The Billionaire Possession Series: The Complete Boxed Set

by Amelia Wilde

  “Awww. That’s sweet.” Vanessa bustles forward, taking the bouquet from my desk and carrying it out to reception, where there’s more room for it to breathe. There’s no way I could hold client meetings with it in my office, but maybe people will get something out of it in the waiting area.

  I flip the card over in my hand. P.S. To celebrate, I’ve planned a little getaway. The destination is a surprise, but we’ll be leaving next Friday at the stroke of midnight. Don’t worry—I’ve already packed your bags.

  Next Friday. A big grin spreads across my face. Weston is always coordinating with Vanessa to find little gaps in my schedule and spirit us away on his private plane.

  I can’t say I hate it.

  That gives me enough time to plan a surprise for him.

  The images that flash into my mind are dirty, and no surprise—being with Weston has meant exploring all of my darkest fantasies. A shiver of pleasure runs down my spine.

  Vanessa knocks at the door. “Your first afternoon appointment is here.”

  I lift my chin and straighten my back, adrenaline rushing through me like I haven’t done this a million times before. When the client walks through my door, she’ll know I’m ready for anything. She’ll know from the look in my eyes that I’ll never let her down.

  The woman who appears in the doorway has her shoulders rolled forward like she’s bracing for another blow, her eyes brimming with fear.

  I step up to her and extend my hand. “Jessica? I’m Juliet Grant, your lawyer.” I wait until she meets my eyes. “We’re going to get through this. Together.”

  I don’t think about Weston again—I don’t have a single spare moment—until my phone rings at six, after the last client has come and gone.

  “Juliet Grant.”

  “You sound good.” Weston’s voice is sexy even over the phone, and my core goes hot at the sound.

  “Hi.”

  “Are you working late?”

  “I could always work late.”

  “Can I convince you to work early instead?”

  “What’s your offer, Weston Grant?”

  “First things first, you’re going to be stripped bare the moment you walk in the door. I don’t want a single stitch of clothing covering that delicious body of yours. I want full access, and I’m going to take it. I want you on your knees on the ottoman in the den, your ass in the air, because tonight, angel, I’m going to take you to a place that’s so filthy, so intimate, that you’ll never—”

  “I accept.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you when you get here.”

  “That’s all you had to say.”

  I don’t walk out the door of my office. I run.

  Ruthless Kiss

  1

  Isabella

  “I need that big, beautiful signature of yours on the dotted line, and these deals are final.” My lawyer, one Penelope Drake, flips through a few other pages. “And on pages seven, and nine.” She sits ramrod straight in the client’s seat across my desk from me, her red hair in an impeccable bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes display only the slightest hint of nervousness.

  I’m impressed.

  “You had Mark Hudson reevaluate those details?” I pick up the first contract from the top of the pile and scan it one more time.

  “Absolutely. The terms now match your exact specifications.” I hired Penelope from the newly expanded Grant and Associates to negotiate this expansion, and I have not been disappointed. Juliet Grant might have started out relatively small—at least for New York City—but her firm is a powerhouse now. I took a chance with them, and it’s paid off. Women have to stick together.

  Especially when men are such unholy assholes.

  I keep the scowl off my face and force myself to triple-check the contracts one more time. The last thing on Earth I’m going to do now is let my ex throw me off my game.

  He could never play at my level anyway.

  Penelope has a better poker face than my financial adviser, Bernadette, who looks like she might stroke out at any moment. She presses her fingertips to her lips. It’s not enough to keep the words in.

  “Isa, I must remind you—”

  “I know, Bernadette.”

  “It’s my duty to remind you, one more time, before you sign these, that—”

  I fold my hands over the contracts and look across the desk at her. “That this is a short-term risk involving my business capital.”

