BILLIONAIRE: Protected (A Dark Billionaire Romance) (2 page)

              “Search engine optimization? That's your selling point?” asked Dennis. “I'm sorry, but if Hoffman can't even invest in their own project, I can't give you my money.” He laced his hands together and turned to Liam, who was still chewing on his lip, thoughtfully. “Don't tell me you're thinking of investing in this literal garbage?”

              “Well I'm not,” Jonathan retorted. “Get your money from Hoffman. Then maybe we'll talk.”

              Liam pointed at me with his pen and leaned forward. My heart pounded in my chest as he opened his mouth. I had not felt so anxious since my high school prom. “I can't invest in you,” he started. My face fell until he added, “yet. I can't invest in you
yet.
Can we schedule a second meeting?”

              “You're nuts!” Dennis interjected. “What are you doing, Manning? You're absolutely asinine to put
any
money in this company!”

              “Let him waste his money,” Klaus whispered.

              Doing my best to ignore them, I said, “I have an hour open between two and three on Thursday. Will that work?”

              “She can clear her schedule any time!” Patrick quipped from the back. I glared at him and he hissed, “What? You're not going to have all the free time in the world if you lose your job over this deal, anyway.” I made a motion gesturing him to be quiet, but Liam did not seem concerned by my assistant's outburst.

              “Well, that won't work for me...but how about you just meet me after hours? That will work best, I think,” he murmured. “Say...eight o' clock?” The other investors stared at him in both annoyance and shock that he was considering investing in the company. I hardly cared. I had gotten the investor that I wanted the most to schedule a meeting with me, and the fact that it was after hours was even more exhilarating.

              “S-sure,” I said. “When?”

              “Tomorrow,” he answered, turning to a blank yellow page and scribbling something down. He tore out the page and handed it to me. It was an address.

              “Is this the restaurant?” I asked, assuming that was where we were doing business.

              “No, it's my penthouse flat. I don't particularly care for restaurants. I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Barr,” he replied. “Alright, alright, I know you're all thinking I'm crazy. Think what you will.” He chuckled and stood. “Meeting adjourned, yeah?”

              Shocked, I said, “Y-yeah, I suppose? I-I'll see you there.”

*****

Papers were strewn across my desk as I prepared to re-brand the business. Hoffman Industries had, naturally, given me the worst marketing team available. Every name suggestion and logo idea that was pitched to me seemed to be ridiculous. I groaned as I shuffled through dozens of bad ideas. My meeting with Liam was in less than thirty hours and I had nothing new to help sell the company. Rubbing my temples, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

              I was interrupted by a knock at the door. I rolled my eyes and murmured, “It's open.”

              Patrick strolled into my office, a mischievous smirk upon his face. He peered at my desk and asked, “You get anywhere with that re-branding yet?”

              “No,” I said with a scowl. “You get anywhere with sending me emails on time yet?” I began sipping my coffee with a devious smile.

              He scoffed. “Don't try to make comebacks. They are not your strong point. So, are you going to sleep with him?”

              I choked on my coffee, surprised by his accusation, and replied, “No! Why would you say such a thing?”

              He chuckled and replied, “If you saw the way you were looking at him, you would've made the same assumption. You have to admit, he is easy on the eyes. I wouldn't mind getting a piece of—”

              “Patrick, stop,” I demanded. “He's our future business partner. You can't talk about him like that... Besides, I think he's going to be a great asset to the company. I don't want you ogling at him like he's some kind of—”

              “Asset?” he quipped, slyly. “I wasn't the one ogling at him. That was
you
.”

              My cheeks became warm as I grew red in the face. “I was
not
ogling!”

              “Whatever you say, boss,” he jeered, turning on his heel to leave the room. “Call me after he's done effing your brains out.”

              “Don't use that word in here!” I called after him.

              “Effing isn't a bad word!” he yelled back, closing the door behind him.

              I could hardly argue. He won.

The manila folder atop my vanity was not what I had anticipated showing an investor. Despite my complaints, the marketing team had not made any significant strides in the logo or name development. I dreaded showing the suggestions to Liam, but our meeting was in less than an hour and there was no turning back. My only hope was to sell myself and the concept as well as I could.

              I lined my emerald eyes and applied some crimson lipstick, depending on my self presentation to make the deal. Surely, he did not want to see the same sloppy woman that had originally stood before him. I had to do better and I hoped the hour that I spent curling my hair would make a difference.

