The Billionaire's Affair: Billionaire Brothers (Tycoon Billionaires Book 2)

by Farrell, Julie

  The reporters couldn’t resist. They immediately started asking how the police investigation was going with regards to Natalia. Dylan could feel Orlov becoming tense. “I told you, I don’t know!” he shouted.

  The press agent warned the reporters not to ask any other tactless questions.

  “Mr Quinlan,” someone called out, “when do you intend to finalise the deal between your company and Fenchurch United?”

  “Soon,” Dylan said. “We’re very excited about working together, right Vladimir?” Under his breath he said, “Especially now that I know your true intentions towards my company, you devious little shit.”

  Orlov beamed a false smile. “Yes we are very happy.” He reached out and slapped Dylan heartily on the back.

  Dylan gritted his teeth. “Get your fucking hands off.”

  Orlov threw his head back and laughed theatrically, disguising his threats. “If you don’t give me back what you stole from me, I will kill all your family members, one by one.”

  Dylan grinned at the reporters. He muttered, “Okay, okay... I’ll give it back. Just stay away from my family.”

  “Good. So you bring it to me tonight. To my home.”

  The energy in the room was hyper now – all the reporters were excited about how well the two men seemed to be getting along. Another reporter raised his hand and shouted a question about the deal.

  Orlov answered on auto-pilot, as Dylan said under his breath, “I can’t tonight; I’m busy. I’ll bring it to your office tomorrow morning. Agreed?”

  “I’m meeting tomorrow morning with my Russian colleagues until noon,” Orlov said. Then he raised his voice and explained to the reporter how excited he was about Grafton Techs’ impending sponsorship.

  “Okay,” Dylan whispered. “I’ll deliver it after you finish your meeting. And that way your Russian colleagues won’t kill you, huh?”

  Orlov stuck out his hand and loudly said, “Yes, Mr Quinlan. I’m very much looking forward to us doing business together.”

  Dylan squeezed his hand tight. “Me too, Vladimir. Me too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The venue for Joseph’s gig was one of the most renowned in London – all the major stars had played it on their way up. Sarah had been here a few times on the rare occasion when she’d taken a night off to see a band – perhaps if a musician happened to be staying at the hotel and offered her tickets, or if it was a band she really loved.

  It was a bit of a dump, but that was all part of its charm, and Sarah didn’t feel overdressed in her little black dress, because most people had made an effort to get spruced up. Everyone knew it was an honour to be here tonight. You certainly wouldn’t notice this venue from the sidewalk unless you knew what you were looking for – the sign on the wall was tiny and the entrance blended-in with all the other box-like Georgian architecture in the street. If you did happen to find the entrance, you had to negotiate your way down a flight of narrow stairs – as well as past the hefty door-staff. The venue then sprawled underground, taking up the basements of several buildings above. This meant there was no natural light, creating the feel of a seedy pub backroom – although it held around a thousand people. It was dingy – with its scruffy wooden floorboards and shoddy décor – which consisted of a bad paint job and crappy furniture.

  Fashionable Londoners loved it.

  As Sarah and Dylan squeezed past the doorman and made their way into the throng, she realised that it was already packed. The crowd seemed excited to be here – there was a fun pre-gig atmosphere, and the anticipation was as thick as fog. Sarah noticed that a few young men and women were even wearing T-shirts sporting Joseph’s band name. They’d clearly built up a loyal fan-base already.

  The stage at the front of the room was set with a huge drum-kit, a bass guitar, and Joseph’s precious Fender Stratocaster that Ivan had apparently bought him years ago. It was the antithesis of the press conference Dylan had given earlier behind his plush podium. This stage reeked of primal abandonment. Excitement flashed through Sarah as she soaked up the electrifying vibes. But her fizzing mood crashed away as she spotted a lone guy in the crowd staring intensely at her and Dylan. He looked Russian, and he had a nasty scar on his face… Sarah’s body washed with terror. Had she seen this guy before somewhere, or was she being paranoid?

