Billionaire Romance: Club Billionaire (The Complete Series) (2 page)

You've had a hundred interviews, Belle. This one's
gonna be no different.

The warmth hits me as soon as I enter. Above the door,
a heater blows gently down, brushing off the winter cold and
replacing it with a mild, spring heat. A few sets of eyes glance at
me from various parts of the spacious room, and a light chatter fills
the air.

I keep on, moving straight toward the bar, and quickly
catch the attention of the bartender. He's handsome, dressed all in
black, and wearing a charming smile.

“
Yes Miss, what can I get you?”

“
Oh, no drink for me. I'm here to see Mr Lawson.” I
can't help but be tentative when asking the question, my nerves
already building. Being in Manhattan and, well dressed as I am, I
feel a little out of place. Even the guy serving me makes me feel
worse: smart, good looking, polite and professional. To say I have
self doubt right now would be a pretty spectacular understatement.

“
Right, OK. Can I ask your name?”

“
Belle Parker.”

“
Right Miss Parker, just a moment.”

The barman walks toward the end of the bar, where he
picks up a phone fixed to the wall. He speaks for a few moments
before putting the phone down and returning to me.

“
Mr Lawson is busy at the moment. Do you mind waiting
for 30 minutes?”

I nod. “Of course.”

“
While you do, would you like a drink?”

I think of my purse, hardly overflowing with money.
Right now, a drink from a place like this would pretty much swipe
half my remaining savings.

The barman seems to read my expression well. “It's on
the house, of course,” he announces.

Trying to stay cool, I order a gin and tonic. Usually,
having a drink before an interview would be considered professional
suicide, but right now my racing heart and shredded nerves are just
about demanding one.

The barman quickly prepares the drink like a master and
passes it to me. “Please, take a seat while you wait.”

I follow his arm toward a comfortable booth in the
corner and move over to it. The deep red leather is surprisingly soft
beneath me as I sit, and the gin and tonic in my hand the stuff of
dreams. Soothing and delicious, I've quickly drunk half of it before
I even realize.

It's funny how time seems to speed up and slow down
depending on your mood. Right now, it's pacing along like a snail,
trickling and meandering as if the world is suddenly turning half as
quickly. The gin, it's sole directive to help me relax, initially
helps but ultimately fails in its role. After 20 minutes I'm feeling
more anxious than ever.

It's not just the grandeur of Manhattan and the
strangely intimidating nature of this high class bar. It's also the
feeling of anxiety that comes with last chances, with the thought
that there's no option to fail. It's not like I'm a college student,
casually searching for a Sunday job to give me some extra pocket
money. I need to work to live, and if I can't pay the rent, I might
just find myself out on the street.

Naturally, therefore, this wait is all but killing me. I
try to think of other things, but am unable to turn my mind from Kyle
Lawson, a man I've never met and know nothing about, but who holds my
future in his hands. As I sit, I carefully inspect the other
waitresses. Each one is beautiful, efficient, and seemingly charming.
They smile, speak back when asked questions, and draw some generous
tips for their efforts. The sight makes me mentally drool, my mind
quickly beginning to wonder how much an attractive waitress makes in
tips in a place like this.

As I ponder, the handsome barman appears suddenly ahead
of me. “Miss Parker, Mr Lawson will see you now.”

A sudden barrage of beats hits my heart and I stand
gingerly and follow him toward the far wall of the bar. He leads me
through a door, down a short corridor, and toward another door marked
'Manager'.

“
It's just at the end there,” says the barman. “Good
luck.” He gives me a heartening nod before turning and making his
way back to the bar.

Chapter Three

I knock, and wait in silence for a response.

It comes quickly. A deep voice, commanding and assured,
pounds through the door from the other side. “Come in.”

I take a breath, twist the door handle, and step into
the room. I quickly take in lavish ornaments, a deep brown oak desk,
expensive paintings dripping off the walls. The entire space is dimly
lit from crystal lighting fixtures above and a green shaded lamp on
the desk. Behind it, sits the man I've come here to see: Kyle Lawson.

“
Miss Parker, take a seat, please.”

He stands as I move forward, and I drink him in as I get
closer. Trey told me he was quite young. He wasn't wrong. He looks
not much older than me, perhaps in his late twenties. His eyes are a
deep brown, dark and alluring and set deep behind his brows. His jaw
is well formed and hard, like a model's, and sprinkled with dusty
black stubble. His hair falls back behind his head, black as the
night, short and perfectly trimmed.

He's wearing a suit, dark gray and tailored, but without
the jacket. His white shirt shows off the shape of his body, which
looks lean and strong. His forearms, unshackled from his rolled up
sleeves, ripple with sinewy muscle as he extends his hand.

I step forward and take it, feeling my knees weaken in
an instant as his firm grip envelopes my palm. His hands are large,
owing to his height, which I place at about 6'2''.

“
I understand you're looking for work?” he asks,
eyes hovering over me, checking me out. With most men I'd suspect
they're doing it because they fancy me. With him, it's probably a
natural part of the interview process. By the looks of the staff out
in the bar, good looks are a prerequisite here. I hope I make the
cut.

I nod. “Yes Sir.”

He smiles as I call him Sir, as if he likes it. “Do
you have any experience working in a bar?”

I nod, and quickly spout out the two other occasions
I've worked in a similar establishment. Naturally, I dress it up.
Those last two bars were a far cry from this place.

“
That sounds excellent,” he says. He looks closely
at my coat, and my brow, which by now has begun to shine with sweat.
In here, it's even warmer than out in the bar.

“
Would you like to take your coat off?” he asks.