  “And personal capital. It’s a massive risk, Isa. If anything goes wrong—”

  “Bernadette,” I say, keeping my tone as soothing as possible. Bernadette has been with me since I rented two racks in the corner of a boutique a block down from my shitty studio apartment. I was eighteen. “I love you dearly. But this is a risk I can afford to take.”

  She takes in one more breath through her nose. “Now. You can afford it now.”

  “I get it, Bernie. I really do.”

  I pick up a pen on my desk, testing its weight in my hand before I undo the cap. Penelope holds her breath.

  I steady myself, check all the small details a final time, then sign my name with a flourish. All nine times.

  When I’m finished, Penelope doesn’t breathe a sigh of relief—to her credit. She beams at me across the desk, and even Bernadette gives me a smile. “Congratulations, Isabella.” The name still sounds awkward in her mouth, even though I asked her after two weeks to please stop calling me Ms. Gabriel. Most people—at least those who hear from me as often as my lawyer does—call me Isa, but I’ve had no luck convincing her of that.

  “On to bigger and better things,” I say. We all stand up, and Penelope sweeps the contracts into a file folder and tucks it into the briefcase she always carries with her.

  “The new stores will be a hit.” She extends her hand across the desk for me to shake. “I’m looking forward to hearing how everything goes.”

  Buying three storefronts is only the beginning. “Oh, you will,” I promise.

  Bernadette nods at me, pride shining in her eyes. Once a decision is made, she always gets on board. “Good for you, sweetheart.”

  She disappears through the door behind Penelope. I wait until I hear the elevator doors slide closed behind them before I pull the bottle of champagne from my mini-fridge, along with a single fluted glass.

  That’s all I need.

  I let myself grin a little while I pop the cork and pour into the glass, watching the bubbles rise to the surface. This feels amazing. I sure as hell couldn’t afford champagne back when I first started this business, borrowing my mother’s sewing machine, working in the hallway of the cramped one-bedroom in the Bronx. There wasn’t room for the machine and the tiny table it sat on anywhere else in the apartment—not with all three of us sharing the bedroom, my mom and sister in one bed, me in a twin bed, a foot of space the only gap between them.

  So Jason was a dick. That doesn’t make me want to celebrate less. He almost had me, too—I was ready to put his ring on my finger, so head over heels that I almost, almost, was willing to marry that bastard without a prenup.

  “Be done with him,” I command myself. Time to get him out of my head.

  I lift the champagne glass and close my eyes. I never thought I’d get this far. I never thought I’d be selling my clothes in storefronts all over Manhattan.

  And as of today, I’m going statewide.

  A thrill goes down my spine, along with yet another jolt of adrenaline. I’m not about to let Bernadette be right with all her doomsday predictions.

  My office seems bathed in a new light when I open my eyes. The clouds that rolled over Manhattan earlier this morning must have cleared. It’s too bad. I love a good storm.

  I raise my glass, silently toasting the picture of my fourteen-year-old self, hunched over the sewing machine in the light of a single lamp. I’m not looking at the camera. My skinny frame is totally absorbed in the piece I’m sewing. “We’ve come a long way.”

  My phone rings, the ringtone lou
d and insistent, scaring the shit out of me. I was looking forward to the bubbly sweetness of the champagne, the glass halfway to my lips, but it shakes in my hand as I scramble for the phone.

  “Isabella Gabriel,” I answer. There’s a muffled sob from the other end of the line, and my stomach turns over. “Mom?”

  “Isa?”

  “What’s wrong?” I put the champagne flute down on the desk, and it rattles in place. “Mom, talk to me.” If she’s crying this hard, it’s terrible news. “Is Evie okay? What’s going on?” A thousand possibilities tumble through my mind, each worse than the last. More sobbing. “Mom. Mom. Take a deep breath.”

  She takes a long, shuddering breath. “I got—I got a notice.”

  What the hell? “What kind of notice? I don’t understand, Mom.”

  “A notice that—that all the leases are being terminated. We’re not going to be allowed to renew at the end of August.”

