Page 3 of Falling For The Billionaire Rockstar

Greg belonged to the most influential family in New York, and he was a strikingly handsome man, starring in every ad and gracing the pages of every noteworthy magazine. His image loomed over the city on billboards, and women loved him. I was aware that many would have given anything to be in my shoes.

Because they told me—literally.

I knew that the news of his bride ditching him on the day of their wedding would hang thickly in the air for a long time. My dearly beloved Gregory Hathaway would not be so happy about it, but the media, in particular, would be even more displeased. They would come for me like a bull to a red cloth.

So, I needed to keep a low profile for as long as necessary, rebuild my life, and avoid making the same mistake of getting into anything serious with any man until I was certain. In the meantime, I was determined to stay away from men entirely.

Love would have to wait a little longer.

The line beeped, and a familiar slurry voice echoed into my ears. “Hello?”

“I didn’t see you at my wedding today,” I said. I didn’t see anyone, but I was certain he wasn’t there.

“Did you expect me to come?” he asked.

“Well, I actually didn’t, but right now, I need your help with something.”

“Already? I’m still working on your passport.”

“Yeah, this is about that. I might need the documents a little earlier.”

There was silence, and then I heard him sigh deeply. I imagined him pinching the bridge of his nose as he always did. “When?” His tone was tense.

“Well, I need it in ten minutes . . .”

“Olivia, for the love of God,” he cut off, letting out a soft huff before he spoke again. “I’ll have it done in twenty.” The line went flat.

I pulled the phone from my ear and deleted the number before returning it to the driver. Then I checked the time on my own phone. I had just two hours left. It was time to initiate phase 2 of my plan.

Chapter two

BILLIONAIRE EX-ROCKSTAR

Alexander Steele

I’ve never liked influential old men.

They tend to be loud, rude, and resistant to criticism, even when it’s constructive. More importantly, many of them don’t like young, influential men.

However, recognizing the mutual need in running a successful business, I’ve learned to overlook the pride and filth that often escape their lips each time they speak and focus on my own interests.

As the balding man across from me continued speaking, his eyebrows scrunched up, his arms flailing vigorously, and his bulging belly pushing against his tight suit as he struggled to contradict something I had just said, I simply remained still.

Beside me, my secretary shifted endlessly on her chair since the man began speaking. I could feel her struggle against herthoughts as she tried to stay composed, following the guidance I had given her.

She shifted again, this time closer to me, her lips resting only a breath away from my ear as she whispered. I smiled and nodded in response to the information I’d received before standing to my feet while the man was still in mid-sentence.

“Well, this has been a very resourceful meeting. I thank you all for your time and attention. Unfortunately, I would have to take my leave now as I have other pressing matters to attend to.”

The old man chuckled. “These fresh bloods always run away once someone begins to tell them the truth they don’t want to hear. I miss the good old days when one would get a little more challenge in meetings like this. If you bring a pitch, at least be willing to defend it.” He directed his words mostly to the other men of his caliber, and they all joined in, nodding and concurring.

I initially planned to ignore him because I truly did not have the time to address him. However, when I caught my secretary’s eyes, she was visibly glaring this time. She believed in me and my work, and she wouldn’t tolerate all my effort being treated like trash.

Turning back to the man who was still looking at me, his eyes bright with triumph, I asserted, “You want a challenge, Mr. Pekker? Under my supervision, my company has achieved in ten years what yours couldn’t do in fifty. I don’t know about you, but that’s challenging enough for me. If I were in your shoes, I’d take notes from me.”

The light in his eyes vanished, and I took it as my cue to leave. I shook hands with the people close to me as I began to take my leave, the smiles in their eyes showing their support for me finally silencing the man.

My secretary was beaming. She walked briskly beside me as we made our way toward the elevator, holding up her tablet asshe ran me through the day’s itinerary for the hundredth time that day. I couldn’t blame her. I had a bad habit of mixing up schedules.

---