A Billionaire's Mistake

5|Whiskey

"I think that's something only you can decide. Are her ideas at least good?"

"They're great..." I trail off, deep in thought. "Amazing, actually. She's smart as hell."

He smiles and takes a sip of his beer. "Hm," he says.

"What?"

"Nothing," he hums jokingly, and thankfully, we're interrupted by the bartender again. I order another whiskey, drinking it down almost as quickly as the first.

No matter how much I drink, I can't get her out of my mind. That fucking dress she wore today drove me insane. That zipper...how badly I wanted to rip it down. She wanted it too, no matter how much she might try to deny it. Unfortunately, I'm her client now, and saving my father's business is more important than getting my rocks off.

"Enough about me," I say, attempting not to get a chub right here in this very bar, "how's the station?"

He grins. "Long nights, sleepless days, but worth every second. It's exactly the life I thought it'd be."

I raise my hand up for another whiskey, and Archer sends me a sympathetic grin. I try to ask about his life, but it's hard when he's working the job we were supposed to do together. Ever since I was little, I've always wanted to be a cop, and even though I came from money, I wanted to help people in need. I didn't want to attend charity functions anymore, or galas, or anything my mother forced me to go to. I wanted to be...normal, and Archer got that life while I got handed something I was wholly unprepared for.

"You could still be an officer, you know," he says quietly, barely being heard over the music. "You didn't sign up for this, Nash, and no one would blame you if you wanted out."

Yeah, right. My mother would have my head if I sold the company. I don't want to sell the company, anyways. This is something my father worked his ass off for, and I'm not just going to let that go down the drain to the highest bidder. The only option is me, and I have to live with it. I've already made my choice.

"Thanks," I mutter, "but, I'm living with the decision I made. Can I buy you another beer?"

He rolls his eyes. "You know I don't let you pay for shit. I don't need or want your billionaire money. I can buy my own beer, thank you."

Raising his hand up to catch the attention of the bartender again, I laugh and say, "seems like you haven't changed either, Arch."

***

Four hours later, when my driver drops me off at my condo, I stumble up the steps and gain a sympathetic stare from the bellhop as he opens the door for me to step inside. I had way too much to drink, and yet the image of what I imagine Sienna's bare ass to look like hasn't left my head.

I fumble in the elevator and scan my card to take me to my floor, resting my back against the cool glass with a loud sigh. It doesn't do anything to the fire coursing through my veins for her. I can't forget the magnetic pull that seemed to be there between the desk. I can't ignore the fact that she's richer than me, smarter than me, and just how damn attractive that is.

The elevator doors open to let me into my foyer, with marble floors and a glass chandelier hanging from above. My condo is modern and sleek, with different artwork that I've purchased at galleries over the past few years lining the hallway. Red and black leather couches fill the living room, a grand piano against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan.

I toss my keys on the marble countertops, the gentle ticking of the clock echoing through the high ceilings. Being a billionaire is all fun and games until you're by yourself most of the time. I never realized just how lonely my father might have been until I took over. My mother and he never had the greatest marriage. It was more of a strategic match than anything. He knew how to run a business, and she knew how to make connections through the wives and their husbands at the country club. She gave him a stream of investors, and I think that's why they stayed married.

Heading upstairs, I strip myself of my clothes and stride into the bathroom to take a shower just as my phone goes off. It's an email from Sienna. This is exactly what I don't need right now. I didn't end up bringing the bartender home, and now that I've got those full lips of Sienna's on my mind...I'm in trouble.

***

From: sstone@stonemedia.com

Subject: Contract

Mr. Nash,

It was a pleasure speaking with you today, and I'm excited that you liked our ideas. My lawyers have drawn up the contract, and it will be ready by tomorrow. When would you like to go over this and sign it?

Regards,

Sienna Stone

CEO

Stone Media Entertainment

To: sstone@stonemedia.com

Subject: ASAP

Sienna,

I thought we agreed to be on a first-name basis now, no?

Tomorrow will work for me if you have availability. As the weekend is approaching, I'd like for it to be revised and completed as soon as possible.

Best,

Lincoln

(I deleted my footer, too, since we're becoming less formal)

I smile at my phone and then let out a laugh as the shower warms up, then heaving out a sigh as I imagine why she's up at all hours of the night like me, especially sending emails at midnight.

I wonder what she's thinking about right at this very moment?

From: sstone@stonemedia.com

Subject: Mistake

Lincoln,

My apologies. Tomorrow is fine. Does 2pm work?

Sincerely,

Sienna

CEO

Stone Media Entertainment

(I'm keeping my footer. It makes me feel powerful)

I bark out a laugh and lock my phone, turning the shower water ice cold before I step in.