  “The lease on your apartment?” She’s been living in the same building in Hamilton Heights since I was nineteen. There’s no way they’re kicking her out. “That’s not possible.”

  “It’s been bought.” A hot spike of anger cuts straight through my gut. There’s a crinkle of paper, like she’s smoothing it out in her hands. “A developer, I think.” She chokes up again. “Isa, everybody has to go. Where am I going to go?”

  If I know anything about New York City—and I sure as hell do—then I have a guess as to who’s behind this. That was my next big goal—getting her building under my control. Shit.

  “What developer, Mom? What does it say?”

  “Pace, Inc.”

  I grit my teeth to keep from cursing out loud, upsetting her even more. Those bastards have been buying up every promising property on the island and gutting them for luxury condos, forcing out people—like my mom—every step of the way.

  A cold determination fills my chest. Not this time.

  “Don’t worry, Mom. I’m going to take care of this.” I get her off the phone with a promise to come for dinner by the end of the week.

  My desk chair slides back an inch when I stab the button to turn on my computer monitor.

  I’m going straight to the top, and I know exactly who I’m going to confront about this.

  All I have to do is find him.

  2

  Jasper

  “To the Pace Empire!”

  My father raises his glass and takes a sip. Everyone clustered around my desk does the same. The tumbler feels heavy, solid in my hand, and the whiskey goes down smooth. It’s a Highland Park 30—not nearly the caliber of the Macallan 55 I have in my penthouse, but there’s no way I’m going to break that out every time we close another deal. Not at the rate I’m going.

  When the toast is finished, the guys scatter, heading back to their respective offices. “Find me more buildings!” I call after Mike Ford, the guy who’s singlehandedly located at least three diamonds in the rough in the last month alone.

  He gives me a jaunty salute from the doorway. “You got it, boss.”

  My father beams after him, waiting until the last of them are gone before he turns back to me. “Hell of a job, son. Hell of a job.”

  I sip the last of my whiskey and put the tumbler on the little tray perched on the edge of my desk. “Three more buildings. I wanted five by July.”

  He laughs. “You’ve still got time.”

  Time—but it never feels like I have enough. “Three weeks, two buildings—I’m sure I can pull it off.”

  “No doubt.” Declan Pace’s blue eyes, a mirror image of mine, sparkle in the afternoon sunlight pouring in through my office windows. The floor-to-ceiling glass gives me an incredible view of Manhattan. From here, the city looks clean and alive and close—close enough for me to reach out and grab with both hands. There’s more out there for the taking, and I’m going to find it. “No doubt at all.”

  I sit back down in the executive chair behind my desk, giving my father a nod. But he doesn’t head for the door, back to his own office at the other end of the hallway. “Something on your mind, Dad?”

  He considers me, taking another measured sip of his whiskey. “I’m impressed.”

  “By what?”

  “By you. You’ve got the same kind of killer instinct I had when I started this firm.”

  I fold my arms over my chest and lean back, smiling at him. “I don’t know if I’d think of it as killer. We’re improving Manhattan one building at a time, even if the riffraff has a problem with it.”

  Dad laughs out loud. “They’re not riffraff, son. They’re future tenants.”

  I wave my hand in the air. “Behind closed doors, I know you agree with me.”

  He cuts his gaze at my open office door, then gives me a level look. “It’s about time you took over the enterprise, Jasper.”

  I can’t help but chuckle at that. “Don’t joke around. I’ve got contracts to sign.”

  “I’m not joking.” His eyes haven’t left mine, and there’s no trace of a smile on his face now.

  I straighten up in my seat. “I see that now, but—”

  “What changed my mind?”

  “Yes.” My dad has lived and breathed Pace, Inc. for thirty years. He’s been the first one in the office and the last one out more days than not. What the hell happened to make him want to loosen his grip on his empire?

  “Are you telling me you didn’t notice that you had more and more to do over the past year?”