  Dylan glanced at her, probably because she’d almost broken his fingers by squeezing them so tight.

  “You alright, sweetheart?” he shouted above the partygoers. “Try to relax, okay? Nothing bad’s gonna happen here.”

  She breathed, trying to centre herself. He was probably right – he usually was. She glanced around for the Russian again and saw that he was now chatting with another guy. They were probably just here to see the gig. She forced herself to calm down and enjoy the evening. Joseph had worked hard to organise this concert himself, and she owed it to him to have a good time.

  Things really seemed to be taking off for him, and Sarah was pleased. He’d told her that his band had recently signed with an American management company after they’d worked hard at gathering fans online. But Joseph had decided to crowdfund the money he needed for the concert tonight himself. His business acumen was up there with his older brothers’. But he somehow didn’t seem as ruthless as them – the proceeds were all going to charity; he was a good guy with a kind heart. What a way to spend your twentieth birthday – Sarah had spent hers with Dylan and some college friends who they’d both lost touch with years ago. But the Quinlans had always been ambitious.

  Dylan led Sarah through the crowd and up to the VIP balcony, where Joseph had assured them their tickets would give them entry. They climbed a metal spiral staircase and the fearsome doorman unhooked the velvet rope… This was more like it – it was spacious up here, and quieter; a private viewing balcony away from the crush of the sweaty fans, where Sarah could relax and enjoy the music. A long table had been set up for complimentary drinks, and there were a few people lounging on the leather couches, chatting and waiting for the gig to begin. It was like a totally different venue.

  Sarah waved as she saw Adam and Amy drinking Champagne and chatting with a few people she didn’t recognise. There were several young women dressed in jeans and band T-shirts – probably groupies – and people who looked like family members of the other band members. A severe-looking suited thirty-something man was leaning against the wall, not joining in with the partying. Sarah assumed this was the band’s manager. Joseph had mentioned that the two didn’t really get along – especially not as he enjoyed unashamedly flirting with the manager’s beautiful fiancée.

  But even this surly manager knew who the star was tonight. Joseph was the frontman, lead guitarist, and songwriter. As the lights faded and the music switched to the band’s intro music – a stirring classical piece full of passion – Sarah watched the drummer and bassist amble onto the stage. The crowd cheered them, but their heart wasn’t in it. They wanted Joseph Quinlan. The drummer and bassist launched into one of their songs and the audience started to move as one, dancing in anticipation for the main event. Already Sarah could tell that the music was catchy but arty – the perfect combination of grooves to dance to, with a gritty edge.

  Then he appeared. Sarah didn’t know how he’d done it, but one second he wasn’t there, then he was. The place erupted with screams and cheers, and the crowd surged forward in a frenzy, on the edge of insanity, making Sarah feel relieved she was safely up here, looking down.

  He was dressed in a pair of black skin-tight leather trousers, an unbuttoned shirt, and no shoes. Somehow these clothes made him seem Native American. Wild and unconventional. Joseph picked up his guitar and slung the strap over his shoulder, making him look like the quintessential rock star. He grinned into the audience, holding eye contact with some lucky ladies, then he clanged his fingers over the strings, creating a ringing electric note that vibrated around the venue. The audience cheered, recognising which song the band was about to play. Joseph strummed his guitar an
d played the intro, then he opened his mouth to sing. Sarah was impressed. He writhed and gyrated his hips as he played, making him look like a blond Elvis. He lost himself in the music, grinning as he swayed. His lyrics were sensual – all about fucking – and the music was charged with sexual energy. Joseph had an amazing vocal range, from deep breathy whispers to passion-drenched shrieks. Every now and again he would throw in a guttural groan. It was as if he embodied the music – he became it.

  After a few songs, Joseph removed his shirt with a flourish – peeling it off like a stripper. This incited excited screams from the young women in the audience – who were probably as impressed as Sarah by his sculpted abs and toned chest. He was slimmer than Dylan, but she could see he worked-out regularly to keep his gorgeous body looking so good. The sweat made his skin glisten and his blond hair stick together in clumps. He seemed like a wild animal – one-hundred-percent primal. Joseph swung his shirt around his head, then let it fly into the audience, causing the crowd to go crazy.