              As I finished getting ready, I stared in the mirror for a moment, evaluating whether or not my outfit was appropriate enough. I chose a cobalt blouse with a black blazer and pencil skirt, paired with black business heels and drop diamond earrings. I chewed on my lipstick-adorned lips for a moment before exhaling, anxiously. Getting ready for a business meeting had never been so nerve-wracking before and I questioned whether or not there was some truth to Patrick's accusations. They were silly, but I was clearly attracted to Liam and I wondered if I had subconsciously went to all of the effort for him rather than for the good of the business. I shook the thought as my doorbell sounded and I realized that Patrick had arrived to drive me to Liam's penthouse. Risking being late again was not an option.

              My heels click-clacked against my apartment's hardwood floor as I walked to the front door, the manila folder under my arm… I opened the door to see Patrick's grinning face before me.

              “Little fancier than business casual, not too sleazy,” he said, looking me up and down. I rolled my eyes as he added, “Classy
and
sexy. I'm a fan.”

              “I wasn't going for sexy,” I murmured, brushing past him.
Was I?
I really was not sure at this point, but I was hardly going to give him the satisfaction of being partially right. “We're going to be late again, Patrick. Come on.”

              “Alright, alright,” he said, closing the door behind him. I locked the door and followed him to his small hatchback.

              I slid into the passenger seat and he started the vehicle, music blaring from the speaker. He turned the notch and the decibel level decreased as he pulled out of his parallel parking spot. He chewed on his lip as he drove towards the intersection; I knew that he was fighting the urge to make more cheeky comments.

              The beautiful Manhattan lights glistened outside of my passenger window and I felt a small smile creep onto my lips. Sometimes I forgot how lucky I was to be in the city after everything that I had been through in rural Idaho. I pressed my fingertips on the windowpane and closed my eyes, inhaling and exhaling in quiet solitude. The nervousness began to subside as I realized how much that I had overcome in my lifetime.

              “Aaliyah?” Patrick interrupted my moment of spirituality. I shook my head as his interjection made me return to reality. I turned to him and raised my brows. He had a concerned look on his face as he added, “I've been trying to talk to you for the past two minutes.”

              “Sorry,” I apologized. “Sort of was day-dreaming for a second there. What did you ask?”

              “Why haven't you bought your own car?” he repeated, his pale hands gripping the steering wheel as a taxi pulled out in front of the car.

              I sighed and replied, “Well, I haven't driven a car in almost six years.” I hardly felt like elaborating, but I knew that my answer would not satisfy him. I was a very private person, but Patrick was the type of person that wanted to know everything about everybody that he met. I noticed that this was fairly typical in New York, as everybody who lived in the city had their own story. However, I was not the kind of woman to share my story with just anybody. There was a level of trust that had to be established first, and despite working as my assistant for four years, Patrick had not quite earned that level of trust.

              He frowned as he turned left and said, “Why?”

              Rolling my eyes, I retorted, “You ask so many questions, Patrick. Are we getting close?”

              “If you ever drove, you would know the answer to that question,” he murmured. “Oh come on!” He slammed his foot on the brake pedal as a taxi stopped in the middle of the street to let a staggering man out of the backseat.

              I looked at the time on the car's digital clock and tapped my foot, impatiently. I had ten minutes to reach the penthouse and I was unsure how far away it was. Although I had lived in the city for many years, I still had not adjusted to the amount of time it took to reach destinations by car. When I had lived in Idaho, traffic had never been a concern.

              “Can you pull around him?” I asked, chewing on my lip.

              “Does it look like I can?” he spat, gesturing the parallel parked vehicles on both sides of the street. He rolled down his window and honked his horn. “Come on, buddy! Some of us have places to be!”

              The taxicab driver craned his neck to look at the two of us in the rear-view mirror, but it was too dark outside for him to see us, despite the light pollution. After another moment, the taxi drove away and Patrick pressed his foot down on the accelerator, cursing under his breath.

              “Are we going to get there on time?” I asked, nervously. I had four minutes until I needed to meet Liam. As I looked out the window, I realized that we were approaching the wealthier part of Manhattan and I hoped that we were near his building. “Patrick?”

              “We're here,” Patrick snapped. “You really need to get your own car. I can't be hauling you around New York off the clock all the time.”