  “I noticed. I didn’t think that meant you were interested in something as absurd as retirement.” The image of my father lounging on a white-sand beach somewhere makes a laugh bubble up in my chest. Laying around like some kind of lazy asshole seems antithetical to the rest of his life.

  He wags a finger at me, a spark coming back into his eyes. “I didn’t say I was going to retire.”

  “But you’re ready to be done with Pace, Inc.?” My heart picks up speed. To be in charge, in every way possible—it’s so tantalizing I can practically taste it. There’s already a low hum of adrenaline racing through my veins. Pace, Inc., mine. I could get more aggressive in Paris and London and Dubai. I could own those markets.

  “It’s pretty clear that you’re ready to take matters into your own hands. These last three buildings are a major coup.” I get ready to scoff—they’re a fantastic deal, but not any more so than the five before—but Dad cuts me off. “You’ve assembled a good team here. You haven’t needed me to steer you toward a good find in a year. You don’t need me here.” He leans in with a conspiratorial grin. “I’ve got a thirst.”

  “There’s more whiskey.” I grin back.

  “For new markets.”

  “You want to expand Pace, Inc. elsewhere? We’re worldwide already.”

  “No, no.” He shakes his head, his eyes going distant. “I want to start something, build it from the ground up.”

  “At sixty-five?” I laugh.

  “I’ve got nothing but time.”

  “And money.”

  “That’s right.” The last of his whiskey gone, he sets the tumbler next to mine and stands up. “We’ll continue this discussion later.”

  I stand along with him, possibilities thrumming in my veins, and reach out to shake his hand. He looks me square in the eye. “Keep up the good work. Don’t ever take your eye off the prize.”

  “I won’t.” The prize—money. Power. Always.

  He goes whistling out the door, and I stand at my desk for a long moment, fingertips pressed against the polished surface, a new fire lit in my gut.

  Yes. Today is a good day.

  I sit down in my seat, pull the contracts toward me, and scrawl my signature at the bottom of each. “Christine?”

  My executive secretary, a willowy blonde who wears her skirt suits like high fashion, is instantly at the doorway. “Yes, Mr. Pace?”

  I hold out the papers to her. “Get these down to legal immediately. I want to get started on these buildings as soon as we can.” I can’t wait t
o have my driver take us past, watch the rotted innards of these properties hauled out to make room for gleaming interiors, for shining lobbies, all the old stripped away to reveal the true potential of the place.

  She nods and glides gracefully back out the door. I know exactly how long it takes to get down to legal, so it should be no longer than fifteen minutes before my phone rings, and—

  Christine’s voice rises outside the door. “No, I’m sorry, miss. Mr. Pace doesn’t allow unscheduled appointments.” What the hell?

  “That’s Ms. Gabriel. And he’ll make an exception for me.” The low voice is commanding and leaves no room for argument. A crackling curiosity short-circuits my focus on the new buildings. Who in this city has the balls to interrupt my afternoon without an appointment?

  There’s a long pause. “That’s simply not—wait. Ms. Gabriel—”

  Then she’s standing in the doorway, fire in her eyes, a glare that sends a spike of heat straight down my spine. Christine hovers behind her, but doesn’t dare get too close. When she speaks, her voice is razor-sharp. “So you’re the bastard who’s ruining my day.”

  3

  Isabella

  Jasper Pace is definitely not the older man I’ve seen in the papers representing this evil empire of a company. In fact, he’s not an older man at all.

  He’s young, and he’s hot as hell.

  When he stands up from behind his desk, I get an eyeful of an expensive suit so closely tailored to his body that it doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

  Under any other circumstance, I’d be into the view, because Jasper Pace—that’s the name on the office door—is a living Greek statue, all hard muscle and chiseled jaw. And those eyes—a vivid blue that makes me want to get closer, much closer, so I can stare into them—send an electric charge tripping down my spine straight between my legs.