Billionaires Dollar Series

I stopped next to Nick, almost leaning on his chair. He didn’t acknowledge me.

“Good game?” I asked.

“Can’t tell until it’s over,” he’d responded. A few of the guys around the table had smiled at that, like the answer was obvious, like I’d been a fool for asking.

That didn’t dissuade twenty-one-year-old me. “Deal me in? I have the cash.”

At that, Nick had actually put down his cards. The other guys were looking at me then. Some with interest in their eyes-one of them ran his gaze up my form in a way that was nothing short of lewd.

Nick met my gaze. The eyes gave me no quarter, offered no mercy. They were dark like coal and just as fiery.

“This isn’t a game for little girls,” he said. “Run back to your friends now.”

Maybe it would have been okay if he’d said it as a joke. If there had been a teasing note to his voice, a bit of irony. Perhaps even anger-I’d know what to do with that. But the cold civility in his tone shocked me to my core. It was a dismissal. I wasn’t used to being dismissed.

That was the first time I’d reached out to Nick in the hopes of being friends, and it was the first time he rejected me out of hand.Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

But it wouldn’t be the last.

Nick

“Thank you, gentlemen,” I say, shaking their hands in turn, my grip firm. Three generations of Adams’s look back at me with varying levels of hostility. I don’t add any more words. I don’t tell them that this was an affair well-done or that they’ll be pleased. I’m fairly certain they won’t be by the time my ownership of the company is finished.

Old Mr. Adams gives me a nod. “You take care of our business now, young man.”

I want to grit my teeth at the epitaph, but nod. If by taking care you mean tearing it apart and selling the pieces to the highest bidder, then yes. Sure.

They filter out of my office, having just agreed to sell their family business and life’s work. Gina is waiting by the door with a practiced smile. She’ll escort them out and go over the final paperwork, far away from the man who essentially gave them no choice in the matter.

Me.

Leaning back in the chair, I put my hands at my temples. Victory. This is victory, and it still doesn’t taste sweet enough.

It had become a drug, this. Playing the long game. Taking over companies. Buying them for a pittance.

Selling them for parts.

I flip my pen over in my grip and pull up the company’s website again. B. C. Adams. An old, respectable clothing chain, as all-American as apple pie and stuffed turkey and checkered picnic tablecloths. Just sold to me by one Pierce Adams, Pierce Adams Jr., and Bryce Adams.

This deal had been months in the making. My company had circled them since last year’s quarter reports left investors reeling. The company was floundering. At its current state, it’s only a matter of months before bankruptcy is a given.

One after one, other potential buyers were scared off by the abysmal financial results. One I had taken care of myself by spreading a false rumor about an upcoming merger and acquisition. They’d dropped out of the race right before I’d swooped in with my final offer.

The board had been all for accepting. Like rats deserting a sinking ship, they saw me for the piece of flotsam I was.

The three Adams’s? Not so much.

That’s why I’d gone to that godforsaken wedding in Oregon in the first place. Pierce Adams Jr. would be there, attending as a friend of the groom, so I needed to be there too. Show that I was a man to be trusted. That I could kiss babies and hug women. Could you grab a beer with him?

I wasn’t running for president, but it felt damn near close when I needed to have all three of the Adams’s votes. Using Blair Porter’s heavenly smile to help with that had been a stroke of brilliance.

Just the memory of her conjures up familiar feelings of frustration and anger. Blonde hair the color of wheat, curling around a heart-shaped face. Honey-brown eyes that I most often saw narrowed in annoyance.

She’d been angry to see me, a spitting kitten with her hackles raised. That was true to form. For as long as I’d known her, she’d been angry with me for one reason or another. Good.

Anger I could handle-anger I liked.

And the scolding she’d given me at the end… I can’t believe you used me for your business deal!

It almost brought a smile to my face, just remembering it. Basking in her anger felt a bit like basking in the sunlight. Both equally fiery and all-consuming.

And then she’d been gone in a flurry of silky fabric and flowing hair, back to her harem of low-tier socialites and fans.

I shake my head at my own thoughts. Blair Porter has already occupied too much of my time today. It’s time to focus on the far easier task at hand-and that’s turning a failing clothing giant around enough so that I can butcher it profitably.

When I arrive at one of Cole’s properties in the evening, he’s already waiting for me by the tennis courts. In his white shorts and T-shirt, he looks pristine, every inch the golden-boy billionaire he is. He hates it when I call him a blue blood, but that’s exactly what he looks like. The Porters were rich long before he began building his empire.

“Hey,” he says, lobbying a tennis ball hard at my chest. I catch it before it makes contact. “I heard you ran into Blair at the wedding last weekend.”

Had she tattled to her brother? A pang of disappointment hits me. She usually kept our banter private.

“I did.”

I take my place at the baseline and Cole is forced to raise his voice. “And you both made it out alive?”

“Evidently.” I call back, tossing the ball high and serving, ignoring the fact that he’s not in the right spot. He handles it deftly and for the coming minutes there’s nothing but the sound of tennis balls against racquets and the thrill of the game. I lose myself in the fight, as I so often did when I was young, surrendering to the pumping of blood and adrenaline.

Cole might come from different stock-he has a background of athletic competitions and trophies-but the thrill of the hunt is the same.

We’re well-matched, have been after playing so many times together over the years. By the time we’re done, we’re panting, chugging from our water bottles.

“Damn,” he says finally. “Have you been practicing with an Olympian while I was away? Your slices are deadly.”

I grin at him. “I had a good morning.”

He braces himself against the edge of the net. Sweat glistens on his skin; I’m sure I look much the same. “Did you close the deal, then?”

“I just did, yeah.”

His face lights up into a smile, and for a moment it’s uncomfortably similar to Blair’s-not that she’s ever smiled at me like that. “Hell yes. Well done, man!”

“Took me long enough.”

“Can you finally tell me which company it is? I need to know where to shop one last time.”

“B. C. Adams.”

His smile fades. “Shit. Really?”