  Joseph grinned and continued playing the song, but the shirt-throwing had caused the sort of scramble that Sarah would usually associate with bridesmaids at the tossing of the bride’s bouquet. Joseph and the band launched into the next song, but Sarah could still see his shirt being ripped to pieces by adoring fans. It was like a feeding-frenzy of sharks. Sarah dreaded to think what might happen if the man himself fell in.

  She soon found herself dancing to the music – it was impossible to keep still. It was like being at an orgy – a wild piece of primitive theatre. She noticed, as she tore her gaze away from the handsome man on the stage, that there were a couple of music journalists up here, taking notes and watching, captivated.

  The hair on the back of Sarah’s neck prickled with unease as she sensed someone watching her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the two Russian-looking men from downstairs. They were casually chatting together on one of the leather couches, seemingly not very interested in the gig. Sarah wondered whether she should alert Dylan, but he’d already followed her gaze.

  “Don’t worry,” he shouted. “I’m pretty sure that burly bouncer with the velvet rope won’t let anyone in who wasn’t supposed to be here. Relax and enjoy!”

  She nodded and kissed him. He wrapped her up his arms and they danced close, moving to the music. Adam and Amy were dancing too. Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time, so Sarah decided she would too. She grinned at Dylan, then she allowed her body to sway with the beat, forgetting all the crazy stuff she’d been involved in recently, and focusing on what was happening here tonight.

  The final song was a sprawling number with few lyrics but lots of electric guitar, and it climaxed with a two-minute guitar solo and a clash of crashing cymbals. Joseph ended the show by whirling his arm around and around, rapidly striking his strings and then letting out a final clanging note. Sarah tensed with worry as he suddenly collapsed to the ground, as if he’d been shot by the music. But apparently it was just part of the act. There was a brief implosion of silence in the room, then the stage-lights died and the audience went wild with applause and cries for more. Under the cover of the darkness, Sarah could just see Joseph prising himself to his feet, then stumbling off the stage as if he was coming out of a trance. He didn’t even stop to take a bow.

  Then the stage was empty. Sarah exhaled, feeling as if she’d had an orgasm. What the hell had she just witnessed? It was like some kind of drug. She threw Dylan a grin and he smiled back. One thing was for sure, that young man and his band were about to become huge.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sarah had never been backstage at a concert before, and it was slightly disappointing compared with the euphoria of the auditorium. It was cramped and sweaty, and the décor back here was even more run-down than out front. There were drunk young women stumbling around and taking selfies, and a few men in suits, who were chatting animatedly and making it feel more like the stock exchange than a rock gig.

  Sarah squeezed past a group of giggling hyperactive fans and made her way over to Joseph. She could see he was feeling emotionally and physically exhausted after putting his heart and soul into that performance. His hair was a mess and he had black eyeliner smudged around his eyes, but he looked modest with a child-like expression on his face, which was such a contrast to the confident and powerful performer Sarah had just witnessed.

  She glanced back and realised that Dylan, Adam, and Amy had stopped to talk to one of his bandmates, so she drifted over to talk to the superstar. He was deep in conversation with his stern-looking manager, but he broke off as he noticed her.

  “Sarah, hey! How did you enjoy the show? I won’t hug you because I’m really sweaty!”

  He took her hands in his and kissed her on the cheek. Sarah adored Dylan – he was the love of her life – but she secretly coveted the attention of this lovely young man – especially right in front of his diehard dedicated fans. She gazed into his eyes, refusing to allow her gaze to drop to his toned chest, abs… or lower.

  “Happy birthday, Joe! And well done for that amazing show. You guys are incredible!”

  His eyes were full of post-gig excitement. “Thanks! It’s what I love doing more than anything else in the world. Well, not… you know... anything!”

  “I know. Typical Quinlan man, huh?”

