly nervous. “Oh boy, the meeting's about to start. You know, they say Mr. Sinclair often drops in on these meetings incognito. Because so few people actually know what he looks like, he's able to do that. Man, I sure hope he's not gonna be there today.”
“Relax, Jason. I'm sure he'll be receptive to your ideas if he is.”
“I'm new here. This is one of the most prestigious agencies in the country. I do not want to mess this up. This is my dream job! And, if Asher Sinclair is in there and I mess up or something… Oh God, I don't even want to think about it. I think I'm gonna throw up.”
I placed a reassuring hand on Jason's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“Relax, kid, relax. I'm sure you've got some good ideas. Present them with conviction and passion. Chances are you'll impress the team, and maybe even the boss himself if he's in there.”
“I actually hope he isn't.”
“Just relax, Jason. Take a few breaths.”
“All right, I'm trying, I'm trying. I really shouldn't have had that third coffee before this.”
I laughed warmly. “No, you probably shouldn't have,” I agreed with a chuckle. “Come on, I think the meeting's about to get started. Let's go find a seat.”
***
I was sitting at the back of the boardroom keeping as low of a profile as I could. To that point, I'd been pretty unimpressed with anything that had been presented. The line of athletic outdoor watches from the Harry Winston Company had been performing, quite frankly, abysmally in the market. I needed to know why, and I needed to correct it.
Jason had presented a few pretty decent ideas considering they’d only given him a couple days of notice, but none of them struck me as being revolutionary or bold enough to tackle the issue of poor sales.
The problem was, as I saw it, everyone was continuing to run with the same theme we already had running—a theme I had originally conceived, but also one that had not performed as I’d hoped. I’m not immune to falling a little short sometimes. However, this particular shortcoming was proving to be costly—not just financially, but also to the reputation of my PR firm.
I was about to quietly leave through the door to my left, feeling frustrated with the lack of creative ideas, when the next presenter stood and made her way to the front of the boardroom. I couldn't help but stare. There was something about this woman that hit me like a punch to the gut.
She was beautiful—that much was obvious—but not in a traditional sense. I didn't particularly care for “conventional” women and this woman was anything but conventional. My eyes traced her petite frame, admiring the generous curves she had in all the right places.
When she turned and looked up, her striking blue eyes mesmerized me. They captivated from beneath finely-arched eyebrows and a mane of jet-black hair, which was tied up impeccably for this occasion—very businesslike, but still begging to be untied and let loose. Her sense of style was unquestionable. This was a woman who knew just what to wear to grab everyone's attention, but not in a revealing way. Everything about her was just the right mix of formal and bold with a splash of sexy. I was intrigued from the moment I laid eyes on her—very intrigued.
I leaned back in my chair and grinned, aiming the smile at her even though I was fully aware she wasn’t looking in my direction and probably couldn't even see me while the projector shone in her eyes—which, might I add, gave them an almost ethereal sparkle.
She brought up the main image of the poster and billboard campaign we'd been running for the Harry Winston watches—the campaign I had created. There was a photograph of a rugged male model, who looked like a cross between Indiana Jones and the Marlboro Man, driving a jeep through a desert with a beautiful woman under his a
rm and a hunting rifle situated just so on the backseat.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began as she pointed at the image on the projector screen with a laser pointer, “I would like to present to you a great, revolutionary advertising campaign.”
I raised my eyebrows, as I'm sure everyone else in the room did. Then she delivered the punchline.
“Revolutionary and great if the year was 1982.”
A few uncomfortable chuckles rippled around the room.
“Allow me to be blunt,” she said flatly. “The watches aren't selling because this campaign sucks. It feels tired, it feels worn-out, it feels like it's been done a million times before. How many times have you seen images exactly like this one trying to sell products exactly like this one, only repackaged?
“And, that's what we're doing here, aren't we? There's nothing particularly revolutionary about the Harry Winston athletic watches, is there? Granted, they're beautiful and well-made, but the bottom line is that an athletic watch is an athletic watch. There's only so much variety one can have.
“And, as you all know, selling is all about marketing. It’s about the image that both the product and the company producing that product convey. That's what the customer is buying. They are not buying a watch; they are buying a lifestyle, a statement, an image. And to be perfectly upfront, right now the image and the lifestyle we're selling is the same old image that countless other advertising campaigns have tried to sell before.
“What sets this line of watches apart from those of the competitors? At the moment, not very much. That's why the Harry Winston Company pays us—the best damn PR firm in the United States—to handle this for them. And what have we done? We've let them down.”
She paused for effect, to let everything she'd just said sink in—and it did. After a few moments, she continued.
“Now that I've told you everything that's wrong with the current campaign, let me tell you what I think we can do to change it, and to make it actually work. First of all, we have to completely drop this Marlboro Muppet, Raiders of the Lost Dork shtick. It's lame, it's dated, and it's overdone.