              I pursed my lips and he turned right into a parking lot. The building was tall and covered in hundreds of windows. It was not anything like my own apartment building, but it was nothing less than what I had expected. Liam was much more contemporary than a lot of billionaires that I dealt with for my job, so it made sense for him to live in such a grandiose ultra-modern building. I cleared my throat nervously as Patrick parked. The clock read that I had two minutes to meet Liam, but I could not bring myself to open the car door.

              “What are you doing? Go!” Patrick ordered. “Ally, you're going to be late.”

              Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I opened the door, clutching the manila folder in my hand. Slowly, I stepped out onto my heels and bent my knees to look at him before I went inside.

              “Thanks for driving me,” I said. “Wish me luck?”

              He smiled and nodded, “Good luck. I'll see you at the office, alright?”

              “Yes,” I agreed. I shut the door and Patrick drove away. As I looked at the tall edifice, my anxiety became increasingly overwhelming.

             
You have to do this, Aaliyah. You'll be fine, you'll be just fine,
I thought to myself. With one last deep breath, I walked towards the building.

I stood outside of the door to Liam's penthouse apartment. Several moments had passed since I first rung the doorbell, but I had not heard footsteps approaching the door. Furrowing my brow and frowning, I rang the doorbell again.

I pressed my ear to the door, but I could not hear anything. Chewing on my lip, I raised my fist to the white door and knocked three times in one last effort to catch Liam's attention. Suddenly, the door flung open.

I backed away in shock, tripping over my heels in the process, and falling onto my backside.

              I looked up at Liam in horror as he chuckled and offered me a hand. He seemed so much taller than I had remembered from my place on the floor. He was dressed in a plaid ash grey suit with a pink tie, his endearing smile upon his dimpled face. My cheeks flushed as he pulled me to my feet and I quickly realized he had probably seen up my skirt when I had fallen. Nervously, I looked to the floor and scratched the back of my head.

              “Bit of a fall you had there, eh? You aren't hurt, are you?” he asked, both concern and amusement evident in his tone. He put an arm around my shoulders and smiled at me. “Shall we?”

              With an anxious swallow, I nodded quietly and followed him into the penthouse. It was decorated in a very minimalist fashion, which was a little surprising. The large living room area had only a black leather sofa and a glass coffee table facing a very simple fireplace. There was not even a television. The kitchen and dining area were one in the same, as three black stools were lazily pushed against the granite island counter. The entire apartment was painted a plain shade of eggshell white and the hardwood floor appeared to be a simple light finish. I had expected it to be much more ostentatious, but it was refreshing to see that it was not. Despite all of his money, he had found comfort in simplicity and that was something that I greatly respected.

              “Something wrong?” he asked, lightly touching the small of my back as he looked down at me. “Let me get us some wine while we look everything over.” Brushing by me, he went into the small kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of red wine and poured it as I smoothed my skirt and sat on the leather sofa, still somehow unable to speak.

              He sauntered into the living room, offering me a glass. I accepted it and drank nearly half of the glass out of sheer nervousness. I had never found myself to be so awkward at a business meeting. To be fair, I had never been asked to have a business meeting in a handsome, young billionaire's penthouse either.

              “I'm sorry for being late,” I murmured in an attempt to start a conversation. “I rang the doorbell a few times but you didn't answer.”

              He sat on the sofa beside me and nodded as he took a sip of wine. “No, no, that's my fault. I should have told you that the doorbell doesn't work.

I've talked to maintenance probably eight bloody times,” he replied, tapping on the manila folder in my hand. “So what do we have here?”

              I cleared my throat and set it on the coffee table, placing my hand firmly on top of it to give myself a moment to explain why the work it contained was not to the standard that I wished it was. “Before you judge anything, please know that Hoffman gave me the
worst
marketing team and that this work is
not
to the standards that I would like to be upheld. It was just short notice and—”

              He shushed me and took another sip of wine before furrowing his brow and asking, “Why are you so nervous? This is probably the most relaxed meeting you'll have in your entire career.” He took my hand in his and moved it, smiling at me. His blue eyes twinkled as he opened the folder and added, “Besides, I knew Hoffman wasn't taking the idea seriously. Everything you told me at the meeting said that he was just going to let this thing die off... I just see too much potential to let go to waste.”