  Joseph grinned. “Our aim is to please.”

  Sarah laughed and gestured to a cluster of young women. “Well, there’s a line waiting, so do your best.”

  He raised a playful eyebrow. “I certainly will!”

  Sarah opened her mouth to continue the conversation, but she was shoved out of the way as a group of young people rushed past singing the lyrics to one of Joseph’s songs. She chuckled at their merriment, then she spoke sincerely. “I think you’ve found your calling in life, don’t you?”

  “It’s definitely what I want to do. It’s precarious, though, so my parents aren’t too pleased. I will finish college – I’ve only got a year left to go. I’d love to drop out now, but Amy convinced me to stay – although I’m not sure it was the right decision.”

  “Why?”

  “My grades are slipping because I’m concentrating on my music.”

  “Oh. What are you studying?”

  “Business and economics.”

  Sarah grinned. “Sounds thrilling.”

  Joseph ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s so dull. And my professors all say my essays are full of impassable dreams – they don’t like that.”

  Sarah frowned. Was it just his accent that had made her misunderstand? “Impassable? Do you mean ‘impossible’?”

  “That too. My last assignment outlined a business proposal that I thought was attainable, but my professor gave me a shitty grade, saying it wasn’t grounded in reality. It was to do with the music industry.”

  “Do you think your professor was right?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe he’s jealous of your success? You’re so talented and you shouldn’t give up on your dreams. You organised this whole gig yourself, right? So here’s the proof that you know how to make a profit in this industry.”

  He treated her to a sincere smile. “Yeah, I know – you’re right, thanks.”

  “Joseph, I made the mistake of walking away from my dream when I was just finishing college. I’ve regretted it every day since.”

  Joseph glanced at Dylan. “But now you’ve been given a second chance, huh?”

  “Yeah, by some stroke of luck. You should do whatever you think is the right thing for you, okay. You need to use your wisdom and you do need money, of course. But this is your life; you’re only here once, and you –”

  Sarah closed her mouth because Joseph glanced over her shoulder with terror plastered over his face. “Oh shit,” he whispered.

  Sarah’s stomach twisted; her heart pounded hard as her fingertips twitched. She was certain that when she turned around she was going to be face-to-face with Orlov or one of his henchmen, coming to threaten Dylan, n
ow that his family were all together.

  The frantic chattering of the groupies faded into the background – sloshing in her ears like the hum of a box-fan. Time stopped dead. Sarah forced her muscles to unfreeze, then she glanced over at where Dylan was still standing with Adam and Amy. The three of them were also staring in shock at whoever was strolling over towards her and Joseph. She shivered. If Dylan wanted to be her heroic rescuer, now was his chance. But he didn’t seem to be making his attack… That was weird…

  Sarah gritted her teeth and turned to look. Confusion staggered through her as her gaze landed softly on a glamorous-looking middle-aged man and woman. There wasn’t a knife-wielding Russian assassin in sight… But, wait a minute – Sarah knew these two. A Clint Eastwood lookalike and his former-supermodel wife.

  Joseph sprang to life. “Mom! Dad! What the hell are you two doing here?”

  Mr Quinlan Senior shook his hand like a cowboy. “We wanted to see you in action, son. And we were both impressed. You were incredible up there.”

  “A true rock star,” Mrs Quinlan said, drawing her baby into her arms. “You’re very talented.”

  Dylan, Adam, and Amy bounded over and they all hugged and greeted each other.

  “Dad, mom,” Dylan said. “You remember Sarah Newell?”

  Mrs Quinlan inspected her with warm eyes, then recognition drifted across her placid face. “Oh yes, hello, Sarah, how lovely to see you – you haven’t changed one bit. I didn’t think you two stayed in touch. That’s what Dylan said.”

  Dylan put his arms around Sarah. “Let’s just say fate threw us back together.”

  Mrs Quinlan reached out and squeezed Sarah on the shoulder. “I’m very glad to hear it. Dylan’s not been the same since you left.”

  Sarah grinned at Dylan. “Neither have I.”