I shake my head, knowing how I'm dressed underneath.

“
It wasn't an offer Miss Parker.”

We catch eyes for a moment, his stare telling me there's
no other option. I drop my coat, and put it on the back of the chair,
before quickly sitting to cover as much of myself as possible.

“
If you could stand and walk around the room, that
would be great.”

Again, it's not an offer. It's an order. Part of what is
becoming a quite unusual interview.

I do as commanded, not having a choice. For any regular
bar, particularly during summer, this sort of outfit would be ideal.
Plenty of flesh, just what the guys want to see, without going
overboard. In this place I feel utterly ridiculous.

Yet still, I do a quick catwalk from one side of the
room to the other, knowing his eyes are on me the entire time. When I
return to my seat, his eyes have narrowed slightly, and he's nodding
almost imperceptibly. But I notice.

“
You didn't know what sort of place this would be did
you?”

“
I...assumed it would be a normal bar.”

“
This is a normal bar to the customers who come here.”

“
Oh, I didn't mean any offense. I just meant...a more
common bar.”

He smiles, and for the first time shows his pearly white
teeth. “I know. I'm only joking with your Miss Parker.”

“
I obviously won't dress like this if I work here...”

“
You won't be working here.”

My heart drops, and I internally search for the reason
for my failure. Was it the outfit? Surely he knows I'll dress to his
needs? Does he know I was bullshitting about my previous work? Not
lying, really. Just elaborating. Is it just me? Doesn't he like me,
for whatever reason?

Rather than guess, I decide it's best to just ask, my
voice crushed of any enthusiasm.

“
Can you tell me why?” I must sound so needy, so
pathetic. Especially to a man like this, the world his oyster. Mine
is nothing but a bag of shit.

“
Because I'm not hiring for here.”

His words clock, and my crushed countenance stirs.
“So...why am I here?”

“
You're here because I'm here. This is where I'm
working today, but it's not where I'm hiring for.”

“
So...where are you hiring for?” I ask tentatively.

“
A club with a very specific clientele. The work will
be the same. Making drinks, serving, and other such duties. I think
you're just the sort of girl who'll enjoy working there. The tips, in
particular, can be quite something.”

“
Is it your club, one you own? Like a nightclub?”

He laughs. “Oh no, I don't own it. I'm just a member.”

“
Then why are you recruiting?” I ask the question
before I can realize I'm getting ahead of myself, stepping a little
too far over the line.

The delectable Kyle Lawson calls me on it. “I thought
I was the one asking the questions, Miss Parker.”

I retreat, and zip up my mouth.

“
But to answer your question, I'm recruiting because I
can. The members of this club are welcome to bring in any staff they
think might suit it. It really is
our
club after all. I think
you'll fit in nicely. You are a gorgeous young woman, Miss Parker.”

The sudden compliment sends my face scorching. If it
wasn't for the dim light, I'm sure he'd see me blushing a deep shade
of pink. I try to keep my composure.

“
Thank you,” I say, but suddenly I'm unable to hold
eye contact.

“
No need to thank me for stating the obvious.”

He stands, moves around his desk, and approaches me. For
a moment he looks at me, right in the face, only a foot or two away.

“
Your face is immaculate,” he says. “I was told
you were attractive, but I never expected this.”

This time, given his proximity, I'm sure he can see my
cheeks grow red.

“
Don't be embarrassed by it Miss Parker. I'm just
pointing out a fact.”

I nod, and divert the subject. “Who told you I was
attractive?”

“
Mr Gilbert. I understand you live with his two sons?”

“
Yes, but I've never met him...”

“
And have you ever met George Clooney?”

“
Um....no.”

“
But you know he's a handsome man, right?”

“
Yeah, but he's on TV all the time.”

“
Miss Parker, it's not hard to find images of someone
these days, whoever they are. Both Mr Gilbert and his two sons appear
to have testified to your looks. But, in my opinion, they were a long
way short.”

“
Thank you,” I say again.

He moves back to his chair behind the desk, speaking as
he goes. “You're going to have to stop doing that, saying thank you
every time someone gives you a compliment. Yes, I know it's
courteous, but there's no need. At the Club, you'll find that
everyone is very complimentary.”

“
And this club...what's it called?”

He twists in his chair, and turns to me. “It's called
Club Billionaire.”

Chapter Four

It's two days later, and I'm facing a baptism of fire. A
large part of me is happy for the speed at which I've secured this
new job. For a start, it will bring me some money in fast. In
addition, if I had any time to dwell on it, I'd become even more
antsy and nervous than I am right now. Sometimes, it's better to just
dive straight into the deep end. Sink or swim.

Club Billionaire
. Mr Lawson, who began to insist
I call him Kyle, had enlightened me as to the basics of what the
club was, but hadn't really elaborated too deeply.

As you'd expect, the club caters only to the super rich.
No millionaires are allowed. No one with a hundred million would be
granted access. Half a billion? Sorry, there's the door. How about
nine hundred and ninety nine million? Nope...make another million and
we'll talk.

Exclusivity doesn't do the place justice. There are only
about 1,500 billionaires in the entire world, mainly spread out over
the US, China, and the more wealthy nations of Europe. New York,
being New York, has the highest concentration of any city, with
nearly 100 in the city alone.

The club, therefore, is the only one of its kind in the
world. A place where only those with superyatchs, giant
conglomerates, thousand acre estates, colossal mansions, and more
supercars than you could count on two hands are welcome.

In that club, on any given night, there could be tens of
billions, even hundreds of billions in accumulated wealth present.
The sheer enormity of the numbers began to send my head spinning the
more I thought about it.